Critical Perspectives on Classicism in Japanese Painting, 1600-1700 9780824862046

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Critical Perspectives on Classicism in Japanese P a i n t i n g, 1600–1700

Tawaraya S≤tatsu, detached segment of the Illustrated Handscroll of The New Collection of Ancient and Modern Japanese Poetry, MOA Museum, Shizuoka

Critical Perspectives on Classicism in Japanese Painting, 1600–1700 Edited by Elizabeth Lillehoj

University of Hawai‘i Press

Honolulu

© 2004 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 09 08 07 06 05 04

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Critical perspectives on classicism in Japanese painting, 1600–1700 / edited by Elizabeth Lillehoj. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0-8248-2699-x (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Painting, Japanese—Edo period, 1600–1868. 2. Classicism in art—Japan. I. Lillehoj, Elizabeth. nd1053.5 .c75 2004 759.952'09'032—dc21 2003009998 University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acidfree paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Designed by April Leidig-Higgins Printed by Thomson-Shore, Inc. Publication of this book has received generous support from The Ruth and Sherman Lee Institute for Japanese Art at the Clark Center.

Contents

List of Illustrations

vii

Foreword | Samuel C. Morse

xi

Introduction | Elizabeth Lillehoj

1

Chapter One | Melanie Trede

21

Terminology and Ideology: Coming to Terms with “Classicism” in Japanese Art-Historical Writing Chapter Two | Satoko Tamamushi

53

Tawaraya S≤tatsu and the “Yamato-e Revival” Chapter Three | Keiko Nakamachi

79

The Patrons of Tawaraya S≤tatsu and Ogata K≤rin Chapter Four | Laura W. Allen

99

Japanese Exemplars for a New Age: Genji Paintings from the Seventeenth-Century Tosa School Chapter Five | Joshua S. Mostow A New “Classical” Theme: The One Hundred Poets from Elite to Popular Art in the Early Edo Period

133

169

Chapter Six | Karen M. Gerhart Classical Imagery and Tokugawa Patronage: A Redefinition in the Seventeenth Century

187

Chapter Seven | Elizabeth Lillehoj Uses of the Past: Gion Float Paintings as Instruments of Classicism

207

Afterword | Quitman Eugene Phillips

213

Appendix: Artists and Schools

217

Glossary

225

Kanji List

237

Selected Bibliography

261

Contributors

263

Index

Color plates follow page 132

vi

Contents

Illustrations

figure 2.1. Frontispiece of the “Ganmon” scroll from the Heike n≤ky≤

55

figure 2.2. Frontispiece of the “Kej≤yubon” scroll from the Heike n≤ky≤

56

figure 2.3. Frontispiece of the “Shokuruibon” scroll from the Heike n≤ky≤

57

figure 2.4. “Ganmon” scroll in the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima

58

figure 2.5. “Kej≤yubon” scroll in the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima

59

figure 2.6. “Shokuruibon” scroll in the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima

60

figure 2.7. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, detached segment of Illustrated Handscroll of The New Collection of Ancient and Modern Japanese Poetry

63

figure 2.8. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, detail of Illustrated Handscroll of The Collection of Japanese Poetry for One Thousand Years

64

figure 2.9. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, Matsushima Screens

65

figure 2.10. Cover of “Jukibon” chapter from the Heike n≤ky≤

66

figure 2.11. Ogata K≤rin, Matsushima Screen

67

figure 2.12. Ogata K≤rin, Suminoe Writing Box

68

figure 2.13. Label on packing bag for the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens

70

figure 2.14. Thunder god in Pleasures of the Shij≤ Riverside Screens (detail)

74

figure 4.1. Four Pairs of Shells, from a shell game

104

figure 4.2. Illustration from the Admonitions for Women

107

figure 4.3. First illustration from Selected Lessons for Women

108

109

figure 4.4. Second illustration from Selected Lessons for Women

110

figure 4.5. Illustration from Mirror of Japanese Women

111

figure 4.6. Tosa Mitsuoki, Murasaki Shikibu Viewing the Moon at Ishiyamadera

112

figure 4.7. K≤ami Nagashige, Dowry Set with Designs from “First Warbler”

115

figure 4.8. Tosa Mitsunori, illustration for “Channel Buoys”

118

figure 4.9. Illustration from Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women, vol. 1

120

figure 4.10. Illustration from Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women, vol. 8

123

figure 4.11. Tosa Mitsuoki, “First Warbler” (left screen)

125

figure 4.12. Tosa Mitsuoki, “New Herbs I” (right screen)

127

figure 4.13. Illustration from Selected Lessons for Women

134

figure 5.1. Kano Tan’y≥, Date Family One Hundred Poets Picture Album: Teika

135

figure 5.2. Kano Tan’y≥ (attrib.), Portraits of the One Hundred Poets: Teika

136

figure 5.3. Kano Tan’y≥ (attrib.), Portraits of the One Hundred Poets: The Handmaid Su≤ and Retired Emperor Sanj≤

137

figure 5.4. Kano Tan’y≥ (attrib.), Portraits of the One Hundred Poets: Sagami and Gy≤son

139

figure 5.5. Suminokura Soan (attrib.), One Hundred Poets: Teika

139

figure 5.6. Suminokura Soan (attrib.), One Hundred Poets: Sagami

140

figure 5.7. Anonymous, Ten Thousand Treasures Annotated One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Compilation

143

figure 5.8. Kano Tan’y≥, Pictures of Thirty-Six Immortal Poets

153

figure 5.9. Tosa Mitsuoki, The Style of Deep Feeling (detail)

155

figure 5.10. Kano school, The Handmaid KoShikibu

156

figure 5.11. Kano Masunobu, Album of New Thirty-Six Immortal Poets: Yoshitsune

viii

Illustrations

figure 5.12. Kano Masunobu, Album of New Thirty-Six Immortal Poets: Yoshitsune (poem)

157

figure 5.13. Hishikawa Moronobu, Images of Elegant Figures of One Hundred Poets: Gy≤son

158

figure 5.14. Keisai Eisen, Twelve Views of Beautiful Women of Today: The Untamable and Benten Shrine

159

figure 5.15. Anonymous Kano school artist, Portrait of Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune

160

figure 6.1. Instructions Regarding the Paintings of the Emperor’s Visitation Palace of Nij≤ Castle

173

figure 6.2. Diagram of Ninomaru Palace and the Visitation Palace

174

figure 6.3. Scene from woodblock print of Mirror for Instructing the Emperor

179

figure 7.1. Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Chrysanthemum Dew Float, from the Gion Festival Floats

192

figure 7.2. Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Prince Sh≤toku Float, from the Gion Festival Floats

192

figure 7.3. Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Decorated Parasol Float, from the Gion Festival Floats

192

figure 7.4. Shugakuin Reception Hall

193

figure 7.5. Floor plan, Shugakuin Reception Hall

194

figure 7.6. Anonymous, Scenes In and Around Kyoto Screens (detail)

196

plate 1. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji Screens plate 2. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, Wind and Thunder Gods Screens plate 3. Episode from the “Sacred Tree” chapter of The Tale of Genji plate 4. Tosa Mitsuoki, illustration for “An Autumn Excursion,” Tale of Genji Album

Illustrations

ix

plate 5. Tosa Mitsuoki, illustration for “A Rack of Cloud,” Tale of Genji Album plate 6. Tosa Mitsuoki, illustration for “New Herbs I,” Tale of Genji Album plate 7. Tosa Mitsuoki, illustration for “Heartvine,” Tale of Genji Album plate 8. Tosa Mitsuoki, “Lavender,” right screen of The Tale of Genji Screens plate 9. Tosa Mitsuoki, One Hundred Poets Calligraphy Model Book: The Handmaid Suo and Gy≤son plate 10. Anonymous, Screens of Immortal Poets Painting plate 11. Kano Tsunenobu, The Style of Mystery and Depth plate 12. Kano Motonobu (attrib.), Mongols Playing Polo (detail) plate 13. Upper Chamber, Grand Audience Hall, Ninomaru Palace plate 14. Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Ship Float, from the Gion Festival Floats plate 15. Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Showering Down Float and Mountain Grotto Float, from the Gion Festival Floats plate 16. Anonymous, Gion Festival Screens (detail)

x

Illustrations

Foreword

This book is based on a symposium, “Classicism in Japanese Art of the Early Edo Period,” which was sponsored by the Ruth and Sherman Lee Institute for Japanese Art at the Clark Center in Hanford, California, in June 1999. Many of the institute’s goals are similar to those of other museums both large and small—in particular, collecting, exhibiting, and preserving works of art and introducing the culture of Japan to the general public. But equally integral to its mission—as envisioned by its founder, Willard G. Clark—is the creation of opportunities for scholars to study works of art, to share ideas, and to make the results of their explorations known. Thus the idea of holding a series of focused symposia on important topics in the history of Japanese art at the Clark Center was proposed soon after the organization opened its doors in May 1995. The symposium on classicism in early Edo art was the first in what is planned to be a series of conferences that bring together scholars and students from Europe, Japan, and the United States for three days of presentations, discussion, and close examination of actual objects. The topic for the symposium was selected from a number of ideas proposed to the institute. We were particularly excited by the ways in which these essays challenge established notions of art-historical discourse on the early Edo period. “Renaissance,” “revival,” and “classicism” are all terms used to describe the art of the seventeenth century, but often they are employed with little critical examination of whether the ideas they represent are in fact applicable to Japanese art history. The proposal promised to rectify this problem, and indeed it was one of the most stimulating subjects of discussion throughout the symposium. The topic also seemed particularly appropriate for the Lee Institute because the art of the early Edo period is one of the strengths of the institute’s collection. Since he began collecting Japanese art seriously in the early 1980s, Willard Clark has focused particular attention on works by Kano and Rimpa artists. Issues raised by works in the collection struck us as being very similar to the questions raised in this book. The program for the symposium was organized by Elizabeth Lillehoj of De-

Paul University and Laura Allen, an independent scholar. The speakers included Laura Allen, Karen Gerhart of the University of Pittsburgh, Joshua Mostow of the University of British Columbia, Satoko Tamamushi of Musashino University of Fine Arts, and Melanie Trede of the Institute of Fine Arts at New York University. The late Kaori Chino of Gakushuin University, Quitman Eugene Phillips of the University of Wisconsin, and James Ulak of the Freer and Sackler Galleries provided commentary. In preparing the essays for publication, we decided to supplement the original group with essays by Professor Lillehoj and Keiko Nakamachi of Jissen Women’s University, who was one of the invited participants at the event. In this way we have tried to expand the scope of the book so it will be of value not only to the specialist and in the classroom, but also to the larger community of students of Japanese art. Professor Lillehoj generously agreed to edit the essays for publication and to revise her opening remarks at the symposium as an introduction. Generous support for both the symposium and this book was provided by Sanwa Bank California. The Blakemore Foundation committed funds that enabled five senior graduate students to attend. At the Clark Center, assistance was provided by Midori Oka, former curator; Tomoko Okamura, former curatorial intern; Barbara McCasland, assistant to the founder; and Ritsuko Miyazaki, systems analyst. Most of all thanks must be given to Elizabeth and Willard G. Clark for providing the vision and the collection of art that made this project possible. As Mary Elizabeth Berry observed at the end of the first day of the symposium, the question that the art of the early seventeenth century invokes “is not why Heian, but why history.” It is our hope that this book will provide some answers to that question. Samuel C. Morse Department of Fine Arts, Amherst Chair, Board of Directors, The Ruth and Sherman Lee Institute for Japanese Art at the Clark Center

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Samuel C. Morse

Introduction

Elizabeth Lillehoj

In Japan, the seventeenth century was a time of remarkable artistic innovation developing in the midst of ineluctable social change. A protracted phase of civil strife had ended, and a triumphant military clan was inaugurating a new regime of power. This clan, the Tokugawa, installed their administration—a military government (bakufu) headed by a shogun—at Edo, launching the Edo period (1600–1868).1 Preoccupied with the challenge of establishing dominance, the Tokugawa set to work at several tasks: consolidating their military victories, solidifying political authority, encouraging commercial and agricultural growth, and constructing a new social order. Virtually all forms of cultural production were affected by the changing times, not least of which was art. And in art, it was not just the new that interested people. Perusing the cultural artifacts from early-seventeenth-century Japan, we begin to sense that many artists and patrons longed for a restoration of stability after years of uncertainty and privation. Some hoped to restore stability by creating continuity with the past; others attempted to fabricate a past that lifted them above the troubles of the present. With these and a multitude of other motivations, artists and patrons turned time and again to traditional themes and styles. And while the past they referred to was only quasi-historical, to their contemporaries they projected an identity of themselves by manipulating timehonored images. Indeed, references to the past are so common in early-seventeenth-century art that many modern historians of Japanese art—using terms that will be examined more closely in what follows—describe this phase as a classical revival (koten fukk≤), an era of classicism (kurashishizumu), or a renaissance (runesansu). The early years of the Edo period experienced great diversity in visual culture, and classicism—at least as the authors of this book define the term—was a leading concern in art, a concern that would foster surprisingly varied outcomes later in the period. Thus while this book surveys only one of the many movements in seventeenth-century Japanese art, it offers critical perspectives on a number of significant issues in the study of Edo art history.

Early Edo artists and patrons shaped a variety of images of bygone eras without limiting themselves to a specific place or moment. In many cases it was court culture of the Heian period (794–1185); in other cases, warrior culture of the Kamakura period (1185 – 1333); in others, yet another cultural phase. Although art historians often imply that early Edo classicism is a well-defined, self-evident concept, clearly it is not. Setting aside for the moment the historical and cultural specificity of the term “classic,” it must first be emphasized that people in the seventeenth century shared no unitary understanding of a classical age for artists to resurrect. Nevertheless, the phrase “classical revival” is still widely used to describe artistic developments in Edo Japan and, for that matter, in other periods—which is to say that artists and patrons in several phases of Japanese history referred to the past thematically and stylistically to edify, to glorify, and to sanctify.2 Their purpose might have been the edification of a particular audience, the glorification of a ruler, or the sanctification of a place or event. But how did seventeenth-century artists and patrons imagine the past? Why did they so often select styles and themes from the past, especially from Heian court culture? Were references to the past something new, or were artists and patrons in previous periods equally interested in manners that came to be seen as classical? How did classical manners relate to other styles and themes found in Edo art? And what consequences have arisen from the modern designation of this development as a classical revival? In considering such questions, the contributors to this book posit that classicism is an amorphous, changing concept in Japan, just as in the West. Nettlesome in its ambiguity and its implications, it cannot be separated from the political and ideological interests of those who have employed it over the years. Central to our study is an understanding of classicism as an instrument employed consciously and consistently by various groups; that is to say, we look at classical art as it was instrumentalized for use in larger social settings.3 Ranging from faithful replicas of early models to works creatively inspired by traditional imagery, classical art did not follow a fixed style but employed a grammar or vocabulary of visual forms. In looking anew at seventeenth-century classicism, we aim to reconsider the narratives of production and reception of seventeenthcentury visual forms. By extension we also consider ways in which the act of defining this art as classical in the early twentieth century served ideological agendas specific to that moment. Classicism—which now ranks as a dominant paradigm in cultural studies of the West and the East alike—was an important device in early Edo art, but it is also an important device in modern studies of

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Elizabeth Lillehoj

early Edo art. Thus the essays presented here bridge many gaps between centuries and between cultures to address a leading issue in cultural studies: classicism and its problems. Rather than positing a consistent or comprehensive analysis of seventeenth-century classicism, the authors of this book present varied perspectives and contribute to an ongoing dialogue about a complex historical and historiographic concept.

Defining Classicism Most fields of Japanese cultural studies employ the concept of classicism, each defining it in a slightly different way. Of these fields, it is perhaps literary studies that engage the concept most extensively. The term commonly used in Japanese today to designate the “classics,” koten (C: gudian), was borrowed centuries ago from Chinese textual sources, where it generally referred to works that set a standard. The term “koten”—written with Chinese characters that mean “old texts”—implies veneration for writings from early times, and the centuries-old term “koga” (old paintings) reveals a comparable appreciation for art from times past. Today Japanese literary historians do not follow a single definition of classicism, but they tend to apply the term to poetry and prose of the Heian and Kamakura periods.4 Along similar lines, modern Japanese art historians employ the phrase “kotenteki bijutsu” (old textlike art) to mean “classical art,” often in reference to art of the Heian and Kamakura periods. Literary texts played a central role in classically inspired visual arts of seventeenthcentury Japan, and, furthermore, the literary concept of koten was adopted by modern scholars engaged in identifying a classical revival in Edo art.5 From this it is perhaps natural to conclude that classicism in Japanese art, while heavily dependent on literary associations, has an ontological status as a distinct category. But is this necessarily so? Few concepts found in early Japanese writings on art equate with the modern notion of classicism, so it is doubtful that “classical art” was understood as a distinct category of art in the early Edo period. In the seventeenth century, there was a concept of “old texts” and a concept of “old paintings,” but not until the modern era was there a concept of “old textlike art.” As Melanie Trede explains in Chapter 1, several late-Edo authors did borrow concepts related to classicism from Chinese aesthetic discourse; however, it was scholars and enthusiasts of the Meiji period (1868 – 1912) who began to formulate the modern notion of Japanese artistic classicism following Western notions. According to the Western definition, classicism is synonymous with

Introduction

3

harmony, dignity, restraint, balance, simplicity, and objectivity; it also refers to the cultures and aesthetic principles of ancient Greece and Rome. Johann J. Winckelmann (1719–1768), the German scholar credited with founding modern art history and archaeology, spoke of ancient Greek art as the epitome of artistic excellence: grand, noble, and ideal.6 Although he did not use the term “classical”—in fact, the term was little used until the nineteenth century—his assessments were in keeping with intellectual and artistic elites of his era who aspired to embrace timeless truths and absolute values. Winckelmann established Greek arts of antiquity as archetypal forms against which like forms can be judged and as sources of inspiration for other artists. For Winckelmann’s successors engaged in the scholarly project of connoisseurship, classicism came to play a central role in the evaluation of artistic quality and the establishment of a canon. By the time that Heinrich Wölfflin (1864– 1945) articulated a notion of the classic in High Renaissance art, the concept of classicism in art-historical analysis was firmly set as if in stone.7 This is the concept that Meiji writers integrated into Japanese art history. And while little stylistic commonality unites the classical arts of Edo Japan and those of the Renaissance in the West, they are comparable in several conceptual respects: both relate to a veneration of antiquity, both employ a rise–peak–decline theory of artistic development, both are canonical, and both set standards for future generations. In recent years, Japanese and Western scholars involved in a sweeping cultural critique have scrutinized and deconstructed the worldview that gave birth to classicism, and they implicate classicism in an ideologically loaded project of canon formation.8 Whereas authors of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries tended to uphold the Western canon of classical art and literature as an epic landscape of unchanging monuments, many historians today find fault with the vagaries and limitations of modern canon formation. In keeping with that critique, the contributors to this book reject the traditional definition of classicism as a core of transcendent and universal ideals given expression in archetypal objects because this notion obscures its role as a mechanism legitimizing dominant cultures. Specifically, the contributors implicate classicism in the West’s “cultural colonization” of Japan (or the self-imposed westernization of late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century Japan) as well as in the nationalism rampant in imperial Japan of that day.9 We can begin to understand how notions of “old textlike art” were formulated in Japan by considering the Meiji-period writings of Okakura Kakuz≤ (1862 – 1913) and his mentor, Ernest Fenollosa (1853 – 1908).10 Okakura and

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Fenollosa borrowed “classicism,” as well as other terms embedded in Western cultural discourses, to shed a more positive light on Japanese traditions at a time when “precious works of Art and valuable paintings were prized no more than rubbish [in Japan].”11 Okakura and Fenollosa, whose narratives are generally considered foundational in modern Japanese art historiography, labored valiantly to promote Japanese art. But in basing their analyses on Western canonical models, they introduced concepts foreign to Japanese art and harnessed art to the nationalistic and imperialistic agenda of their own time.12 Japan, just emerging as a world power, was making its expansionist intentions evident in the Sino-Japanese War (1894 – 1895), the Russo-Japanese War (1904 – 1905), and the annexation of Korea (1910). Given the xenophobic nationalism and imperial absolutism developing in Japan, it is perhaps paradoxical that Japanese commentators found inspiration in Western models. Granted, their motivation was to present home audiences and the wider world with a positive image of Japan’s exclusive cultural heritage. Yet theirs was not an unbiased interpretation of the past. Meiji authors who heralded classicism in Japanese art, like those who valorized a unique literary heritage, found their remarks tied to disturbing nationalistic and totalitarian tendencies.13 Recent scholarship has done much to remove the veils cloaking the ideological function of modern discourses on “a unique Japanese culture.” Kuroda Toshio, for example, a Japanese religious historian, has presented a systematic critique of Japan as the “land of the deities” (shinkoku), debunking suprahistorical concepts of Japan as a sacred territory and the emperor as a divine being. These concepts fed into the exclusivist and supremacist tendencies of earlytwentieth-century Japanese cultural commentary.14 According to Kuroda, postMeiji interpretations of shinkoku were formulated along with the creation of an imperial system (tenn≤sei) and national Shinto (kokka shint≤)—an amalgam that precipitated a contemptuous, violent stance toward the outside world. Another case of scholarship demystifying modern Japanese cultural constructs is the philological study conducted by Roy Andrew Miller, who counters the view that the Japanese language is unique and untranslatable. This “myth of the Japanese language” developed hand-in-hand with nationalism in earlytwentieth-century Japan.15 Art historians and connoisseurs are not immune to the modernist tendency to isolate and aggrandize Japanese culture, but some have begun to work against it. Sat≤ D≤shin, one of those seeking corrective measures in the writing of art history, argues that the modernist understanding of art history in Japan was built upon a “Japanese imperial historical view.” Sat≤ notes that early-

Introduction

5

twentieth-century Japan “saw itself as the ‘leader of East Asia’, [and accordingly] ‘East Asian art history’ was constructed as one element of Japan’s exultation of its national prestige.”16 Despite this growing recognition of problems with exclusivist and nationalist discourses on Japanese culture, many Japanese art historians preserve terms and concepts with troublesome connotations that stem from these discourses. One such term is “miyabi” (courtliness), widely defined in academic circles as an ancient word with meanings that are purely aesthetic—in fact, a word closely associated with classicism in many cases. As Joshua Mostow has noted, however, miyabi was only introduced into common usage in the 1940s and “is thoroughly implicated in the war-time cult of the emperor.”17 Thus Japanese art and cultural historians are beginning to reappraise aggrandizing concepts like classicism, a development that foregrounds the present study. This historiographic project must begin with a question: how did the concept of an early-Edo classical revival in art come to assume such an accepted role in modern Japanese art history?

The “Classical Revival” Writers in Japan began comparing early Edo art and classical Western art at the beginning of the twentieth century. Following Okakura and Fenollosa, the art historian Fukui Rikichir≤ in 1915 drew analogies between art of the Momoyama period (1573 – 1600 or 1615) and European art of the Renaissance, assigning to the Momoyama period many works considered in this volume as early Edo paintings.18 But not until the mid-twentieth century did the cultural historian Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤ and members of his circle begin to speak of a classical revival (koten fukk≤) in seventeenth-century culture.19 These scholars paid particular attention to a Kan’ei cultural phase (Kan’ei bunka), which they defined as extending one or two decades before and after the Kan’ei era (1624 – 1644), roughly the first half of the seventeenth century.20 According to Hayashiya and his academic cohort, three elite social groups shaped Kan’ei culture: ranking warriors, Kyoto aristocrats, and a select set of commoner townspeople (machish≥)—a cohesive group of wealthy, educated artisans and merchants who affiliated with aristocrats in cultural salons. Thus, in the estimation of these historians, artistic activities allowed individuals of commoner background to transcend class barriers in the Kan’ei cultural phase.21 Hayashiya’s interpretation of a Kan’ei cultural revival, while influential, is only one of a number of scholarly approaches to early Edo art. It did, however, share with others an emphasis on a particular precedent for classicism: court

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culture of the Heian period. In fact, members of Hayashiya’s circle seem to have initiated the use of a key phrase, “rebirth of dynastic traditions” (≤ch≤ dent≤ no fukkatsu), to characterize the Kan’ei classical revival as a return to Heian courtly traditions.22 But, we should ask, did seventeenth-century artists and patrons actually embrace the Heian aristocratic epoch as a singular “golden age”? This volume contends that they did not. We maintain that the conception of Heian classicism dominating current Japanese art history is a modern myth. According to a standard reductive explanation, Heian arts reached a peak with the flowering of courtly culture in Kyoto during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. This aristocratic taste, inclined toward delicacy and aestheticism and perceived as distinguishable from Chinese taste, was supposedly eclipsed in the Kamakura period when warrior patrons came to favor Chinese cultural forms. Several underlying presumptions make this received interpretation of Heian classicism problematic. One presumption is that Heian-period culture gave rise to a discrete artistic sensibility; in actuality, a variety of artistic currents emerged from Heian culture. Another presumption is that this singular Heian aesthetic can be isolated from foreign precedents; in actuality, scholars have identified Chinese models for many of the varied forms of Heian artistic production.23 There is still another presumption underlying the received notion of Heian classicism—namely that a break occurred in late-twelfth-century patronage with newly dominant Kamakura warriors favoring bold and realistic art over refined and stylized Heian types. But as Miyajima Shin’ichi recently wrote: “This common but simplistic construction [of a shift from courtly to warrior taste] misconstrues both art and its social context. In fact, the imperial court and Kyoto nobility continued to monopolize the cultural mainstream and to set the standards for ‘high culture.’ ”24 These assumptions about Heian artistic classicism inhere in one of the discourse’s central terms—yamato-e (literally “pictures of Yamato”)—with Yamato, the Nara region, being remembered as the ancient heartland of the Japanese people.25 Although scholars posited a uniquely Japanese yamato-e, thus supporting a nationalistic agenda, this tradition of illustration clearly owes much to Chinese painting and literature. It is also reductive to maintain, as did writers of the mid-1900s, that yamato-e went into decline in the early fourteenth century at the end of the Kamakura period; recent findings indicate, to the contrary, that post-Kamakura artists continued to innovate and to incorporate new subjects, festivals and revelries, for example, into their yamato-e repertory.26 The designation of early Edo paintings by Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?)—

Introduction

7

the “pioneer artist of Rimpa” (see the appendix)—as works of a “yamato-e revival” (that is, a classical revival) is therefore arbitrary, based on the retrospective identification of ruptures and a concomitant denial of continuities. More accurately, these paintings are a “yamato-e continuation.”27 The nineteenthcentury revival of yamato-e (fukko yamato-e) spearheaded by the painters Tanaka Totsugen (1760 – 1823) and Reizei Tamechika (1823 – 1864) should similarly be called a further development in an evolution of Japanese-style painting. While the classicizing elements of seventeenth-century art are not completely novel—in fact, most make an appearance in fifteenth- and sixteenthcentury art—references to the past began to carry a new relevance and weight in the early Edo period. In seeking a reason for this tendency, a central matter to consider is the social setting in which classicizing currents developed. In the period under discussion, Tokugawa military lords were putting to rest the terror and political convulsion of the previous century. But as Eiko Ikegami comments: “The Tokugawa pacification was, in many ways, a classic case of state formation through monopolizing the use of violence.”28 Although Tokugawa leaders claimed that their dominance ensured peace and tranquility under heaven (tenka taihei), opposition to Tokugawa rule, while decreasing over the course of the century, indicates that their governance was not universally appreciated. Many sectors of society had reason to resent the imposed order. And although aggrieved parties probably felt reluctant to voice their protests directly, hints of their discontent are seen in art. Describing a Kyoto renaissance of the 1580s to the 1630s, John Rosenfield perceptively notes that it seems to have been affected by a strong undercurrent of resistance to the Tokugawa military government. The new regime, highly authoritarian and fearful of rivals, sought to dominate the main political factions in the old capital: the imperial family, hereditary aristocrats, Buddhist clergy, and samurai whose loyalty to the Tokugawa family was not absolute. Allied culturally to the ancien régime were members of the newly enriched bourgeoisie.29 Thus art that referred to a classical past—whether an age of elegant aristocrats, an age of thriving townspeople, or an age of valiant warriors—came to convey diverse messages about imagined bygone eras, at times attracting those who covertly resisted a repressive regime. For courtiers who experienced ever greater erosion of their practical political power, classical arts bolstered their pride in a vaunted cultural heritage. Early Edo nobles could express a nostalgic desire to resurrect a golden age by surrounding themselves with images of a glorious imperial past. Classicizing

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arts also proved useful as status symbols for wealthy members of commoner classes: the nonruling urban artisans and merchants who saw their options for social mobility narrowing. Just as courtiers reminisced about a long-gone era of imperial power, townspeople treasured an era of past prosperity and respectability, which for them had occurred only a generation or two earlier. Yet references to a classical past could at the same time bolster the new military regime’s claims to status and legitimacy. As sponsors and collectors of art, elite members of warrior society were motivated by various impulses—dynastic, economic, religious, personal—and most significant of the warrior patrons were the Tokugawa lords themselves. With wealth and social connections, the Tokugawa were able to commission and collect a range of classicizing art forms, which they employed in a propaganda campaign as they struggled to establish a legitimizing ideology. Many other social factors contributed to the emphasis on the past in art. Thanks to economic expansion resulting from agricultural development, as well as growth in transportation and communication infrastructures, people enjoyed new levels of wealth and stability—and, consequently, many could set aside time to become literate and pursue activities such as art, theater, and literature. Higher literacy rates depended on the birth of a publishing industry, as well as the enhancement of lending libraries and book merchandising. With new printing technologies, publishers could produce large numbers of books and augment them with illustrations, allowing for a stream of popular printed material including prose literature written in Japanese (kanaz≤shi). From the 1630s, commercial printing flourished in Kyoto, which was later surpassed by Osaka and then Edo as the foremost center of printing. Concurrently, growing numbers of professional intellectuals and instructors emerged from various social strata, some accepting almost any student able to pay tuition. With greater public access to instructional texts and trained teachers, cultural activities like N≤ chanting and poetry composition flourished, as did academic interests such as Confucian readings and historical studies. Spurred by such developments, a new sense of historicism emerged in seventeenth-century Japan—seen in the urge to document and collect old works of art. In order to deal with a burgeoning antiquities market where forgeries periodically made an appearance, Edo-period collectors turned to specialists purportedly able to authenticate items. A number of these specialists were scholar-aristocrats; others were artists. Kano Tan’y≥ (1602 – 1674), for example, wrote certificates of authentication for paintings and recorded information on artworks in his notebooks.30 Several other Kano artists contributed to

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early Edo connoisseurship through such texts as Biographies of Japanese Painters (Tansei jakubokush≥), Private Guidelines for the Way of Painting (Gad≤ y≤ketsu), and A History of Painting in This Realm (Honch≤ gashi).31 Whether composed to transmit information on technique and theory or to promote the Kano school, the treatises testify to a new historical consciousness with art objects as a focus. This cataloging impulse coincided with an upsurge in the popularity of collecting various types of old paintings and antiquities, a trend quite evident by the middle of the seventeenth century. Paintings from the Muromachi period (1392 – 1573) attracted much attention, as did Chinese painting of the Song dynasty (960 – 1279) and the Yuan dynasty (1279 – 1368). Just as Greek art was appreciated as classical in Renaissance Italy, Chinese painting was embraced as classical in Edo Japan. Among the leading art collectors in seventeenthcentury Japan were warrior leaders, priests from courtly temples (monzeki), and wealthy townspeople—diverse individuals with diverse tastes and aims. They collected lacquerware, tea ceremony utensils (chad≤gu), paraphernalia for the incense game (k≤d≤), items for the scholar’s desk, books, calligraphy, paintings, and more. As Kihara Toshie has observed, collectors recognized that such possessions “enhanced their social status and became property that could be passed on to their heirs.”32 Thus a new historicism developed in seventeenth-century Japan, and interest in art of the past was one of its facets. It is unlikely, however, that this was the sort of historicism we are familiar with today. As visual and textual sources from seventeenth-century Japan demonstrate, many people knew something of the past, whether of heroic personalities or intriguing events. Yet even individuals steeped in learning did not conceive of the past in terms of detailed, linear chronologies or coherent periods as do modern academic historians. Herbert Plutschow explains that the notion of time in premodern Japan depended on periodicity, or a cyclical understanding, which contrasts with our [modern, Western] linear concept of time according to which all time past is time lost, never recovered other than perhaps in historiography or the theatre. Cyclical time assumes that past time can be recuperated . . . [and] forces people to see their actions as repetitions and imitations of the past.33 In a culture that views time as cyclical, the past is integral to the present in preserving people’s sense of a common identity and social normalcy. In Edo Japan, artists and patrons shaped a generalized classical repertory and used its

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forms and associations not only to comment on the past but also to situate themselves advantageously in the changing social order of their day. Artists from virtually every school and workshop selected subjects and styles that drew upon tradition, some dedicating themselves exclusively to classical approaches and others sporadically selecting classical manners. Complemented by contemporary styles and themes, classicism was without question a leading movement in art of the seventeenth century. Indeed, artists produced classicizing art in a variety of mediums including painting, ceramics, lacquer, architecture, and garden design. Although this book deals primarily with painting, a comprehensive analysis of the early Edo classical revival would incorporate works in so-called decorative mediums such as ceramic pieces by Nonomura Ninsei (d. ca. 1694) and lacquer objects by Igarashi D≤ho (ca. 1643–1678). Ninsei, D≤ho, and other artists made use of tradition in their own ways, responding to varied audiences with varied understandings of the past, and their output launched a host of creative efforts in later centuries. Tawaraya S≤tatsu and Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558–1637) would later come to serve as models for successive generations of painters today categorized as Rimpa artists; the new synthetic manner of Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691) would be passed down to a long line of followers in and out of the court atelier; and the innovative approaches of Kano Tan’y≥ spread among the bakufu painters and beyond to town painters (machi-eshi). In addition, Kano Sanraku (1559–1635) and Kano Sansetsu (1589–1651) established a lineage that prevailed in Kyoto; Sumiyoshi Jokei (1599 – 1670) and Sumiyoshi Gukei (1631 – 1705) provided impetus for scores of Sumiyoshi artists; Iwasa Matabei (1578 – 1650) trained a group of pupils and played a role in launching the artistic movement of ukiyo-e (pictures of the floating world). As Edo culture unfolded, the classicizing work of many seventeenth-century artists became canonical in its own right, setting a standard and providing a model for future generations. With the dawn of the Edo period, therefore, a new historicism blossomed in a country exhausted by war. Just as the Tokugawa leaders recognized the need to quell military and political turbulence, they saw the value of shaping a new social order and sponsoring traditional cultural forms that could express their dominance. Other constituencies in Edo society also looked to time-honored cultural forms to ensure their elite status on a shifting cultural terrain. Thus warriors on the one hand and aristocrats and commoners on the other came to appreciate—for different reasons—arts glorifying the past. The arts of old that artists and patrons chose as models did not share a fixed manner or a set thematic repertory, but they provided a grammar and a vocabulary that could be

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adopted wholly or selectively for a certain situation or a particular audience. Various agents encouraged the development of historicizing art, although they showed little commitment to historical accuracy as we might define it today. Seventeenth-century art came to be labeled “classical” only in the modern period, and the contributors to this book reject the purported equivalence between seventeenth-century references to the past and modern notions of an early-Edo classical revival. Modern writers who first identified Edo artistic classicism followed Western notions of canonicity and cultural authority—contributing to the invention of a timeless, unchanging aesthetic category that had direct ties to the emergence of a modern national identity. These modern constructions of Japanese classicism occurred against the backdrop of a Western-led colonial order in Asia and carried many problematic connotations. Yet despite its internal contradictions, its manifest anachronism, and its ideological assumptions, classicism persists as a dominant paradigm in cultural studies of both the West and the East. Using classicism as a point of departure, the essays in this book therefore contribute to a significant current debate around the globe.

All eight contributors to this volume question what is “classical” about early Edo artistic production. Certain authors focus on the scholarly reception of artworks venerated as classical, taking a historiographic approach to clarify when terms and concepts related to classicism were introduced and uncovering hidden structures of the modern Japanese discourse on classicism. These chapters add to recent critical investigations of ideological motives embedded within cultural studies and shed a skeptical light on claims of neutrality made by modern scholars. Other authors inquire into the communities of artists and patrons who participated in the classical revival, demonstrating the inadequacies of received explanations for the functioning of Edo classicism. The final two chapters consider artworks not previously designated as classical but for which the term—broadly understood to connote strategic reference to the past—is equally valid. Despite a shared interest in reappraising classicism, however, the contributors do not agree on the applicability of the term to seventeenth-century Japanese art. Some contributors think that classicism distorts our understanding of the ways Japanese artists and audiences of the seventeenth century viewed art; others find the term useful in describing artistic developments and concerns of the day. The latter writers could easily substitute the phrases “uses of tradition” or “the authority of various pasts,” which are, in fact, common working defini-

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tions of classicism. Contributors may differ in their attitudes about classicism, but all agree that the modernist handling of classicism as an exclusively aesthetic, value-free indicator of taste presents us with difficulties. We recognize the relevance of recent scholarly currents such as postcolonial, postimperialist, and feminist studies, which call into question totalizing or essentializing approaches that privilege dominant segments of Western culture. Therefore, with a host of varied backgrounds and diverse outlooks, this volume presents a range of approaches to the study of early Edo art and culture. In the end, however, we leave it to the reader to decide whether classicism is problematic to seventeenth-century art. The first two chapters focus mainly on artists active in the early decades of the seventeenth century—the phase that modern scholars most commonly associate with a classical revival in Edo art. Chapters 3 through 7 carry the exploration of classicism into later decades of the seventeenth century and open up new avenues for investigating classical art in context. These chapters consider both the faithful preservation of certain time-honored traditions and the reworking of past models for specific audiences and clients. Several of the chapters carry us into the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries when various novel currents were just beginning to make themselves known—trends such as the emergence of popular ukiyo-e prints and the inception of Chineseinspired Nanga (literati) painting. With these developments, elements derived from classical art came to play a seminal role in creating waves of innovation that would sweep through later Edo art—such as, to name just one case, ukiyo-e artists’ incorporation of classical references as witty parody or playful metaphor (mitate). In Chapter 1, “Terminology and Ideology: Coming to Terms with ‘Classicism’ in Japanese Art-Historical Writing,” Melanie Trede deconstructs artistic classicism and canon formation. She begins by discussing the role of classicism in Western culture, where it has long been associated with social and ideological notions of cultural value. Next Trede explains ways in which late Edo authors borrowed terms related to classicism from Chinese aesthetic discourses to construct a protonationalist argument for the superiority of native styles of Japanese art and how, in the process, they laid the foundation for modern Japanese notions of canonicity. Finally, Trede exposes the twentieth-century discourse on Japanese artistic classicism—specifically, its use of Western terms such as “classical revival” and “renaissance” to defend Japaneseness as a singularly important development in Edo art. Uncovering links with nationalism, she thus places classicism under suspicion.

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In Chapter 2, “Tawaraya S≤tatsu and the ‘Yamato-e Revival,’ ” Satoko Tamamushi focuses on four paradigmatic artworks considered central to modern concepts of Edo classicism. She describes the convoluted process by which early-twentieth-century researchers came to credit S≤tatsu with restoring sections of the Heian-period Sutra Scrolls of the Taira Family (Heike n≤ky≤)—suggesting S≤tatsu’s direct contact with early yamato-e and supposedly proving that the humble town painter was in a position to revive ancient elite traditions in Japanese painting. Many scholars have claimed that the results of S≤tatsu’s contact with early yamato-e can be seen in his later large-scale compositions, such as the three pairs of screens analyzed by Tamamushi. These screens— little known in the late Edo period—were introduced to the public just as a S≤tatsu rage began to hit in the modern period. Imagining S≤tatsu as a great revivalist and catalyst, modern scholars identified the screens’ subjects as themes resurrected from Heian courtly culture. But in Tamamushi’s estimation, the screens are layered with meanings, some from popular culture of S≤tatsu’s own day. In Chapter 3, “The Patrons of Tawaraya S≤tatsu and Ogata K≤rin,” Keiko Nakamachi reconstructs patronage networks established by two leading Rimpa painters said to have contributed to early Edo classicism and examines the function and status of their art. S≤tatsu’s sponsors came from a variety of backgrounds, but thematically and stylistically his painting was most closely associated with the imperial court. K≤rin (1658 – 1716), born several decades after S≤tatsu’s presumed death, had fewer opportunities to receive commissions from elites in Kyoto, driving him to seek an alternative clientele among prominent warriors in Edo. Nakamachi makes a significant point about the subjects that S≤tatsu and K≤rin chose to illustrate: according to a hierarchy of images upheld by warrior lords, scenes with imported subjects of Chinese figures and flowers-and-birds held the foremost place whereas native Rimpa themes held a low status. Nevertheless, as Nakamachi explains, the classical Rimpa repertory was an effective platform on which S≤tatsu and K≤rin could innovate. In Chapter 4, “Japanese Exemplars for a New Age: Genji Paintings from the Seventeenth-Century Tosa School,” Laura Allen explores the incorporation of traditional artistic themes into early Edo discourses on moral conduct for women. For centuries the education of women at court had centered on such classics of Japanese literature as The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari), and familiarity with such narratives was de rigueur for women from wealthy warrior and merchant families as well. Allen informs us, however, that early Edo proliferation of Genji illustrations owes a great deal to the formation of new para-

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digms of moral and literary cultivation for women, along with the recent release in print of The Tale of Genji. From the mid-seventeenth century on, publishers increased production of didactic books for women with texts printed in Japanese script, often accompanied by illustrations. Later in her chapter Allen attends to Genji paintings by Tosa Mitsuoki, who honored stylistic orthodoxy and selected female characters based on their decorous behavior, refined taste, artistic accomplishment, and worthy progeny. In Chapter 5, “A New ‘Classical’ Theme: The One Hundred Poets from Elite to Popular Art in the Early Edo Period,” Joshua Mostow considers album paintings of the One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu), a collection of verse compiled in the thirteenth century by Fujiwara no Teika. Although this collection was prized as a literary classic within a century of its creation, it seems that visual artists adopted its subjects only in the seventeenth century. Mostow focuses on three Hyakunin isshu albums produced in the Kano and Tosa ateliers, one clearly dating to the Kanbun era (1661–1673) and the other two probably dating either to the same era or shortly thereafter. As Mostow reveals, Kano and Tosa yamato-e styles converged by midcentury in the illustration of these albums—Tan’y≥ borrowing Tosa approaches and Mitsuoki adopting Kano techniques. Kano school painters produced many such albums for courtier-warrior weddings in the second half of the seventeenth century, and Mostow suggests that these albums conveyed prayers for the peace of the nation. The final two chapters address developments commonly omitted from the canon of classical arts: a Tokugawa classicism formulated by Kano painters and a populist classicism bolstering imperial prestige. In considering the classical dimensions of these developments, the volume expands upon a little-studied aspect of classicism—namely its operation as an expression of social and cultural authority on the part of two elite groups, the ruling military regime and the ancient imperial family. In Chapter 6, “Classical Imagery and Tokugawa Patronage: A Redefinition in the Seventeenth Century,” Karen Gerhart looks into the decorative program for two compounds of Nij≤ Castle in Kyoto: the emperor’s Visitation Palace—built for retired emperor Gomizunoo (1596 – 1680; r. 1611 – 1629) and his wife for their five-day visit to a residence of former shogun Tokugawa Hidetada (1579–1632; r. 1605–1623)—and the adjoining Ninomaru Palace. Commissioned by the Tokugawa and executed under the direction of Kano Tan’y≥ in the mid-1620s, these paintings were weighted with political messages and, as Gerhart reveals, were chosen because they could convey and enforce Tokugawa hegemony. She proposes that the warrior class

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constructed its identity upon a glorified image of their martial heritage, which differed from concepts of a golden age of Heian court culture. Intending to give visual expression to warrior ideals in a new age, the Kano artists fashioned a unique version of classicism: a “Tokugawa classicism.” In the final chapter, “Uses of the Past: Gion Float Paintings as Instruments of Classicism,” I look at the conjunction of art and politics by examining a set of paintings once displayed in the retirement palace of T≤fukumon’in, wife of Emperor Gomizunoo and daughter of Tokugawa Hidetada. These paintings depict the Gion Festival, a joyful celebration of the masses held each summer in Kyoto. Although not a subject from age-old verse or narrative, these Gion paintings are unmistakably classical in their reference to the social relations of past eras. Initiated by a mid-ninth-century emperor, the festival later came to express the vitality of commoner townspeople, a vitality that supposedly depended on imperial sustenance. Thus as an image that pointed to traditional notions of imperial responsibility for maintaining harmony in the land and ensuring the well-being of the people, these Gion Float paintings served the goals of the imperial family in terms of cultural clout if not legal or political power. The book concludes with an afterword by Quitman Phillips, who reconsiders the problematic designation of a classical revival in seventeenth-century Japanese art. A glossary, an appendix listing artists and schools, and an extensive bibliography offer further background on classicism in seventeenth-century Japanese art.

Notes I would like to thank Laura Allen, Karen Gerhart, Paul Jaskot, Joshua Mostow, Melanie Trede, and Patricia Fister for valuable suggestions on revising this introduction, as well as Britt Salvesen for editorial suggestions. 1. Although often referred to as the Edo period, based on the name of the capital city of Edo (present-day Tokyo), this era is alternatively called the Tokugawa period. In addition, it is alternatively dated 1615–1868. 2. Modern art historians have applied the term “classicism” to several other types of Japanese art, including Buddhist sculptures of the Hakuh≤ (645– 710) and the Tenpy≤ (710–794) periods. For more on this question see Chapter 1 by Melanie Trede. Art historians are not alone in drawing such analogies; political historian Kenneth Alan Grossberg, for one, posits that Japan experienced a political renaissance in the Muromachi period (1392–1573) like that experienced by states in Renaissance Italy. See Grossberg, Japan’s Renaissance: The Politics of the Muromachi Bakufu (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 13. 3. Similarly, in his groundbreaking study of classicism in Western architectural his-

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tory, Richard Krautheimer explores Charlemagne’s use of Roman architectural forms to buttress his royal authority—thus considering classicism as an instrumentalized style for building. See Krautheimer, “The Classical Revival in Early Christian Architecture,” Art Bulletin 24 (1942):1–38. 4. For Robert Brower and Earl Miner, the classical period of Japanese poetry extended from 784 until 1350. See Brower and Miner, Japanese Court Poetry (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1961). Helen Craig McCullough dates the classical age of Japanese literature from the ninth to the seventeenth centuries. See McCullough, ed. and comp., Classical Japanese Prose: An Anthology (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), 1. 5. Two sources in English explore the literary basis of classical Japanese arts in depth: John Rosenfield et al., The Courtly Tradition in Japanese Art and Literature: Selections from the Hofer and Hyde Collections (Cambridge, Mass.: Fogg Art Museum, 1973), and Carolyn Wheelwright, ed., Word in Flower: The Visualization of Classical Literature in Seventeenth-Century Japan (New Haven: Yale University Gallery, 1989). 6. Johann J. Winckelmann, The History of Ancient Art, trans. G. Henry Lodge (Boston: J. R. Osgood, 1880). 7. Heinrich Wölfflin, Principles of Art History, trans. M. D. Hottinger (New York: Holt, 1932). 8. The controversy over canon formation is central to twentieth-century literary criticism. For the foundational argument see Allan Bloom, The Western Canon: The Books and Schools of Ages (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1994), and E. D. Hirsch Jr., Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know (New York: Vintage Books, 1988). For the antifoundational argument see John Guillory, Cultural Capital: The Problem of Literary Canon Formation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). 9. For more on visual imagery and the cultural colonization of Japan by the West see Gennifer Weisenfeld, ed., Positions 8(3) (Winter 2001). 10. Okakura and Ernest Fenollosa, a Harvard graduate who went to Japan in 1878, fostered the study and preservation of ancient Japanese arts. Okakura posited that Asian art history, like that of the West, has followed three developmental stages: the formalistic, the classic, and the romantic. For Okakura, arts of the classic age in Asia exhibit an “objective idealism” and “beauty is sought as the union of spirit and matter,” comparable to works sculpted by the ancient Greek masters. See Okakura Kakuzo, The Ideals of the East with Special Reference to the Art of Japan (Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1971), 165. 11. ∑kuma Shigenobu, Fifty Years of New Japan (London: Dutton, 1909), 342. 12. F. G. Notehelfer has observed that Okakura presented an “artistic counterattack against the West” in his Ideals of the East. See Notehelfer, “On Idealism and Realism in the Thought of Okakura Tenshin,” Journal of Japanese Studies 16(2) (1990):333. 13. For more on a Meiji literary canon and nationalism see Haruo Shirane, “Issues in Canon Formation,” in Haruo Shirano and Tomi Suzuki, eds., Inventing the Classics: Modernity, National Identity, and Japanese Literature (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001), 11–12. 14. See Kuroda Toshio, “Ch≥sei ni okeru kenmitsu taisei no tenkai,” in Kuroda Toshio chosakush≥, vol. 2 (Kyoto: H≤s≤kan, 1994). In English see Kuroda, “The Discourse on the ‘Land of the Kami’ (Shinkoku) in Medieval Japan: National Consciousness and International Awareness,” trans. Fabio Rambelli, Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 23 (1996):353–385; and Fabio Rambelli, “Religion, Ideology of Domination, and Nation-

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alism: Kuroda Toshio on the Discourse of Shinkoku,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 23 (1996):387–426. 15. Roy Andrew Miller, Japan’s Modern Myth: The Language and Beyond (New York: Weatherhill, 1982). 16. Sat≤ D≤shin, “Sekaikan no saihen to rekishikan no saihen,” in T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru (Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999); p. 21 of the English text. 17. Joshua Mostow, “Nihon no bijutsu gensetsu to miyabi,” in Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru, 232–239. 18. Certain scholars still define Momoyama culture as extending to the first decades of the seventeenth century. See Fukui Rikichir≤, “Momoyama jidai no bijutsu,” in Nihon Rekishi Chiri Gakkai, ed., Azuchi-Momoyama jidaishi ron (Tokyo: Jiny≥sha, 1915), 371–440. 19. See Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤, Ch≥sei bunka no kich≤ (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1953); Koten bunka no s≤z≤ (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1964); and Kinsei dent≤ bunkaron (Tokyo: S≤gensha, 1974). 20. Many historians continue to speak of a Kan’ei cultural phase, particularly in reference to developments in the ancient imperial capital. Along similar lines, John Rosenfield describes a “Kyoto renaissance” starting slightly earlier than the Kan’ei cultural phase. See Rosenfield, Extraordinary Persons: Works by Eccentric, Nonconformist Japanese Artists of the Early Modern Era (1580 – 1868) in the Collection of Kimiko and John Powers (Cambridge, Mass.: Sackler Museum, 1999), 115. 21. Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤, Machish≥: Ky≤to ni okeru “shimin” keisei-shi (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1964). For more on the theory of Kan’ei cultural efflorescence see Chapter 3 by Keiko Nakamachi in this volume. Hayashiya’s notion that a machish≥courtier alliance was central to the classical revival of the Kan’ei cultural phase is accepted by a number of scholars, including the prominent art historians Yamane Y≥z≤, Mizuo Hiroshi, Tsuji Nobuo, Minamoto Toyomune, and K≤no Motoaki, who speak of the machish≥ connections of early Edo artists. 22. Recent years have witnessed a strong interest in Japanese arts following such dynastic traditions, as evident in exhibitions on this theme. Catalogs to the exhibits include the following: Ishikawa Tadashi, Shirahata Yoshi, and Takeda Tsuneo, eds., Miyako no miyabi: Kinsei no ky≥tei bunkaten (Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1988); Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, ed., Ky≥tei bunka no hana (Tokyo: Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, 1993); Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, ed., Ky≥ Katsurag≥ denrai no bijutsu—miyabi to karei (Tokyo: Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, 1996); and Tokyo National Museum, ed., K≤shitsu no meih≤—gosokui j≥nen kinen tokubetsuten (Tokyo: Tokyo National Museum, 1999). Recent exhibitions in the United States reveal a similar interest in Japanese courtly art and dynastic traditions. Catalogs to these include the following: Rosenfield et al., The Courtly Tradition; Wheelwright, Word in Flower; Boston Museum of Fine Arts, ed., Courtly Splendor: Twelve Centuries of Treasures from Japan (Boston: Boston Museum of Fine Arts: 1990); Ann Yonemura et al., Twelve Centuries of Japanese Art from the Imperial Collections (Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, 1997); Hirabayashi Moritoku et al., Essays: Twelve Centuries of Japanese Art from the Imperial Collections (Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, 1997); and Maribeth Graybill, Manabe Shunsh≤, and Sadako Ohki, Days of Discipline and Grace:

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Treasures from the Imperial Buddhist Convents of Kyoto (New York: Institute for Medieval Japanese Studies, 1998). 23. David Pollack, for one, elaborates on features of Chinese literature borrowed by Heian authors and poets, noting that the author of The Tale of Genji repeatedly introduced topics related to China as a means to clarify and glorify the uniqueness of Japan. See Pollack, The Fracture of Meaning: Japan’s Synthesis of China from the Eighth Through the Eighteenth Centuries (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), 61. 24. Miyajima Shin’ichi, “Emperors as Artists and Cultural Leaders,” trans. Maribeth Graybill, in Hirabayashi et al., Essays, 11–12. 25. The earliest known use of the term “yamato-e” occurs in a description of folding screens from an entry dated to the thirtieth day of the tenth month of Ch≤h≤ 2 (999) in the Gonki (Record of rights) written by Fujiwara no K≤zei; however, the current conceptualization of yamato-e was largely formed in the early twentieth century. Two studies helped lay the foundation of current yamato-e studies: Akiyama Terukazu, Heian jidai sezokuga no kenky≥ (Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1964), and Ienaga Sabur≤, J≤dai yamato-e zenshi, rev. ed. (Tokyo: Bokusui Shob≤, 1966). 26. See, for example, Tokyo National Museum, ed., Muromachi jidai no by≤buten: Kokka s≤kan hyakunen kinen (Tokyo: Asahi Shimbunsha, 1989), and Michael R. Cunningham, The Triumph of Japanese Style: Sixteenth-Century Art in Japan (Cleveland: Cleveland Museum of Art, 1991). 27. For more on this question see Chapter 2 by Satoko Tamamushi. 28. Eiko Ikegami, The Taming of the Samurai: Honorific Individualism and the Making of Modern Japan (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 152. 29. Rosenfield, Extraordinary Persons, 115. 30. See Ky≤to Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, ed., Tan’y≥ shukuzu, 2 vols. (Kyoto: Kyoto National Museum, 1981). 31. Some of these were only published in the modern era. Tansei jakubokush≥ by Kano Ikkei (1599 – 1662), Gad≤ y≤ketsu by Kano Yasunobu (1613 – 1685), and Honch≤ gashi by Kano Ein≤ (1631 – 1697) are published in Sakazaki Tan, ed., Nihon garon taikan, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Meich≤ Fuky≥kai, 1979 – 1980). See Quitman E. Phillips, “Honch≤ Gashi and the Kano Myth,” Archives of Asian Art 67 (1994):46–57. 32. Kihara Toshie, “The Search for Profound Delicacy: The Art of Kano Tan’y≥,” in Miyeko Murase and Judith G. Smith, eds., The Arts of Japan: An International Symposium (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000), 91. 33. Herbert Plutschow, Matsuri: The Festivals of Japan (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1996), 32–33.

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Chapter One

Melanie Trede

Terminology and Ideology: Coming to Terms with “Classicism” in Japanese Art-Historical Writing

The very title of this book, Critical Perspectives on Classicism in Japanese Painting, 1600 – 1700, and the assembled chapters—all of which refer to the seemingly familiar Western concept of classicism—compel us to pose a set of questions. What does it mean when we characterize a period as being “classic” in a European context, and what does it mean when we apply this expression to Japanese cultural discourse? We must examine the historical circumstances of the origins of this term to identify those who shaped it in the past, as well as those who use it today. We need to scrutinize the aims, purposes, and historical circumstances of those who employ the term “classicism.” And we have to interrogate the specific meanings that emerge when “classicism” is applied to particular artworks. These inquiries are important because the concepts and discourses that develop around works of art are vital to the construction and subsequent reevaluation of objects, styles, and artistic schools, as recent scholarship on Japanese art history demonstrates.1 Rather than analyzing artworks, therefore, this chapter focuses on classicism and related terms as discursive concepts that have been used in constructing a history of art of the early Tokugawa period (1600–1868).2 I analyze several key notions related to classicism, and I consider several of the painters whose work is commonly selected to illustrate certain cultural characteristics of the Tokugawa period. The result, as we shall see, is a more complex picture of the different agendas and viewpoints of scholars who claim that a classical revival occurred in seventeenth-century Japanese art. While I would avoid using the term “classicism” altogether, the aim of this chapter is not to evaluate the applicability of the term but to explore the historical complexity of this concept

The word “classic” has a somewhat chilly sound. —Heinrich Wölfflin

and offer a critical analysis of the discourse surrounding classicism in Japan, Western Europe, and the United States. The Chinese art historian John Hay (b. 1939) points out that “the transcultural use of the term ‘classical’ is unavoidably comparative.”3 One might add that a Eurocentric bias informs the academic exercise of locating equivalents for classicism in a non-Western context. As we shall see, however, aesthetic and ideological concepts that are similar to classicism did exist in Japan during the Tokugawa period and later. Such concepts played a role in setting standards and establishing canons, as critics chose to appraise certain artists and schools of art while they disqualified others. I argue in this chapter that the very idea of classicism is a powerful ideological construct and that classicism is a veritable twin to canon formation. I propose that the authoritative selection of a body of approved artworks, a task that is integral to the designation of classics and canons, is not only subject to specific historical circumstances but also implicit in the construction of social and political hierarchies. This chapter uncovers the process by which commentators came to interpret an alleged revival of past modes instigated by seventeenthcentury Japanese artists—in particular Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558–1637), Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?), and Ogata K≤rin (1658–1716)—as well as the process by which these interpretations came to serve specific agendas. It is my contention that the evaluation of S≤tatsu’s painting as the epitome of Japaneseness actually originated in the late eighteenth century, not later as some scholars assert. In Chapter 2, Satoko Tamamushi convincingly argues that several factors led to a reconsideration of S≤tatsu and his paintings in the late Meiji period; while Tamamushi is undoubtedly correct, it is also true that the appreciation of S≤tatsu’s paintings is not a Meiji invention. As we shall see, eighteenth-century literati art critics— motivated by purposes specific to their position—selected S≤tatsu, among others, in constructing a lineage of Japanese painters whom they held, explicitly or implicitly, to be superior to rival artists of their day. Along the way I highlight the various concepts employed by modern art historians in describing paintings of the early Tokugawa period.4 Classicism, it seems, is but one of many options to describe and categorize painting developments, but it is a problematic concept.

The Concept of Classicism This section examines aspects of classicism such as etymology and style; its role as a component of ideology and canon formation; and, finally, classicism as a disciplinary category.

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Etymology and Style The etymology of the terms “classic” and “classical” is found in the Latin word “classis” designating the five groups of Roman people established by the sixth king of Rome, Servius Tullius (fl. 578 – 534 b.c.), who divided the population according to wealth. Classicus specifies the person “who summons the classes of citizens to the Comitia”—an assembly of the people serving legal, electoral, and other functions—and, by extension, the adjective classicus refers only to that which is of the highest order, the first class, a superior standard.5 Thus the identification of something as classical served a decisively social function from the outset. In his discussion of classicism, David Freedberg (b. 1948) points out that classical writers of ancient Rome provided literary models in contrast to the scriptores proletarii, writers of the lowest social strata. As Freedberg aptly notes, the term “classical” thereby acquired an ideological dimension from which it has never managed to escape.6 Consequently, “classical” carries with it two implied dimensions that survive from its origins in ancient Rome: a social dimension, revealing an association with the upper class, and an ideological dimension, pertaining to value judgments made by those in power. Thus we see that Romans conceived of the classic as a standard of perfection and regarded the classics as works sanctioned by the elite. This understanding became central to the classics of modern art history. More specifically, though, European art historians for over a century and a half have identified art of the classic period as Ancient Greek art produced between 480 and 323 b.c. and Roman art of the first centuries c.e. Classic Greek and Roman art is characterized by such attributes as clarity and unity, balance and restraint, symmetry and proportion, harmony and decorum.7 Although they did not necessarily use the term “classical,” architects, sculptors, and painters of later periods—particularly from the European artistic movements of the Renaissance and Neoclassicism—relied on these aesthetic qualities as models. Today artists continue to refer to classic proportions and classical values in their work, as revealed for instance in the 1993 exhibition In a Classical Vein held at the Whitney Museum of American Art. Inherent in the notion of classical art, therefore, is a reference to aesthetic models of the past. Classicism as a Disciplinary Category In describing Japanese Buddhist sculpture of the Hakuh≤ period (645 – 710), modern art historians have frequently employed the term “classical,” equating Hakuh≤ works with classical Greek and Roman art. To cite two cases, scholars have come to regard as classical the bronze Yakushi Buddha Head created for

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Yamadadera in 685 and the Yakushi Buddha Triad in the Golden Hall of Yakushiji in Nara.8 John Rosenfield (b. 1924) explains his reasons for categorizing the two works as such: “We call this style classic, because of its high artistic quality, its universality, its atmosphere of calmness and repose; . . . the predominant mood is an air of grandeur and serenity.”9 Tanaka Hidemichi (b. 1942), professor of the history of European fine arts at T≤hoku University in Sendai, echoes this view in his Art History of Japan in the World (Nihon bijutsu zenshi), labeling the Hakuh≤ and Tenpy≤ periods (645 – 794) as the epoch of classicism in Japanese art history. For Tanaka, Buddhist sculpture of this period embodies the sense captured in a famous phrase by Johann Winckelmann (1719 – 1768), “edle Einfalt und stille Grösse” (noble simplicity and quiet grandeur), by which this pioneer of art-historical studies had characterized art from ancient Greece.10 In this way, twentieth-century writers defined as “classic” sacred icons of the late seventh and eighth centuries that were located in Buddhist centers of the highest importance to the imperial court and aristocracy, centers such as Yakushiji and Yamadadera. Members of the upper class, who had access to Chinese Buddhist sculpture of the Tang dynasty (618 – 907), sponsored the production of these objects of worship following the Tang models.11 The ideological implication at work here is apparent: these icons were sponsored by the upper class for the upper class. Furthermore, these icons were later identified as classic due to the specific combination of political power of their sponsors and use of an authorized style formed in emulation of foreign, mainland standards. The perception of these Buddhist icons as classic, however, was possible only after they came to be reconceptualized as “art” in late-nineteenth-century Japan. Ernest Fenollosa (1853–1908), for instance, claimed that the Buddhist icons of the Hakuh≤ and Tenpy≤ periods belong to a category of “Greco-Buddhist art,” a category that essentially merges modern Western and Japanese notions of classicism.12 Along the same lines, Tanaka Hidemichi adopts a structure for the history of Japanese art that follows a modernist account of the stylistic development of Western art. Not only does he designate the Hakuh≤ and Tenpy≤ periods as the epoch of classicism in Japanese art history, but he then continues by labeling art of the Heian period (784–1185) as “mannerist,” art of the Kamakura period (1185 – 1333) as “baroque,” and art of the Muromachi period (1392 – 1573) and Momoyama period (1573–1600 or 1615) as “romanticist,” following the Western paradigm of stylistic evolution. Tanaka begins his discussion of Tokugawa-

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period art with the “S≤tatsu and K≤rin school” and explains that painting of this period belongs to the “art of Japonisme.” While few historians of Japanese art would subscribe to this mechanical and simplistic appropriation of Western concepts, Tanaka’s strategy highlights another fundamental way in which classicism functions: it serves as an inherent element of a teleological narrative common to art-historical studies. According to this narrative, there is typically an implicit reference to a pejoratively connoted “before” and “after” for the period designated as an age of classicism.13 This function of classicism will be clarified later in the chapter. Ideology and Canon Formation That classicism can convey ideological implications becomes evident in an examination of modern architecture. The classical features of balance and symmetry, monumentality and perfect proportionality, visually manifest law and order, authority and power. These are the messages that nineteenth-century institutions—financial, political, educational, military—almost invariably intended to convey as they participated in the construction of cultural identities for their respective new nation-states. For this reason, corporate bank buildings constructed in Japan during and after the Meiji period were designed in a Western classicizing mode. One such example is the main building of the Bank of Japan (Nihon Gink≤) in Tokyo.14 But we could cite many such buildings of this type still standing in Europe and the United States. A forceful case in point is the tomb of Ulysses S. Grant (1822–1885), the eighteenth president of the United States, which has been described as “majestic, classic, impressively outstanding,”15 as well as “triumphal, patriotic and inspirational.”16 Grant’s Tomb belongs to a group of commemorative monuments erected around the world and characterized by a specific combination of style and function: the style is classicist and the function is as national memorial for a prominent military leader, in this case a general who had fought in the American Civil War (1861 – 1865).17 Here style and a sense of authority converge to legitimize an iconography of contradictory motifs. Whereas the tympanum exhibits Grant’s motto, “Let Us Have Peace,” engraved on a stone slab flanked by two relief sculptures symbolizing Victory and Peace, the inside of the building is replete with nationalist and bellicose imagery.18 These particular motifs were employed for ideological reasons. As Natalie Kampen remarks in her feminist evaluation of classical art, “the classicizing form alerted the audience to the value of the program as cultural artifact and also to its authority, based on the

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styles, however eclectic, of the past.”19 The connection between classical references and a quest for national unity and identity is not only evident in Grant’s Tomb but of critical importance in writings on classicism in Japanese art. As we move from one country to the next, from one period to the next, we notice that the specific past and the particular objects that architects, authors, and artists chose for their models change. Differences in gender, as well as differences in social and political interest, play a role in determining what would be included in a canon of authoritative works. Canon and classicism, consequently, can be considered as two sides of the same coin.20 The very term “classical” embodies, in a broader sense, the notion of excellent standards and a persuasive tradition—critical features for the formation of a canon. As antifoundational canon theory explains, these standards and traditions are constructed by dominant communities or institutions and, consequently, subject to change. Haruo Shirane (b. 1951) illustrates the vagaries of concepts of canonicity in his coedited volume on canon formation in Japanese literature of the Meiji period, Inventing the Classics: Modernity, National Identity, and Japanese Literature. Shirane explains eloquently how the introduction of Western concepts of literature transformed the understanding of Japanese written tradition. For instance, early Meiji-period readers had almost completely forgotten the seventeenth-century author of books of the floating world (ukiyo z≤shi), Ihara Saikaku (1642 – 1693), until his rediscovery in the 1880s. As Japanese intellectuals began to look for works in their own native tradition that were equivalent to Western realist novels, they came to recognize Saikaku as a significant Tokugawa-period author and began to praise his work as classical.21 Scholarly endeavors of this type were, in effect, frantic searches for works from Japan’s past that might match Western works and thereby contribute to the pursuit of national identity through literary and visual arts. And as cultural historians like Eric Hobsbawn (b. 1917) have demonstrated, art and literature may seem to belong to a sphere separate from politics but in fact they are crucial to the formation of a nation-state.22 The writing of Fujioka Sakutar≤ (1870 – 1910), the first prominent modern scholar of Heian-period literature, provides us with another example of ideological objectives informing the reevaluation of the past in establishing classicism. In his book of 1905, A Comprehensive History of National Literature: The Heian Period (Kokubungaku zenshi: Heianch≤ hen), Fujioka argues that literature of the Heian period, not the Hakuh≤ or Tenpy≤ periods, corresponds to the Western classic phase of Greece and Rome. Following the teleological nar-

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rative cited earlier, Fujioka then identifies Tokugawa literary and visual arts as counterparts to arts of the European Renaissance. Furthermore, Fujioka applies a gendered construct to the two epochs he labels “classic” and “renaissance”: he describes the Heian culture that celebrated letters and the nobility as cultivated and feminine; Tokugawa culture he depicts as masculine and concerned with weapons and warriors.23 Just as Fujioka’s book was released, the Japanese military was celebrating a victory in the Russo-Japanese War (1904 – 1905), which helps to explain why he urged the Japanese nation to look for masculine models to enhance its strength and turn to femininity and the arts to encourage its cultivation.24 The fact that Fujioka, at the beginning of the twentieth century, described Heian-period arts in terms of refinement, culture, and femininity, while simultaneously praising these arts as classical, is key to our discussion of classicism in Japanese art of the early Tokugawa period. In Tokugawa Japan, as in other times and places, there was an institution that played a pivotal role in upholding ideology and canon formation as natural ingredients of artistic classicism: the educational/guild system—more specifically for this analysis, the schools and academies of painting.25 The art historian K≤no Motoaki (b. 1943) compared the Japanese Kano school of painters with the official French Académie, which was established in the seventeenth century.26 Similarities between the two institutions include the ordering of official ranks, the bestowing of stipends, and the educating of many generations of painters. K≤no notes two additional similarities: both institutions claimed aesthetic roots derived from sources of a “distant, classical tradition” and both produced art-historical texts canonizing their own philosophy of painting and view of art history. Finally, the Kano texts, like the Académie texts, continue to exert an influence on the perception of art in their respective lands. Based on K≤no’s analysis, we could perhaps say that Kano Tan’y≥ (1602 – 1674) was the quintessential classical painter of seventeenth-century Japan.27 Tan’y≥ was named the leading “painter of the inner quarters” (oku eshi) for the Tokugawa shoguns in Edo; he received the highest rank a painter could attain, that of Dharma Seal (h≤in), in 1665; he trained a cohort of painters to follow his style; and he left huge numbers of sketches and paintings that served as models for his successors. (The activity of copying, of course, is part of the process of canonization.) The canonical status of Kano painting during the Tokugawa period is revealed in the expression “real painting” (honga).28 Beyond this, however, we might also consider Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691) as a classical painter, although of another type. Mitsuoki reestablished the Tosa school as the official painting lineage of the imperial court (edokoro azukari) in Kyoto in 1654; he at-

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tained the rank of Dharma Eye (h≤gen) in 1685; and he wrote The Great Tradition of Painting Methods in Our Country (Honch≤ gah≤ taiden), an art treatise attacking Kano supremacy.29 Mitsuoki set aesthetic standards for painting that answered courtly tastes of his time and for future generations of court painters. There is, then, not just one classicism operating in Japan during the early Tokugawa period but several classicisms. And as explained in the Introduction, different people have different opinions about what should be called classical in seventeenth-century Japanese art. It was later authors and enthusiasts who identified the varieties of early-Tokugawa-period classicism, and they based their identification on the social status and geographic location of the patrons, as well as on the sorts of visual models that painters made use of. In this chapter, however, I do not intend to evaluate seventeenth-century artists in terms of who was (and was not) a classicist painter. I restrict my discussion to the metalevel and examine written texts because my aim is to critically assess the character of the term “classicism” as such. In sum, then, the etymological origins of the term “classical” demonstrate that classicist forms and styles have long been tied to ideology and political power. Classical forms and styles have often been employed to encourage national unity and a common sense of cultural identity. The concept of classicism is closely tied to the establishment of a canon, although the canon is liable to change. And, moreover, the concept of classicism is integral to the constructed European matrix of stylistic developments in art history.

The Chinese Terms “Gudian” and “Gu’i” Japanese concepts equivalent to classicism are expressed in the following three terms: koten (C: gudian) for “classics,” kotenshugi for classicism, and kurashishizumu, the Japanese phonetic transliteration of the English “classicism” used since the Meiji period. I intend to elaborate on koten, but first I should mention two Chinese terms with related but somewhat different connotations: gu’i and guzhuo. Gu’i (J: ko’i) is rendered as “archaic idea,” “idea of the ancient,” having an “antique, old spirit,” or alternatively as “evoking the past, turning to the past.” Two historians of Chinese art, Chu-tsing Li (b. 1920) and John Hay, agree that ko’i is the most appropriate equivalent for “classicism” in the arts of China. In Hay’s estimation, “given that the Chinese tradition was obsessed with exemplars provided by antiquity, the concept of ku-i may seem a ready candidate for ‘classicism.’ ”30 In Japan, pre-Meiji art-historical writers relied heavily on Chinese aesthetic models and employed “ko’i” in their texts in ways sim-

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ilar to the Chinese. The term “ko’i” was by no means applied monolithically, however. Melinda Takeuchi points to one clear case in Japanese art-historical writing where “ko’i” was reinterpreted to allow for artistic license. She cites a comment by the literatus painter and art critic Kuwayama Gyokush≥ (1746 – 1799), who quotes the Chinese painter Shen Hao (1586–after 1661) contending that when “ ‘copying’ the ancients, one need not even have the original in view.”31 For Gyokush≥, then, ko’i did not entail a servile adherence to original antique paintings. In terms of the Chinese concept guzhuo, known in Japan as kosetsu, its meaning is given in English as “antique simplicity” and “clumsiness,” but essentially kosetsu refers to artworks that follow traditional models. The three concepts—koten, ko’i, and kosetsu—originated in Chinese aesthetic discourse and have been used in different contexts in China, as in Japan. Whereas koten is closely linked to the literary field, ko’i and kosetsu are applied to literature as well as to painting, calligraphy, and seal carving. Gudian/Koten In his Introduction to the Studies of Classics (Kotengaku ny≥mon), Ikeda Kikan (1896 – 1956) elaborates on classicism in literature. As he points out, from the earliest times the Chinese concept of gudian did not refer merely to old texts as such but to texts that had been understood as “a kind of rule on which standards of judgment are based.”32 Texts regarded as classics in China were automatically included in the canon of model works—very much like the Western treatment of classics. Japanese discourse followed this Chinese model. An early example of the use of koten in Ikeda’s sense in a Japanese text is the fourteenthcentury war epic The Great Peace (Taiheiki). A passage from the second chapter reads: In another country [China] the subjects Wen Wang and Wu Wang chastised a ruler lacking virtue, while in our country [H≤j≤] Yoshitoki and Yasutoki banished unrighteous sovereigns; and the world saw that it was good. So the classic says: “When a ruler looks upon his subjects as dirt and weeds, the subject looks upon the ruler as a highwayman and an enemy.”33 This passage quotes Mengzi (372 – 289 b.c.e.), whose writings are identified here as koten and presented as justification for the banishment of several Japanese emperors at the hands of the warrior lords H≤j≤ Yoshitoki and Yasutoki. Ikeda contends that the very term “koten” was used in Japan to refer to canonical Chinese classics until the late eighteenth century.34 Then came a change with the advent of the protonationalist kokugaku group of literary

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scholars that included Motoori Norinaga (1730 – 1801). Norinaga rejected the term “koten” because of its inherent Chinese connotations and instead proposed an alternative expression, furukotobumi or furukikotofumi, to designate ancient texts. Norinaga deliberately rendered furukotobumi and furukikotofumi in the allegedly more Japanese hiragana syllabary rather than in Chinese characters, and, in keeping, these words were meant to denote old texts that were specifically Japanese. In the Meiji period, scholars felt the need to incorporate European literature into the aesthetic discourse. The term “koten” was therefore adapted to form “kotenshugi,” which was being used to translate the European term “classicism,” and in literature it referred to Chinese, Japanese, and European “old texts.” Gu’i /Ko’i Chinese poems of the Tang dynasty that were devoted to the past often employed the term “gu’i” in their titles. Hans Frankel translates the term as “evoking the past, turning to the past,” or “in ancient style,” and says that poets had established certain patterns of relating to the past by the Tang dynasty.35 In arthistorical commentary, the first known use of the term occurs in the writings of the famous painter and calligrapher Mi Fu (1051 – 1107) of the Northern Song dynasty (960–1126). In his History of Painting (Huashi), Mi Fu uses “gu’i” as a favorable term with which to praise artists and artworks; however, the sense of the term is not distinctively aesthetic here.36 During the Yuan dynasty (1279– 1368), Zhao Mengfu (1254 – 1322) was decisive in elaborating upon the term “gu’i.” In a famous colophon on his landscape painting dated to 1301, Zhao writes: A sense of antiquity (ku-i) is essential in painting. If there is no sense of antiquity, then although a work is skillful, it is without value. . . . The fact is that if a sense of antiquity is lacking, all types of faults appear throughout a work, and why should one look at it? What I paint seems to be summary and rough, but connoisseurs realize that it is close to the ancients, and so consider it beautiful.37 It is no coincidence that the practice of aestheticizing things of the past occurred contemporaneously with the rise of literati art theory in the Yuan dynasty and the Ming dynasty (1368 – 1644). A central tenet of literati painting is the study and thorough knowledge of past models. Even though the preceding comment by Zhao Mengfu does not clarify which specific antiquity he is referring to, later Ming critics of art, in particular Dong Qichang (1555–1636) and

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his circle, do specify. Following Chan Buddhist concepts, these Ming critics developed a theory dichotomizing Chinese painting traditions into a positively connoted Southern school of painting (C: nanzong; J: nansh≥ga; also nanga, bunjinga) and a less favorably valued Northern school of professional painters.38 Although this theory entered Japan presumably just before the end of the seventeenth century, it was taken up in art-historical writing only during the eighteenth century concurrent with the emergence of literati painting and literati art criticism in Japan.39 The concepts of ko’i and kosetsu play a more limited role in the pre-Meiji Japanese discourse than they do in Chinese writing, however, and do not match the importance given to classicism in European art treatises.

The Concept of Ko’i Art-historical writing in Japan began to take shape on a large scale in the seventeenth century and from the start was indebted to Chinese precedents.40 But it was not until the latter half of the eighteenth century—when Japanese literati painters began to study and emulate Chinese painting manuals, including texts by Dong Qichang—that ko’i became an important concept.41 Nakayama K≤y≤ (1717 – 1780), a literati painter and poet from Tosa domain (present-day K≤chi prefecture), appears to have been the first Japanese author to employ the notion of ko’i. K≤y≤ uses this term in his Gratuitous Chats on Painting (Gadan keiroku) of 1775 (An’ei 4),42 but only in his discussion of Chinese painting. K≤y≤ employs ko’i to praise the use of color in pre-Tang Buddhist and Daoist figure painting and to describe the effective rendering of plum trees with ink wash. In volume three of Gratuitous Chats, K≤y≤ then echoes Zhao Mengfu’s famous phrase, though without quoting him: “The ancients also revered the antique spirit; if there is no antique spirit, the painting might have been technically perfect but to no avail. If one does not learn by looking at old masters, then the essential antique spirit will be lacking.”43 This passage emphasizes the weight given to the study of earlier artworks and shows that for K≤y≤ and other literati painters ko’i was an indispensable quality of good painting. The earliest known reference to seventeenth-century Japanese paintings that exhibit ko’i and kosetsu is made by the eighteenth-century artist and critic cited earlier, Kuwayama Gyokush≥, in his Humble Words on Matters of Painting (Kaiji higen) dated to 1799 (Kansei 11), the year of Gyokush≥’s death. Humble Words was printed posthumously by Kimura Kenkad≤ (1736 – 1802), Gyokush≥’s friend, partner in painting discussions, and literatus painter in his own

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right. Kenkad≤, as we shall see, was probably responsible for making a number of significant editorial changes while putting Gyokush≥’s manuscript into print. Humble Words seems to have been printed in a small edition, judging from the few extant copies.44 Because Gyokush≥ was an art critic and literatus painter well versed in Chinese aesthetics, it is no surprise that he derived his most decisive arguments from Chinese theoretical treatises. It is astonishing, however, that he applied the aesthetic qualities of ko’i and kosetsu to the early-Tokugawaperiod painters S≤tatsu and K≤rin: In recent times, S≤tatsu and K≤rin followed another kind of painting. Even though S≤tatsu specialized in applying color in his flower and grass paintings, his works possess antique spirit (ko’i) in abundance. Also, in his boneless method of ink painting, his style is increasingly simple and exquisite; in all this he followed the laws of nature, and he created paintings that possess spirit resonance (kiin). K≤rin aimed at antique simplicity (kosetsu) in all his figure and flower paintings, and he often avoided the usual way of painters.45 For Gyokush≥, S≤tatsu’s colored paintings exemplify the quality of antique spirit (ko’i) and his work in general possesses spirit resonance (J: kiin; C: qiyun),46 while K≤rin’s paintings demonstrate antique simplicity (kosetsu). The only other forms in painting that Gyokush≥ describes as possessing antique simplicity are the figures in “old Tosa paintings,” which he characterizes with the term “kiin” (spirit resonance).47 Gyokush≥ probably derives this assessment in part from K≤y≤’s Gratuitous Chats, which mentions “grasses and flowers” by S≤tatsu and K≤rin, along with figure painting by Toba S≤j≤ (1053–1140) and pictures of the revered vagabond Hotei by Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ (1584 – 1639). K≤y≤ refers to these artists as professional painters (senmonka), having previously praised “the large number of exquisite” (my≤) professional painters in China.48 Like Gyokush≥, K≤y≤ regards the figures in Tosa paintings as being “refined” (ga), but Gyokush≥ adds a new dimension to the evaluation by introducing for the first time the positively connoted qualities of ko’i and kosetsu from Chinese art treatises to celebrate these Japanese painters. The only other seventeenth-century Japanese painter Gyokush≥ evaluates in similar terms is Kano Tan’y≥. He lauds in particular Tan’y≥’s depictions of Mount Fuji, describing them, like S≤tatsu’s paintings, as possessing spirit resonance (kiin). But in Gyokush≥’s appraisal, Tan’y≥’s work conveys a limited sense of antique spirit, or ko’i, unlike S≤tatsu’s paintings.49 Why does Gyokush≥ single out S≤tatsu and K≤rin for such high approbation in his assessment of Japanese painting? I believe that his reasons are linked

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to the overall rhetoric of his Humble Words. The thrust of this treatise lies in its endeavor to apply the Northern/Southern theory of Dong Qichang to the Japanese case and to construct a lineage of Southern school painters in Japan. Gyokush≥ observes that the style of the Northern school had been passed on gradually to Japan through the paintings of Josetsu (fl. 1394 – 1428), Sh≥bun (ca. 1400 – ca. 1454), and Kano Motonobu (1476 – 1559). According to Gyokush≥, the Southern school had not been transmitted sufficiently but was just starting to take shape.50 He identifies recently deceased artists—Gion Nankai (1677–1751), Sakaki Hyakusen (1698–1753), and Yanagisawa Kien (1706–1758) —as the founders of the Southern school in Japan and places Ike no Taiga (1723 – 1776) at the pinnacle of this group. Clearly Gyokush≥ regards these painters as precursors of his own painting in the literati mode. And for Gyokush≥, paintings by his teacher Taiga naturally convey the epitome of this development. There is a significant sentence in the printed edition of Humble Words: “I thought, surreptitiously, whether it is not possible to refer to the ink plays of Lord Konoe [Konoe Nobutada (1565 – 1614)], the paintings by Seisei≤ [Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤], S≤tatsu, K≤rin, and others also as the Southern school of our country?”51 Nobutada, Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin are implicitly lauded here as the pioneers of a Japanese version of Dong’s favored Southern school of painting. Kobayashi Tadashi (b. 1941) compares Gyokush≥’s original manuscript of Humble Words with Kenkad≤’s later printed version and elucidates Kenkad≤’s pivotal role in taking the rhetorical gist of Gyokush≥’s manuscript a step further in print. It is not clear whether the sentences that Kenkad≤ added to the manuscript reveal his personal opinion or whether they convey the content of previous discussions between Kenkad≤ and Gyokush≥. But because Kenkad≤ had the final word as editor of the text, I will refer to the foregoing quotation concerning Nobutada, Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin as a shared comment by Gyokush≥ and Kenkad≤.52 Why did Gyokush≥ and Kenkad≤ add this comment when S≤tatsu and K≤rin had already been identified as the founders of the Southern school in a previous passage of Humble Words? Scholars have suggested that they added this comment due to the styles employed by the painters in question, as well as their personalities and their eccentricity.53 While these features are certainly part of the picture, another factor seems to be equally decisive: neither Nobutada, Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, nor K≤rin belonged to a lineage of painters or a school of painting as had the Kano and Tosa artists. Thus they were apt candidates to push the origins of the Southern school further back in time.54 It is significant that S≤tatsu and K≤rin preceded the constructed lineage of literati painters, and Gyokush≥ and Kenkad≤ describe them

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as painters who could express ko’i and kosetsu, suggesting that they are masters with superior aesthetic capacities. There are parallels between, on the one hand, Gyokush≥’s and Kenkad≤’s discussion of seventeenth-century painters who made effective use of native traditions and, on the other, the quest in late-eighteenth-century Japan for a common identity vis-à-vis Chinese traditions.55 Gyokush≥’s and Kenkad≤’s motives in delineating a distinctly Japanese literati style of painting—as well as their search for earlier origins of a Southern school reaching back beyond the generation of Gion Nankai—must be set in the context of their times and against the backdrop of multifold activities of social and political elites. The personalities involved in such activities had as their goal the creation of a distinctly Japanese tradition realized in part through collecting, recording, copying, and reevaluating works of art and literature. Matsudaira Sadanobu (1758 – 1829), who had served as chief counselor to the shogun since 1787 and regent since 1788, ordered the painter Tani Bunch≤ (1763–1840) and others to compile the “Ten Types of Collected Antiquities” (Sh≥ko jisshu), an encyclopedic project including exact drawings of some two thousand antique treasures kept around the Japanese states. Results of the project were first printed in eighty-five volumes in 1800.56 A few years earlier, in the restoration of the Kyoto imperial palace, which had burned to ashes in the disastrous Tenmei fire of 1788, builders followed the Heian-period palace model as it had been recreated in historical studies.57 In 1790, nine years before the publication of Humble Words, Motoori Norinaga labored to prove the superiority of Japanese cultural traditions over other ethnic and national legacies in his extensive study of the Kojiki of 712, the earliest historical account of Japan. As Naoki Sakai (b. 1946) notes, Norinaga’s argument demonstrates a prototypical international consciousness comparable to the various European nationalisms of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.58 What distinguishes this thinking from European forms of nationalism, however, was the perceived necessity of encouraging two concurrent forms of nationalism in Japan. As Haruo Shirane notes, one of these forms was an Asian or East Asian nationalism and the other was a nationalism unique to Japan.59 Although these two forms of nationalism became prominent only in the Meiji period, we find traces of them in the passage from Humble Words quoted earlier. Clearly Gyokush≥ and Kenkad≤ were attempting to construct and appraise an independent lineage of Japanese painters by designating Nobutada, Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin as the Southern school of Japan. Gyokush≥’s and Kenkad≤’s intentions become more apparent in an argu-

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ment made by Anzai Un’en (1807 – 1856) in his Chats About Calligraphy and Painting of Famous Masters of Recent Times (Kinsei meika shoga dan), printed in three stages in 1830, 1844, and 1852 (Tenp≤ 1, Tenp≤ 15, and Ka’ei 5). In fact, in Chats Un’en quotes Gyokush≥’s lineage of the Japanese Southern school, beginning with Gion Nankai. Un’en, a native of Edo who had studied painting in Nagasaki, was a dealer in painting and calligraphy but is best known for his writings on connoisseurship. Although Un’en’s rhetoric in Chats is not as straightforward as Gyokush≥’s in Humble Words, he certainly did his homework in reading literati criticism. Un’en quotes Zhao Mengfu’s famous comment on studying old masters, cited earlier, and he makes use of the term “ko’i” to distinguish good from bad painters throughout his Chats. Un’en, like Gyokush≥, follows Dong Qichang’s dichotomy of Northern and Southern schools. Identifying S≤tatsu and K≤rin as professional painters, Un’en explains that their paintings of grasses and flowers, along with Sh≤j≤’s figures, deserve respect and praise. Un’en then states: Furthermore, it is said that Tawaraya S≤tatsu studied painting methods under Eitoku [Kano Eitoku, 1543 – 1590], Ogata K≤rin studied under Yasunobu [Kano Yasunobu, 1613–1685], and Seisei≤ studied under Sanraku [Kano Sanraku, 1559–1635]. Afterward they discarded everything they had learned, and yearned for an indigenous old style of our country, thereby forming a separate school. This indeed is skilled learning.60 Un’en applauds Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin for abandoning their initial Kano school training and striving to develop a style informed by models from Japan’s past. Thus Un’en not only highlights the two differing traditions of the Kano school and the “old style of our country,” but he ties the use of past models to the (proto-)nationalist idea of a superior Japanese mode of painting. Here we encounter a fundamental difference between the Japanese and the Chinese discourses on classicism. In Tokugawa Japan, the classical ko’i was employed to define an indigenous character in the arts, thereby implying that Japanese painting exhibits creative independence and even superiority over foreign models. In Chinese writings, by contrast, the classics were used to establish a link to antiquity and social elites and to offer subtle criticism against current politics. In the next section I explore how nationalizing aspects of the classical continue to be of vital importance in Japanese art-historical discourse. In examining references to ko’i and kosetsu in early Tokugawa painting, therefore, the following points can be made. Chinese art critics considered “turning to the past” or “rendering the antique spirit” as positive qualities that

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a painter should strive for. These notions, however, are not mentioned in Japanese art-historical writing until the late eighteenth century. Gyokush≥ is the first to use these concepts in reference to seventeenth-century paintings, and he initiates the evaluation of S≤tatsu and K≤rin as painters who mastered such classical qualities. Gyokush≥ and Kenkad≤ construct an imaginary lineage of Southern school Japanese painting, advancing S≤tatsu, K≤rin, Nobutada, and Sh≤j≤ as its originators. What we have, then, is another form of early Tokugawa classicism designed to fit Gyokush≥’s and Kenkad≤’s agenda. Furthermore, Gyokush≥, Kenkad≤, and Un’en add a (proto-)nationalist note in appraising this classical Japanese tradition as superior to the Japanese Northern school, as exemplified by the Kano style that was associated with foreign models. Finally, the implication that there is an indigenous stylistic tradition preferable to foreign models adds a distinct sense to the concept of the classical, one that seems to be specifically Japanese. Although this rhetoric begun by Gyokush≥ and Kenkad≤ was probably not the dominant thought on painting in its day, it did prevail among literati circles. We can conclude, then, that within late-eighteenth-century literati circles a discourse emerges—one that canonizes Nobutada, Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin as painters of classical and national importance. This discourse combines a notion of classical art with a search for indigenous cultural identity while working within a Chinese theoretical framework.

References After 1880 to “Classicism” An exhaustive analysis of the complex issues related to Japanese art history after the Meiji Restoration—the creation of a modern art vocabulary, the institutionalization of art education in national schools, and the impact of such developments on reconceptualized art histories of Japan—are beyond the scope of this chapter.61 Instead I want to examine the rhetorical strategies in a selected group of narratives by modern Japanese and European authors who discuss early Tokugawa painters and painting. My analysis highlights the fluidity of words and stylistic connections, along with the individual mindsets and political zeitgeist that have informed art-historical opinions and arguments to date. It also reveals the problems that result from superimposing terminology developed within a European discourse onto a Japanese cultural context. One troublesome issue that late-nineteenth-century authors had to deal with is how to characterize early Tokugawa objects using European terminology. Another

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issue that vexed scholars is which painters to single out for work that might be called classical. A late-nineteenth-century Scottish surgeon and ardent collector of Japanese art, William Anderson (1842–1900), was one early writer to attempt a panoramic account of Japanese painting history. Anderson lived in Japan between 1873 and 1880 and gradually acquired a collection of things Japanese that he subsequently sold to the British Museum. In his Pictorial Arts of Japan (1886), Anderson assesses early Tokugawa painting as follows: The seventeenth century brought many good artists, but on the whole must be regarded as the commencement of a period of decadence. . . . The most noted pupils of the Tosa and Sumiyoshis in this period, like Iwasa Matahei [Iwasa Matabei (1578–1650)], were seceders from the traditions and motives of the school. S≤tatsu, a pupil of Hiromichi [Tosa Hiromichi, a.k.a. Sumiyoshi Jokei (1599–1670)], struck out [in] an original manner which, perhaps, foreshadowed that of K≤rin; K≤yetsu became famous for his bold pictorial decoration of lacquer.62 Anderson shows no indication of believing there had been any such thing as a classicist movement in seventeenth-century Japan. Rather he draws a distinction between a period of “decadence” and creative individuals who managed to detach themselves from tradition. Among the latter he counts the painters Matabei and S≤tatsu. Anderson’s focus on originality and novelty in art of the period dismisses visual repetition and copying, but clearly it is informed by modern Western art-historical narratives. Next we turn to the first comprehensive modern overview of the history of Japanese art, Histoire de l’art du Japon, published in French in 1900 for the World’s Fair in Paris.63 The staff of the Japanese Imperial Museum, working under the editorial supervision of the museum’s director, Kuki Ry≥ichi (1888– 1941), contributed entries to this history, which is specifically addressed to a Western audience. Like Anderson, the Histoire follows a Western art-historical rhetoric in criticizing painters who turn to the past at the expense of originality: “In the world of fine arts, an excessive cult of tradition was established [in the early Tokugawa period]. Everyone was afraid to change anything that was informed by old formulas and by ancient methods.”64 In a chapter dealing specifically with painting, the early Tokugawa period is characterized as a time when painting realized a harmonization of various influences and a diversity of styles, but it lacked innovation. In short, “the painting [of this phase] is calm

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and without great originality.”65 Then, in a section of the Histoire surveying the “character and evolution of the fine arts” of the early Tokugawa period, an author singles out the Kano school as having the best painters of the day, as the only lineage that was prospering, and as the choice of kings (shogun) in the world of painting.66 The Histoire offers a pastiche of sometimes contradictory opinions and categorizations of Tokugawa-period art, but its authors do not follow a straightforward, integrated narrative. In the third chapter on painting, for example, the authors apply the label “Japanese renaissance” to early-Tokugawaperiod art of the Tosa, Sumiyoshi, and K≤rin schools.67 And in an enlarged edition of 1916—published in Japanese only—the architect and pioneer in modern Japanese architectural history, It≤ Ch≥ta (1867–1954), added a section on Japanese architectural history in which he refers to the building style of this period as the “rococo of our country.”68 Five years after the publication of Histoire de l’art du Japon, the art historian Taki Seiichi (1873–1945), a regular contributor to the influential arts magazine Kokka, digs up a new set of revivers of early-Tokugawa-period Japanese-style painting (yamato-e). In his Three Essays on Oriental Painting, originally published in 1905, Taki writes: To some the statement may be a revelation, yet nevertheless it is true that the one who brought about the [early Tokugawa artistic] revival, in its true sense, of Yamato-ye figure painting at the beginning of the modern ages was first of all Sanraku Kano. . . . Next to Sanraku, those who revived the spirit of Yamato-ye painting were the early masters of the Ukiyo-ye [pictures of the floating world] . . . and whether time will ever produce another Sanraku once more to effect the renaissance of the old Yamato-ye seems at this moment to be a very distant hope.69 Although the notion of a revival of yamato-e seems to have been widely acknowledged among interpreters of seventeenth-century painting, scholars did not easily agree on which artists should be credited with initiating and participating in the movement. A contributor to the Histoire identifies the revivers as artists of the Tosa, Sumiyoshi, and K≤rin schools, whereas Taki identifies the foremost reviver of yamato-e figure painting as Kano Sanraku along with the ukiyo-e painters. Few writers, however, seem to have accepted Taki’s glorification of Sanraku. Soon after Taki published his essay, two articles dealing with related issues appeared in Kokka. In these articles—originally written in English and published in 1906 and 1907—the anonymous authors (or author) present K≤etsu,

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S≤tatsu, and K≤rin as leaders of a revival of Japaneseness in the history of Japanese painting. Apparent in the articles’ rhetoric is the modern dilemma of having to profile novel and progressive art movements while at the same time answering the call to define a national tradition. Consequently the authors of the two Kokka articles implicitly cast painting of the Muromachi period, considered a phase when Chinese subject matter and styles were introduced and appreciated in Japan, as a primitive form of art from Japan’s “Middle Ages.” The authors continue: But upon the appearance of K≤etsu, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin, a new tide of progress set in; for they on the one hand exerted themselves to bring about a revival of the old Yamato-é style, and on the other hand originated a style retaining the spirit and technics of the Yamato-é combined with the nobility and vigour of Celestial painting. . . . These examples [of painting] are valuable . . . as ink-sketches of the purely Japanese type.70 The fact remains that K≤etsu, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin were the three great masters in the periods between the Kanyei [Kan’ei, 1624–1644] and the Genroku [1688–1704], who developed a style of painting of the Japanese stamp and of poetic taste.71 Common to early-twentieth-century scholarship on Tokugawa art was a search for “purely Japanese” artists—a search that was undisturbed by the outlandish influences appearing in the book on Heian literature by Fujioka Sakutar≤, published only shortly before, in 1905. We need to set this search for Japaneseness against the backdrop of the times: the Japanese had just emerged victorious from the Russo-Japanese War, which resulted in a surging nationalist movement that would soon pervade Japanese society.72 Thus Japanese writers made use of the Western teleological narrative in contrasting the purportedly progressive and positive developments of an indigenous seventeenth-century artistic revival with the supposedly negative continental artistic modes of earlier centuries. Taki Seiichi, for instance, explicitly characterized the seventeenthcentury yamato-e renaissance as a reaction against Chinese styles, along the lines of Un’en, and described this development as a “cry among a class of people for the revival of classic art.”73 Rhetorically he constructed this reaction as a battle between styles, a thinly disguised war between Japan and China: The introduction of Sung and Yüan paintings in the Ashikaga [Muromachi] period caused a change in popular taste for the lighter and simpler style of

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Chinese origin, naturally counteracting against the popularity of richer native paintings. But from the close of that period to the commencement of the Tokugawa period a tide of reaction had set in, and there came a cry among a class of people for the revival of classic art. At such an age one may naturally expect the renaissance of the Yamato-ye. And this indeed did arise.74 Interestingly, this lexiphanicism is not restricted to Japanese authors. Ernest Fenollosa took up a similarly polemical tone in discussing the stylistic development of early-Tokugawa-period painting in his Epochs of Chinese and Japanese Art, published posthumously in 1912: The very reaction of the Tokugawa age against the medievalism and excessive classicism of Ashikaga ought to have been a violent return to Japanese tradition and subject. And so it would have been but for the novel need of the yashikis [residential architecture of the social elite] and the genius of Tanyu. . . . Two phases of this revived Japanese movement arose in the middle and later half of the seventeenth century. One was the work of Tosa Mitsuoki. . . . The other movement was started by a Tosa style of painter about 1650, named Sumiyoshi Jokei. . . . The Koyetsu-Korin school of design— painting and industries—is, first of all, a prime sign of that natural return to Japanese subject, after the Ashikaga debauch of idealism, which otherwise Tanyu so nearly frustrated by his Chinese renaissance. . . . But the KoyetsuKorin school . . . goes far closer to the heart of the creators of 1200 than the pseudo-Tosa could do, because its purpose was not scholastic but creative. . . . It may be called the true Japanese school of “impressionism”; . . . as a purely artistic school of impressionism . . . future critics will doubtless place it ahead of anything that the world has ever produced. . . . Yes, we may call this Korin school the Japanese school of impressionism.75 Fenollosa, like Taki, credits the early-Tokugawa-period painters who adopted a “natural return to Japanese subject” with rescuing Japanese art from the demonized, Chinese-influenced “medievalism” of Ashikaga painting styles. Fenollosa describes Tosa Mitsuoki and Sumiyoshi Jokei as two representative painters who revived Japanese styles. But in his characterization of a K≤etsu-K≤rin school, Fenollosa epitomizes the tendency in Japanese painting scholarship to meld classicism and nationalism. While Fenollosa completely avoids the terms “classicism” and “renaissance” in this context, he labels the K≤etsu-K≤rin school painters as “impressionist” in the most positive sense of the term and

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praises their thorough knowledge of Heian-period figure painting. Brimming with nationalist parlance, Fenollosa reveals his bias toward patriotism and an ideology of superior races: [The Koyetsu-Korin school] attempts to give an overmastering impression, a feeling vague and peculiarly Japanese, as if the whole past of the race with all its passions and loves surged back in a gigantic race memory inwrought in the inheriting nerves—a patriotism as gorgeous and free and colossal as one’s grandest dreams.76 The search for painters who could embody a distinctly Japanese spirit seems to have been of foremost interest to Laurence Binyon (1869–1943) as well. Binyon, curator at the British Museum, has been described as “poet, art-historian and critic.”77 In his Painting in the Far East, written in 1913, Binyon evaluates S≤tatsu as a technical innovator and praises his and K≤etsu’s “revival of the glory of colour,” which Binyon sees as a critical ingredient of Japanese-style painting. He echoes Fenollosa’s account but employs a less aggressive diction when he writes: Sotatsu’s art had its roots in the old art of Tosa, the national style of Japan, but was developed by him into freedom, breadth, and suppleness. Korin carries the style to climax and extreme, so that in him we see the distinctive essence of the Japanese genius in final flower. He is perhaps the most Japanese of all the artists of Japan.78 Predictably the notion of Japaneseness reappears three decades later during the high tide of Japanese fascism. In 1941, Wakimoto T≤kur≤ (1883–1963) published an article in the art journal Gasetsu on S≤tatsu’s ink painting of a lotus pond. Describing S≤tatsu as the “Son of Japan” (Yamato Onoko), Wakimoto’s analysis is thoroughly implicated in the wartime ideology of Japanese superiority. He states: “Moreover, in only one petal, just like the palm of an old person covering a baby’s head, he [S≤tatsu] has observed the form that protects the fruit very well; even this one aspect of S≤tatsu’s untrammeled heart lets us admire the superior blood of this Son of Japan.”79 In Japan after World War II, writers continued to advance the notion that S≤tatsu stands at the pinnacle of a pure, native tradition within Japanese painting, along with the notion that this tradition is devoid of any Chinese elements and independent from Tosa school influence. To cite just one example, Yamane Y≥z≤ (1919 – 2001) writes in an English adaptation of 1959:

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The work of S≤tatsu has been acclaimed since the beginning of the [twentieth] century as the essence of the native tradition of Japanese painting. This tradition, owing only remote and disputable origins to Chinese influence, stands in broad contrast, during more than a thousand years, with successive schools of painting which consciously followed Chinese models.80 More recently, Tanaka Hidemichi has presented a comparable interpretation in his Art History of Japan in the World (1995). He views the art of the entire Tokugawa period as belonging to an “age of Japonisme,” claiming not only that it came to attain an international reputation but that it revived unique forms of Japanese expression which had been developing since the Kamakura period. Tanaka asserts: In a sense, genre painting (fuzokuga) is the liberation from a Japanese complex about Chinese-style painting (kanga) and signifies the revival of yamato-e. Based on a new kind of expression, perhaps we can say that Edo art came to belong to an international art. There was a gradual revival of Japanese forms of expression produced from the Kamakura period on. I call this phenomenon “Japonisme,” deliberately using a Western term.81 Even though Tanaka considers Chinese influence on Japanese painting to be negative, he places great significance on Western recognition of Tokugawaperiod accomplishments in art. His equating of Tokugawa art with world art bespeaks the rhetoric of the so-called Edo boom—a phase of fascination with “things from Edo” that occurred in Japan during the 1990s, when Tanaka published the book in question. A conspicuous example of the Edo boom was the opening of the Edo Tokyo Museum in Tokyo in 1993, which was both a result of the ongoing boom and itself a generator of interest in Edo culture. Not coincidentally, the slogan “internationalization” (kokusaika) came into widespread use in the 1990s as a keyword employed at all levels of the government as well as in educational and cultural institutions.82 Thus Tanaka both reflected and shaped the prerogatives of his time. In terms of the discussion at hand, he was yet another of the twentieth-century writers who coupled the idea of a classical revival with a nationalist stance. Another contemporary art historian, Doris Croissant, seriously questions the idea of a yamato-e revival inherent in S≤tatsu’s work. Instead she suggests that we discuss his renderings of The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari) and the Tales of Ise (Ise monogatari) in terms of parody, or mitate. In a paper presented in 1998, Croissant explains:

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The obvious difference between S≤tatsu’s Yamatoe vocabulary and contemporary Tosa painting could, certainly, not remain unnoticed by connoisseurs of classical painting. But, would they regard such suggestions as being tantamount to a serious Yamatoe revival? I believe that S≤tatsu’s innovative pictorialisation of the Genji and Ise novels rather corresponds to a parody (mitate) of medieval subject[s] than to a revival of Yamatoe style. . . . His playful remodelling of Yamatoe motives is not due to genuine visionary power, but aims at a completely new combination of prefabricated singular elements taken from old sources. This partly imitative, partly ironic dealing with the past, probably, corresponds to the melancholic references to classical poetry by contemporary poets like Karasumaru Mitsuhiro [1579–1638].83 More than twenty years earlier Croissant had strongly questioned the use of terms such as “classicism” and “renaissance” in reference to works by K≤etsu and S≤tatsu.84 Croissant belongs to a group of scholars who historicize, contextualize, and demythologize K≤etsu, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin, artists now recognized as the leading representatives of a classicizing movement in seventeenthcentury art.85 In sum, then, some modern art-historical texts criticize seventeenth-century painting as decadent and unduly dependent on tradition. At the beginning of the twentieth century, however, most writers praised an ostensible reaction against and liberation from excessive Chinese influences by using the term “renaissance” or by referring to a “revival of Japanese styles.” Painters credited with having created purely Japanese forms of expression range from Sanraku to Mitsuoki, Jokei, K≤etsu, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin. Modern scholars have pointed to the latter three artists as painters who could express a Japanese aesthetic promoting the superiority of Japanese culture over foreign models. This tendency culminated in the 1940s with Wakimoto’s battle cry lauding S≤tatsu as the “Son of Japan” endowed with superior blood. Although postwar writers of arthistorical narratives continued to praise S≤tatsu as the prime Japanese painter of his age, a number of recent studies reassess S≤tatsu’s historical persona and look at his achievements in more complex ways.

Conclusion My aim in this chapter has been to demonstrate just how ideologically charged the term “classicism” is. And, as various quotations from scholarly writing show, there was no single classicism in early Tokugawa painting but a variety of clas-

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sicisms. Certainly the writing of art history and the evaluation of artists using imported terminology was not new to the Meiji period. Earlier writers had borrowed Chinese concepts to compose art-historical narratives and evaluate artists. With the introduction of European art terminology in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries—and with a whole host of concurrent social and political changes in Japan—a significantly different discourse emerged. But the art histories of the Tokugawa period, too, were constructed to realize specific objectives. This chapter is therefore a call for historians to reconsider the role of preMeiji art-historical writing within the framework of its time. Both the Chinese term “gudian” and the English term “classicism” were tied from the outset to canon formation and issues of ideology, and they were imported as such into Japan. Yet when late-eighteenth-century literati writers attributed the classicist qualities of ko’i and kosetsu to early Tokugawa painters, they were implying that these painters conveyed an indigenous Japanese aesthetic in their art. This process begins in 1799 with Gyokush≥’s and Kenkad≤’s discussion of works by Nobutada, Sh≤j≤, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin and is continued by Un’en in his treatise published some thirty years later. The same basic argument is then taken up by Meiji writers, but with more blatantly nationalist intentions. The modern scholars and enthusiasts writing Japanese art history— both in Japan and the West—tend to concur that there was a close connection between the notion of a seventeenth-century yamato-e revival and the construction of a uniquely national art for Japan. Thus classicism is integral to the teleological narrative of Japanese artistic evolution, and this narrative devalues pre-Tokugawa painting styles with strong Chinese influence, which implicitly or explicitly are categorized as “medieval.” Most twentieth-century writers canonized K≤etsu, S≤tatsu, and K≤rin as the definitive classicizing Japanese painters who returned to Heian models, while they criticize other major artistic currents of the seventeenth century. Modern writers disparage Tosa art as wornout and degenerate due to its diligent preservation of yamato-e modes and denigrate Kano art as eclectic and impure due to its reliance on Chinese models. Such writers base their evaluation of indigenous Japanese artistic developments on a valorization of artistic originality coupled with a valorization of the classical revival. Apparently one characteristic of the Japanese discourse on classicism is a compelling desire to seek out art forms that ennoble Japan’s classic past and position them at a polar extreme or as a counteraesthetic to Chinese and other imported styles. It is particularly important to recognize the political and ideological implications of such rhetoric in light of Karatani K≤jin’s (b. 1941) re-

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mark that nationalism in general—not only the varieties of nationalism born in Japan—is shaped by an aesthetic consciousness and that “ ‘Japan’ has always been perceived of, by itself as well as by others, in aesthetic terms.”86 Only recently have scholars begun to question the modern evaluation of S≤tatsu and K≤rin, and new interpretations are being proposed to free us from the limiting discourse in which S≤tatsu and K≤rin uniquely and invariably represent Japaneseness. A comment by Natalie Kampen (b. 1944) sums up the implications of the term “classicism”: “Classicism is, thus, much more than a value-free matter of taste or visual ideals; it may become the instrument of a wide-ranging ideology, a device and a metaphor for social control.”87

Notes I dedicate this chapter to my colleagues Natalie Boymel Kampen of Barnard College and Haruo Shirane and Henry Smith of Columbia University. I thank Joseph Loh for his initial proofreading and Elizabeth Lillehoj for her invaluable editorial suggestions, and my gratitude is due also to Jaqueline Bernd, Doris Croissant, Christine Guth, and Lothar Ledderose and Henry Smith for significant comments on previous drafts of this chapter. 1. See, for example, Sat≤ D≤shin, “Nihon bijutsu” tanj≤: Kindai Nihon no “kotoba” to senryaku, (Tokyo: K≤dansha, 1996), 32 – 66; Joshua Mostow, “Nihon bijutsushi gensetsu to ‘miyabi,’ ” in T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru (Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999), 232–239; and Tamamushi Satoko, “ ‘Nihon bijutsu s≤shokusei’ to iu gensetsu,” in Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru, 240–257. 2. The early Tokugawa period roughly covers the seventeenth century. I prefer this designation to “Edo period” because Edo was yet to play an influential cultural role as a city in the seventeenth century whereas the Tokugawa shoguns and their government had already begun to reconfigure and control every level of the social, economic, and political development of the land. 3. John Hay, “Some Questions Concerning Classicism in Relation to Chinese Art,” Art Journal 47(1) (Spring 1988):27. 4. For a number of reasons I limit this chapter to painting. First, painting is the book’s central focus. Second, most art-historical writing from premodern Japan focuses on the medium of painting. Architecture, for example, has been described in completely separate terms—as is demonstrated by the earliest full-fledged modern account of Japanese art history: Commission Impériale du Japon, ed., Histoire de l’art du Japon (Paris: Maurice de Brunoff, 1900). And third, with the acceptance of Western art-historical methodology and the hierarchical (re-)structuring of the arts in the Meiji period, painting came to be ranked as the most important art medium in Japan. As a consequence, art historians who work in modern Japan on seventeenth-century Japanese art typically have specialized in painting studies. These scholars have discussed painting styles and forms in terms of Western terminology to a greater extent than scholars who research other media.

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5. Charlton Lewis and Charles Short, A Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), 350. 6. David Freedberg, “Classical: Concept and Ideology,” in Whitney Museum of American Art, ed., In a Classical Vein: Works from the Permanent Collection (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 1993), 15. 7. Michael Greenhalgh in Jane Turner, ed., The Dictionary of Art, vol. 7 (London: Macmillan, 1996), 382. 8. These two works of Buddhist sculpture are often reproduced. For an illustration of the Buddha head that is housed in K≤fukuji see, for example, Matsushima Ken, K≤fukuji: Shinpen meih≤ Nihon no bijutsu, vol. 3 (Tokyo: Sh≤gakukan 1990), pl. 29; for an illustration of the Yakushi triad see Matsuyama Tetsuo, Yakushiji: Shinpen meih≤ Nihon no bijutsu, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Sh≤gakkan, 1990), pls. 1–7. Both works are also reproduced in Sugiyama Jir≤, Classic Buddhist Sculpture: The Tempy≤ Period, trans. Samuel Crowell Morse (Tokyo: Kodansha International and Shibund≤, 1982), 36 and 41–43. 9. John M. Rosenfield, Japanese Arts of the Heian Period: 794–1185 (New York: Asia House Gallery, 1967), 23. 10. Tanaka Hidemichi, Nihon bijutsu zenshi (Tokyo: K≤dansha, 1995), 26 and 381. Later in the chapter I will return to Tanaka to consider his interpretation of Tokugawa art. Unless otherwise noted, all translations in this chapter are mine. 11. The Buddha icon of Yamadadera was created in 678 in memory of the high-ranking aristocrat and minister of the right, Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawamaro (d. 649) (Matsushima, K≤fukuji, 93); and Emperor Tenmu (d. 686) pledged in 680 to build Yakushiji for the recovery of the empress (Yakushiji to T≤sh≤daiji, Nihon koji bijutsu zensh≥, vol. 3 [Tokyo: Sh≥eisha, 1979], 91). Kuno Takeshi discusses a Chinese Buddha sculpture in the Chinese temple of Shentongsi of Shandong province with an inscription dating to 658, which might have served as a model for the Yakushi triad of Yakushiji. See Kuno, Butsuz≤ no rekishi: Asuka jidai kara Edo jidai made (Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1987), 88 – 90. See also Sugiyama, Classic Buddhist Sculpture, 44–45. 12. Ernest Fenollosa, Epochs of Chinese and Japanese Art, vol. 1 (New York: Dover, 1963), 90–115; originally published in 1913. Christine Guth has traced the changing perception of Buddhist objects from sacred icons to commodities of the evolving art market during the Meiji period. See Christine M. E. Guth, Art, Tea, and Industry: Masuda Takashi and the Mitsui Circle (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 100–117. 13. Thanks to Christine Guth and Henry Smith for sharpening my argument here. 14. The headquarters of the Nihon Gink≤ at Nihonbashi in Tokyo were built by Tatsuno King≤ (1854–1919) in 1896; the Osaka branch of the same bank was built in a classicist style five years later, as was the Kobe branch of the Mitsubishi bank in 1900. See Fujimori Terunobu, Bakumatsu Meiji hen: Nihon no kindai kenchiku, vol. 1, Iwanami shinsho 308 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1994), 228–229. 15. Albert Ulmann, A Landmark History of New York (New York: Appleton-Century, 1939), 337. Grant’s mausoleum, completed in 1897, is located in Manhattan at 122nd Street and Riverside Drive. See also the eulogizing account by Donald Martin Reynolds in “U.S. Grant: His Tomb, His Life, and His Generals,” in Monuments and Masterpieces: Histories and Views of Public Sculpture in New York City (New York: Thames & Hudson, 1997), 214–223. 16. Eric A. Reinert, Grant’s Tomb (Ft. Washington, Pa.: Eastern National, 1997), 12.

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17. For another such case in point see the article by Lothar Ledderose on the Mao Mausoleum in Beijing (1977), where he discusses Chinese architectural traditions mixed with Western models of classicist mausoleums and memorial halls; Ledderose, “Die Gedenkhalle für Mao Zedong,” in Jan Assmann and Tonio Hoelscher, eds., Kultur und Gedächtnis (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1988), 311–339; referred to also in Brunilde Sismondo Ridgway, Fourth Century Styles in Greek Sculpture (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997), 111. 18. Two circular niches are dedicated to Grant’s military achievements as a general. Surrounding eight flags of various regiments are painted wall maps exhibiting major sites of the Civil War, which demonstrate Grant’s participation. The maps are framed on top by painted friezes—clearly inspired by classic Greek relief sculpture of the fourth century b.c.—depicting battle scenes. Comparable motifs can be identified in the Amazon frieze of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, kept in the British Museum. For illustrations see Bernard Ashmole, Architect and Sculptor in Classical Greece (New York: New York University Press, 1972), pls. 194 – 208. I owe this identification to Günther Kopcke. 19. Natalie Boymel Kampen, “The Muted Other,” Art Journal 47(1) (Spring 1988):15. 20. The best account of the history of canon as word and concept in various cultures is presented by Jan Assmann in Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung, und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (Munich: Beck, 1992 – 1997), 103 – 129. Assmann discusses the subtle relationship between the terms “canon” and “classicism” in the section titled “Der geheiligte Bestand: Kanon und Klassik,” 118 – 121. According to Assmann, “Different epochs and different schools make different selections. Canon formations in terms of classic and classicism are fundamentally variable. Each period has its own canon”; p. 121. 21. Haruo Shirane, “Issues in Canon Formation,” in Haruo Shirane and Tomi Suzuki, eds., Inventing the Classics: Modernity, National Identity, and Japanese Literature (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001), 7. Thanks to Haruo Shirane for allowing me to use his book manuscript well before its publication. On the effect of this tendency on early-twentieth-century Japanese literature see Roy Starrs, “Writing the National Narrative: Changing Attitudes Toward Nation-Building Among Japanese Writers, 1900 – 1930,” in Sharon A. Minichiello, ed., Japan’s Competing Modernities: Issues in Culture and Democracy 1900 – 1930 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998), 206–227. 22. See Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983–1997), 270–272. A project that greatly elucidated this tendency was a recent German exhibition on European myths of the nation that visualized the mythological creation of nations through painting in nineteenthcentury European countries. See the exhibition catalog, Monika Flacke, ed., Mythen der Nationen: Ein Europäisches Panorama (Berlin: Deutsches Historisches Museum, 1998). See also the provocative essay on the topic included in this catalog by the late Stefan Germer, “Retrovision: Die Rückblickende Erfindung der Nationen durch die Kunst,” 33–52. 23. Fujioka Sakutar≤, Kokubungaku zenshi: Heianch≤ hen, T≤y≤ bunko 198 (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1971), 8–9; originally published in 1905. Thomas Keirstead discusses Meijiperiod predecessors of Fujioka who gender the Heian culture as feminine and criticize it for its ostentation and luxury while appraising the “Middle Ages” as an epoch of mas-

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culinity and heroism—as, for example, Mikami Sanji and Takatsu Tetsusabur≤, Nihon bungakushi (Tokyo: Kink≤d≤, 1890). See Keirstead, “The Gendering and Re-Gendering of Medieval Japan,” U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal, English Supplement 9 (1995):77–92, particularly 78–82. 24. Fujioka, Kokubungaku, 8. 25. Thanks to Christine Guth for pointing out the importance of the academy in classicism and canon formation. 26. K≤no Motoaki, “The Kano School: The Japanese ‘Academy’ and Its Literature” (originally published in English), Bijutsushi Rons≤ 5 (1989): 125 – 129. K≤no points out differences between the Japanese and French cases, as well, including the hereditary status of Japanese painters and the lack in Japan of institutionalized exhibitions like the salon, which played such an important role in French art. 27. For more on Kano Tan’y≥ see Chapter 5 by Joshua Mostow and Chapter 6 by Karen Gerhart. 28. Kobayashi Tadashi, “Gazoku no ko≤: Honga to ukiyo-e,” in Nakano Mitsutoshi, ed., Nihon no kinsei (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1993), 12:351–376, particularly 356. 29. For more on Tosa Mitsuoki see Chapter 4 by Laura Allen. See also Tosa Mitsuoki, The Great Tradition of Painting Methods in Our Country [Honch≤ gah≤ taiden], written in 1690; transliterated in Sakazaki Tan, ed., Nihon kaigaron taikei, vol. 5 (Tokyo: Meich≤ Fuky≥kai, 1980); Vera Linhartová, Sur un fond blanc: Écrits japonais sur la peinture du IXe au XIXe siècle (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1996), 240 – 246; and Makoto Ueda, Literary and Art Theories in Japan (Cleveland: Case Western Reserve University, 1967), 128–144. 30. Hay, “Some Questions,” 27. Here the quotes use the Wades-Giles system of transliteration, and the pinyin term “gu’i” is rendered, therefore, as “ku-i.” Chu-tsing Li has observed that “the term classicism has seemed the most appropriate equivalent of ku-i in Yüan criticism.” See Li, “The Autumn Colors on the Ch’iao and Hua Mountains: A Landscape by Chao Meng-fu,” Artibus Asiae Special Issue (1965):70. 31. Melinda Takeuchi, Taiga’s True Views: The Language of Landscape Painting in Eighteenth-Century Japan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1992), 145. 32. Ikeda Kikan, Kotengaku ny≥mon (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1952–1991), 15–17. 33. See Helen Craig McCullough, trans., The Taiheiki: A Chronicle of Medieval Japan (Rutland: Tuttle, 1959), 44. 34. Ikeda, Kotengaku, 17. The Heian-period Tales of Ise, The Tale of Genji, the Collection of Poems Old and New (Kokin wakash≥), and other Japanese prose and poetry texts had, in fact, attained canonical status at least by the second half of the seventeenth century —evident from inventories of daimyo libraries as well as educational treatises advocating these texts as a sine qua non of bridal trousseaux. In aesthetic discourse, however, it seems they were not referred to as “classical” (koten), a term reserved for Chinese texts. 35. Hans H. Frankel, “The Contemplation of the Past in T’ang Poetry,” in Arthur F. Wright and Denis Twitchett, eds., Perspectives on the T’ang (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), 345 and 363. In his translations of Tang-dynasty poetry, Stephen Owen (b. 1946) renders the term “gu’i” variously, giving all of these translation possibilities: “ancient theme/attitude, imitation of an old theme, meditation on the past, ancient morality, or the use of a historical subject”; Owen, The Poetry of the Early T’ang (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), 104 – 105. My thanks to Martin Kern for advice on the use of this term in Chinese literary history.

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36. Li, “Autumn Colors,” 70. 37. Translated by Susan Bush in The Chinese Literati on Painting: Su Shih (1037 – 1101) to Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555 – 1636), Harvard-Yenching Institute Studies, 27 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), 121–122. 38. Wen Fong, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang and Artistic Renewal,” in Wai-kam Ho, ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang 1555 – 1636 (Kansas City: Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art/ University of Washington Press, 1992), pt. 1, 47–49. 39. Linhartová, Sur un fond blanc, 179. 40. The most comprehensive anthology of Japanese art-historical treatises is Sakazaki Tan, ed., Nihon kaigaron taikei, 5 vols. An annotated publication of individual treatises is currently being published as a series, of which four volumes have appeared to date. See Kobayashi Tadashi and K≤no Motoaki, eds., “Teihon” Nihon kaigaron taisei (Tokyo: Perlikansha, 1995–). The most comprehensive survey of Japanese art treatises in a Western language, including translated excerpts, is found in Linhartová, Sur un fond blanc. 41. The following review of terminology is based on a thorough search of the respective terms in Tokugawa-period art treatises enabled by a complete digital database of Sakazaki’s Nihon kaigaron taikei, as well as Chinese art treatises. I thank Yonekura Michio of the Tokyo National Research Institute for Cultural Properties for generously giving me access to the institute’s database and assisting me in my search. 42. “Keiroku,” which I translate as “Gratuitous Chats,” refers in a metaphorical sense to something that has little value of itself but is difficult to discard. The same word appears in the title of several Song-dynasty books. See Morohashi Tetsuji, DaiKanwa jiten (Tokyo: Taish≥kan Shoten, 1974), 11:12582. 43. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 2:287. I thank Barbara Ford, Matthew McKelway, and Tomoko Sakomura for their helpful suggestions on the translations. 44. Kobayashi Tadashi transliterated the original manuscript in his article “K≤kan Kuwayama Gyokush≥ ch≤ Gaen higen” [Critical transliteration of Kuwayama Gyokush≥’s Humble Words on the World of Painting], Museum 218 (May 1969):4 – 12. For Kenkad≤’s published version of Humble Words see Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:134–151. Both the manuscript Gaen higen and Humble Words will be included in Kobayashi and K≤no, “Teihon” Nihon kaigaron taisei, vol. 5. Although Humble Words was probably circulated mostly among Kenkad≤’s friends, two Gaen higen manuscripts were transmitted in the important library of the Kish≥ Tokugawa clan; see Kobayashi Tadashi, “Shahon Gaen higen to Kaiji higen,” Museum 197 (August 1967):27–30, particularly 27. 45. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:148. 46. This quality belongs to the first of the famous Six Principles (C: liufa; J: ropp≤) outlined by Xie He (fl. 500 – 535) in his Record of Classifications of Ancient Painters (Guhua pinlu). See Bush, The Chinese Literati, 40. Many authors of Japanese painting treatises from varying schools repeated the Six Principles, beginning with Kano Ikkei (1599 – 1662) in his Themes in Chinese Painting (K≤sosh≥) of 1623. See Linhartová, Sur un fond blanc, 215. This list of treatises referring to the Six Principles also includes Tosa Mitsuoki’s Honch≤ gah≤ taiden of 1690. By then the introduction to Japan of the Chinese painting manual The Mustard Seed Garden (Jieziyuan huazhuan) had caused varying interpretations of the Six Principles, but they remained a standard phrase used to praise paintings; Linhartová, Sur un fond blanc, 293. 47. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:144.

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48. Kobayashi and K≤no, “Teihon” Nihon kaigaron taisei, 6:40 – 41. See also K≤no Motoaki, “Ogata K≤rin: K≤rin geijutsu no tokuch≤ to utsukushisa,” in K≤no Motoaki, ed., Ogata K≤rin: Nihon bijutsu kaiga zensh≥ (Tokyo: Sh≥eisha, 1976), 17:120. 49. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:144. 50. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:140. See also Sakai Tetsuo, “Kuwayama Gyokush≥ no garon ni tsuite: Discourses on Painting,” Bijutsu Shigaku 2 (1979):141. 51. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:148. This famous remark appears in the printed version but not in the original manuscript. See Kobayashi, “K≤kan Kuwayama Gyokush≥,” 11. Thanks to Nakamachi Keiko for alerting me to this fact. 52. Kobayashi, “Shahon Gaen higen to Kaiji higen.” Kenkad≤ apparently borrowed the title for the printed version from a Ming-dynasty art treatise, Humble Words on Matters of Painting (Huashi weiyuan), 30. 53. Melinda Takeuchi writes: “What must have linked these painters in Gyokush≥’s mind, beyond their highly distinctive styles, is the force of their personality, a requisite component of spirit-resonance, with which their work overflows. The paintings of all four artists, it should be added, also possess a quality of exuberance that borders on eccentricity.” See Takeuchi, Taiga’s True Views, 142. 54. Kobayashi also suggests this point in his “Shahon Gaen higen,” 30. 55. This parallel can be seen, for example, in Gyokush≥’s demand for a more appropriate way of rendering Japanese landscapes, which he refers to as “true views” (shinkei). He claims that the forms and styles of such landscape painting need to be markedly different from those of China, and he dismisses Tosa and Kano modes of painting due to various shortcomings. Obviously, this point is also part of his overall rhetoric in praising the Southern school of painting as the approach that manages to capture true Japanese landscapes. See Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:141–142; see also Sakai, “Kuwayama Gyokush≥,” 142–143. 56. See the exhibition catalog, Fukushima Kenritsu Hakubutsukan, ed., Sh≥ko jissh≥ (Fukushima: Fukushima Kenritsu Hakubutsukan, 2000); for a short reference see also Timon Screech, The Sh≤gun’s Painted Culture: Fear and Creativity in the Japanese States, 1760–1829 (London: Reaktion Books, 2000), 254–255. 57. The aristocrat Uramatsu Kozen (1736 – 1804) began researching Heian-period handscrolls in 1788 in order to find models for restoring the architecture and interior decoration of the imperial palace. Subsequently he played a major role in the palace’s reconstruction after its destruction in 1788. See Nishi Kazuo, Kenchiku to sh≤hekiga: Kenchikushi kenky≥ no shinshiten (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1999), 1:318–319. 58. Naoki Sakai, “Preface,” trans. Ann Wehmeyer, in Kojiki-den Book 1, Motoori Norinaga, Cornell East Asian Series 87 (Ithaca: Cornell University, 1997), xi. 59. Shirane, “Issues in Canon Formation,” 14. 60. Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:332. In his chapter on “Connoisseurs and Art Treatises,” Sakazaki discusses Un’en’s background, his connoisseurship, and his appraisal by contemporaries such as Watanabe Kazan (1793 – 1841); Sakazaki, Nihonga no seishin (Tokyo: Perikansha, 1995), 144 – 149. Gyokush≥ also mentions in his Humble Words that Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ had allegedly studied under Sanraku but later decided to take up a different style; Sakazaki, Kaigaron, 1:147. 61. Numerous accounts have dealt with them extensively. See, for instance, Kitazawa Noriaki, Me no shinden: “Bijutsu” juy≤shi n≤to (Tokyo: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1989); and Sat≤, “Nihon bijutsu” tanj≤.

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62. William Anderson, The Pictorial Arts of Japan (London: Sampson Low, 1886), 59. In 1886, Anderson also published the Descriptive and Historical Catalogue of a Collection of Japanese and Chinese Paintings in the British Museum, the Japanese section of which included his own collection. This catalog was the first of its kind on holdings in the British Museum other than Japanese books. See Craig Clunas, “Oriental Antiquities/Far Eastern Art,” in Tani E. Barlow, ed., Formations of Colonial Modernity in East Asia (Durham: Duke University Press, 1997), 423. Note that today scholars would find fault with Anderson’s claims that S≤tatsu was a pupil of Hiromichi (a.k.a. Sumiyoshi Jokei). 63. The book, edited by the Commission Impériale du Japon in 1900, was published in a Japanese translation a year later. On the publication history and the politics behind its conception see Mabuchi Akiko, “1900nen Pari bankoku hakurankai to Histoire de l’art du Japon o megutte,” in Ima, Nihon no bijutsu shigaku o furikaeru, 43–55. 64. Commission Impériale, Histoire, 195. 65. Ibid., 197. 66. Ibid., 194. 67. Ibid., 200. 68. K≤hon Nihon teikoku bijutsu ryakushi (Tokyo: Ry≥bunkan Tosho Kabushiki Kaisha, 1916), 441–483. 69. Taki Sei-ichi, Three Essays on Oriental Painting (London: Bernard Quartich, 1910), 9–10; originally published in Kokka, July 1905 and July 1907. 70. Anonymous author, “A Lotus Pond by S≤tatsu Nomura,” Kokka 196 (September 1906):429. 71. Anonymous author, “Plum Trees on Folding-Screens by S≤tatsu,” Kokka 205 (June 1907):716. 72. Carol Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985), 157–158 and 184. 73. Taki, Three Essays, 9. 74. Ibid., 9. 75. Fenollosa, Epochs, 2:125–128. 76. Ibid., 2:127–128. 77. L. G. Wickham Legg and E. T. Williams, eds., The Dictionary of National Biography (1941–1950), 79–81; quoted in Clunas, “Oriental Antiquities,” 443. For a brief account of Binyon see Clunas, ibid., 426–427. 78. Laurence Binyon, Painting in the Far East (London: Edward Arnold, 1913), 215. 79. Wakimoto T≤kur≤, “S≤tatsu hasu no hana suikin-zu,” Gasetsu (July 1941):455. 80. Yamane Y≥z≤, S≤tatsu, adapt. William Watson (London: Faber Gallery of Oriental Art, 1959), n.p. 81. Tanaka, Nihon bijutsu zenshi, 264. 82. Publications of the early 1990s demonstrate that “internationalization” was a keyword on all levels of government. See, for example, Hasegawa Shigeo, Ogi Shigeo, and Kawamoto Shuji, Nihon no zaimu shohyo ga kawaru: Kaikei no kokusaika no shinten (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ Keizaisha, 1994); International Promotion Section, International Affairs Division, Bureau of Citizens and Cultural Affairs, Tokyo Metropolitan Government, comp., Tokyo Metropolitan Government Guidelines for the Promotion of International Policies: A New Approach to International Policies for the Twenty-first Century (Tokyo, 1995).

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83. Doris Croissant, “Sotatsu: Yamatoe Revival or Yamatoe Parody?” paper presented at the symposium “Rimpa Art—Transmission and Content” (School of Oriental and African Studies, London, 16 May 1998). 84. See Doris Croissant, S≤tatsu und der S≤tatsu Stil: Untersuchungen zu Repertoire, Ikonographie, und Ästhetik der Malerei des Tawaraya S≤tatsu (um 1600–1640), Münchner Ostasiatische Studien 3 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1978), 81. 85. Scholars of this group include Keiko Nakamachi (b. 1951) and Satoko Tamamushi (b. 1955). While Nakamachi uses the concept of “classicism” in discussing S≤tatsu (see her chapter “Koten e no kaiki” in Rimpa ni yumemiru [Tokyo: Shinch≤sha, 1999], 106 – 113), Tamamushi considers it inappropriate to compare Sotatsu’s motivations with revival efforts of the European Renaissance (see Chapter 2 in this volume). 86. Karatani K≤jin, “Japan as Museum: Okakura Tenshin and Ernest Fenollosa,” in Alexandra Munroe, ed., Scream Against the Sky: Japanese Art After 1945 (New York: Abrams, 1994), 34. 87. Kampen, “The Muted Other,” 18.

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Chapter Two

Satoko Tamamushi

Tawaraya S≤tatsu and the “Yamato-e Revival”

Modern Japanese art historians typically identify Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?) as an independent town painter (machi-eshi) active in the city of Kyoto in the early Edo period (1600–1868), or more specifically around 1630.1 Sometime before 1630, the court appointed him to the rank of hokky≤ (Bridge of the Law) owing to his great talent, and they provided him with many imperial commissions.2 In addition, art historians maintain that S≤tatsu was one of the seventeenthcentury artists who revived the classics, infusing a new and open vitality into traditional Japanese-style painting (yamato-e).3 For all his fame, however, S≤tatsu remains an enigmatic figure. In this chapter I analyze the standard image of S≤tatsu formulated by scholars and connoisseurs in the early twentieth century and consider the evaluative strategy used in canonizing S≤tatsu’s art. I focus here on four of his masterworks: the restored handscroll segments from the decorated sutras dedicated to the Taira family (Heike n≤ky≤); the Matsushima Screens (Matsushima-zu by≤bu); the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji Screens (Genji monogatari Sekiya-Miotsukushi-zu by≤bu); and the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens (F≥jin-Raijin-zu by≤bu). I focus on these four works of art because they are so widely admired and so central to modern studies of Rimpa (the school of K≤rin), especially as it relates to classicism and canon formation. Three of the four works were registered by the Japanese government as national treasures in the twentieth century, and the fourth work, the Matsushima Screens, would probably have been registered too if it had not left Japan in 1906. S≤tatsu was virtually lost to history after the middle of the eighteenth century, following the death of the artist Ogata K≤rin (1658 – 1716). S≤tatsu, who had died several decades before K≤rin’s birth, was a great inspiration to K≤rin, but ironically people later remembered K≤rin’s art while nearly forgetting

about S≤tatsu or even confusing S≤tatsu with K≤rin. In fact, the artist Sakai H≤itsu (1761 – 1828), who revived K≤rin’s painting style in the early part of the nineteenth century, knew little about the facts of S≤tatsu’s life. It was not until the early twentieth century—from the late Meiji era (1868–1912) to the Taish≤ era (1912 – 1926)—that interest in S≤tatsu was revived and he came to be recognized as the first great painter of Rimpa. At this time a number of tea masters, collectors, and scholars inaugurated the modern study of S≤tatsu, portraying him in their writings as an individual (kojin)—a concept of personal identity newly introduced from the West. It is worth noting that Japanese art history was concurrently being established as an academic field, and the evaluative strategy employed by intellectuals of the time naturally influenced modern scholarship on S≤tatsu. In fact, this strategy continues to shape S≤tatsu scholarship as it is practiced today.

The Heike n≤ky≤ Handscrolls S≤tatsu’s earliest significant project was the repair of several sections of painting in a famous Buddhist text from the late Heian period (794–1185), the Lotus Sutra (Hokeky≤), that had long been preserved at Itsukushima Jinja, a Shinto shrine near Hiroshima.4 This work—a sutra set composed of thirty-four handscrolls, each of which opens with a gorgeously painted frontispiece—was dedicated to Itsukushima Shrine by the Taira family. Because the Taira family is also known as “the Heike,” the set is referred to as the Heike n≤ky≤. Scholars concur that S≤tatsu added six segments of painting to replace the covers and frontispieces of three Heike n≤ky≤ scrolls—the “Ganmon,” “Kej≤yubon,” and “Shokuruibon”–when the feudal lord Fukushima Masanori (1561 – 1624) had the scroll set restored in 1602 (Figures 2.1–2.3). Shortly before, the warrior leader Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616) had named Masanori lord of two provinces, Aki and Bingo (present-day Hiroshima prefecture) in appreciation for Masanori’s distinguished service in 1600 at the Battle of Sekigahara, where he supported Ieyasu in leading the Eastern Army to victory. Masanori was to serve as the lord of Aki and Bingo until he was transferred in 1619. Art historians conclude that Masanori must have undertaken the restoration of the Heike n≤ky≤ while he was lord of Aki and Bingo, probably soon after he arrived at this post in the first years of the seventeenth century. Today most Japanese scholars agree that it was S≤tatsu who made the repairs to the Heike n≤ky≤ in 1602, even though there is no definitive proof for this attribution. In fact, there is very little documentary information to verify any of

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figure 2.1. Frontispiece of the “Ganmon” Scroll from the Heike n≤ky≤, 1164, silver and gold on paper, 27.9 × 264.5 cm (full-length), Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima.

S≤tatsu’s activities early in his career; nor, for that matter, is there much to document his later years as an artist. An early clue to S≤tatsu’s involvement with the Heike n≤ky≤ does exist, however, found on one of two storage boxes associated with the sutra set, a black-lacquered chest with an ivy design.5 The clue is a dedication written in lacquer sprinkled with gold powder (maki-e). The dedication, composed by the lord Masanori and dated 1602, is inscribed on the back of the lid of the chest: I restored and rededicated one set of the Hokeky≤, which consists of twentyeight scrolls, along with one scroll each of the “Mury≤giky≤,” “Kanfugenky≤,” “Amidaky≤,” “Han’nya Shingy≤,” “Ganmon” with calligraphy by Lord Kiyomori [Taira no Kiyomori, 1118 – 1181], and “Rishuky≤” written by K≤b≤ Daishi [K≥kai, 774–835], as these treasures had been extensively damaged.

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figure 2.2. Frontispiece of the “Kej≤yubon” Scroll from the Heike n≤ky≤, 1164, silver and gold on paper, 25.6 × 668.5 cm (full-length), Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima.

Moreover, Asano Mitsuakira (1617 – 1693), a feudal lord later responsible for the region of Hiroshima, appended an additional sentence to the inscription on the chest lid. Here Mitsuakira relates that he too ordered repairs to the Heike n≤ky≤ and that these repairs were completed in 1648. The two-part inscription on the chest lid, however, has given rise to questions. Above all, we are left wondering which of the thirty-four scrolls were restored in the seventeenth century and what Mitsuakira’s restoration entailed. Subsequent to the 1602/1648 chest-lid inscriptions, we have no detailed records concerning the Heike n≤ky≤ until the nineteenth century. Then we encounter an extensive treatment of the sutra set in the second volume of the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima (Itsukushima h≤motsu zue), a series of woodblock-printed books edited in 1841 by Okada Kiyoshi (d. 1878), a

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figure 2.3. Frontispiece of the “Shokuruibon” Scroll from the Heike n≤ky≤, 1164, silver and gold on paper, 25.6 × 91.2 cm (full-length), Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima.

retainer of the Hiroshima clan and a scholar of classical Japanese literature.6 The Illustrated Guide includes lavish illustrations of the covers and texts for each scroll of the Heike n≤ky≤, showing the scrolls unrolled. Moreover, this book offers long descriptions of the scrolls’ manufacture and their component parts, such as the rollers, titles, edges, rings, covers, strings, papers, ruled lines, characters, and frontispieces. Despite the elaborate documentation, no mention is made of the restoration of the covers and frontispieces of the “Ganmon” (Figure 2.4), “Kej≤yubon” (Figure 2.5), and “Shokuruibon” (Figure 2.6), which only later came to be recognized as paintings by S≤tatsu. To establish when S≤tatsu was first credited with the 1602 restoration of the Heike n≤ky≤, we must follow a series of attributions starting with one that appears in a book published four decades later in 1882. This book, The Supple-

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figure 2.4. “Ganmon” Scroll in the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima (Itsukushima h≤motsu zue), vol. 2, afterword dated 1841, printed on paper, 25.2 × 16.5 cm, Seikad≤ Bunko Library, Tokyo.

mental Album of Antique Paintings (Z≤ho k≤ko gafu), was compiled by Furukawa Miyuki (1810 – 1883) based on manuscripts prepared by Kurokawa Harumura (1799 – 1866), a late-Edo scholar of classical Japanese literature.7 The first volume of The Supplemental Album contains an entry on “The Itsukushima N≤ky≤ and Its Decorated Paper”—probably dating to the time of Kurokawa Harumura—which reads: “Ry≤han [Kohitsu Ry≤han, 1790 – 1853] said there were a few scrolls among the sutras [the Heike n≤ky≤] that Hokky≤ K≤rin [Ogata K≤rin] restored. I do not know whether that is correct or not.”8 It is re-

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markable that Ry≤han, a connoisseur of calligraphy employed by the Edo shogunate, could generally identify a sense of the Rimpa painting style in certain scrolls of the Heike n≤ky≤. Ry≤han was personally acquainted with Sakai H≤itsu, who admired K≤rin and revived his manner in the late Edo period. In fact, H≤itsu claimed he had learned the location of the grave of K≤rin’s brother, Ogata Kenzan (1663 – 1743), when he was present at a tea ceremony held by Ry≤han. This claim, recounted by H≤itsu in the epilogue to his Extant Works by Ogata Kenzan (Kenzan iboku), leads us to conclude that Ry≤han was familiar with K≤rin’s style of painting, at least to a limited extent.9 An important late-Meiji art history text, The Compendia of Asian Art (T≤y≤ bijutsu taikan) published in 1908, includes the passage from The Supplemental Album quoted earlier. ∑mura Seigai (1868–1927), who wrote a descriptive entry on the Heike n≤ky≤ for the second volume of The Compendia of Asian Art, cites the remarks attributed to Ry≤han and continues as follows:

figure 2.5. “Kej≤yubon” Scroll (with handscroll shown rotated on its side) in the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima (Itsukushima h≤motsu zue), vol. 2, afterword dated 1841, printed on paper, 25.2 × 33 cm (two-page spread), Seikad≤ Bunko Library, Tokyo.

Ry≤han was probably referring to the frontispieces of the “Kej≤yubon” and “Shokuruibon” scrolls. But Fukushima Masanori had this set of sutras restored in 1602, and Lord Asano restored it again during the Keian era [1648– 1652]. Both were before K≤rin’s time. [Thus] it is clear that K≤rin was not the painter who restored the set.10

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figure 2.6. “Shokuruibon” Scroll (with handscroll shown rotated on its side) in the Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima (Itsukushima h≤motsu zue), vol. 2, afterword dated 1841, printed on paper, 25.2 × 32.9 cm (two-page spread), Seikad≤

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Here, for the first time in print, a scholar identifies the portions of the Heike n≤ky≤ that had been restored and, based on historical investigation, argues against the theory that K≤rin had been involved. This is a prime case of a twentiethcentury art historian attempting to use a modern approach to verify or disprove a view put forth in the late Edo period. Although ∑mura rejects the theory that K≤rin had restored the scrolls, he offers no new suggestion regarding the identity of the painter-restorer. Only later, after the Meiji period, would scholars openly advocate the theory that S≤tatsu had restored the scrolls. Soon after ∑mura wrote his Heike n≤ky≤ entry in 1908, a book containing significant insights on the sutra-set restoration was published by the K≤etsu Association (K≤etsu-kai), which had been established by a group of aficionados and tea masters to commemorate the life and art of another pioneer of Rimpa: Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558–1637). The book, titled K≤etsu (edited and published in 1916), could be called the standard early text on this multitalented artist. In it the craft-designer Kishi K≤kei (1840–1922), who had been serving as an imperial household artist (Teishitsu gigeiin) since 1909, published an article on the Heike n≤ky≤, which he referred to as the “Itsukushima sutras.”11 Here Kishi expresses his agreement with an assessment made by Kurokawa Mayori (1829 – 1906)—namely that K≤etsu had painted two sections of repair to the Heike

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n≤ky≤, one the frontispiece of Black Pine with Water (the frontispiece of the “Shokuruibon” or “Kej≤yubon” scroll) and the other a frontispiece of Autumn Grass with Deer (the frontispiece of the “Ganmon” scroll). According to Kishi and Kurokawa, K≤etsu had traveled to Hiroshima to undertake the restoration. Kishi was a passionate admirer of K≤etsu. Early in 1893 he had supervised a ceremony at H≤npoji in Kyoto commemorating K≤etsu’s death.12 Kishi had urged Masuda Don’≤ (Takashi; 1848 – 1938), founder of Mitsui Bussan Company, to organize an exhibition featuring K≤etsu’s works. Masuda complied and oversaw this exhibition in 1907 at a tea ceremony that was held by the Daishi Association (Daishi-kai) and presided over by Masuda.13 Given his interest in K≤etsu, it is no surprise that Kishi, as well as members of his circle in the early Taish≤ period, concluded that K≤etsu had restored the painting of Autumn Grass with Deer on the frontispiece of the “Ganmon” scroll and the painting of Black Pine with Water on the frontispiece of the “Shokuruibon” or “Kej≤yubon” scroll. This attribution was sanctioned by a lineage of scholars that included Kohitsu Ry≤han, Kurokawa Harumura, and Kurokawa Mayori. Thus thoughts on the Heike n≤ky≤ repair reached a new stage in the early Taish≤ period, just prior to our first encounter with the proposal that it was S≤tatsu who had restored the sutra set. How, then, did scholars come to claim that it was S≤tatsu who had repaired the Heike n≤ky≤? I first learned of the origins of the claim at a small symposium held in 1977 in conjunction with the publication of an issue of Kokka featuring articles on the Heike n≤ky≤ and S≤tatsu.14 The symposium, chaired by Mizuo Hiroshi, included talks by two senior art historians, Tanaka Ichimatsu and Minamoto Toyomune. In his presentation, Tanaka said that the artist Tanaka Chikayoshi (1875–1975)—who had participated in a project to reproduce the Heike n≤ky≤ during the 1920s—suggested early on that S≤tatsu was responsible for the Heike n≤ky≤ restoration. Minamoto agreed and added that people began to pay attention to S≤tatsu after the mid-1920s, influenced by a growing interest in S≤tatsu among cultural salons that included millionaire collectors such as Masuda Don’≤ and Hara Sankei (1868–1939), as well as artists such as Tanaka Chikayoshi.15 According to members of these salons, a shared appreciation of S≤tatsu led many of them to postulate that S≤tatsu may have restored the Heike n≤ky≤—which, as it turns out, was an important contribution to scholarship. Tanaka Chikayoshi was certainly familiar with the Heike n≤ky≤. As noted earlier, he had participated as a painter in a project to replicate the sutra set. He undertook this project—along with the art historian Fukui Rikichir≤ (1886–

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1972) and the chief priest of Itsukushima Shrine, Takayama Noboru—in order to preserve the original composition of the Heike n≤ky≤.16 Masuda Don’≤ and Takahashi S≤an (1861–1937) made financial contributions in support of the project. After the project’s completion in November 1925, the original and the replica of the sutra set were exhibited together in the Hy≤keikan at Tokyo Imperial Museum. At the time, Masuda Don’≤ owned a work by S≤tatsu, the Illustrated Handscroll of The New Collection of Ancient and Modern Japanese Poetry with Deer (Shika shita-e Shinkokinsh≥ waka-kan emaki), which is now divided among several collections (Figure 2.7). Dan Takuma (1858–1932), who was one of the contributors to the 1925 Hy≤keikan exhibit, owned another work painted by S≤tatsu, the Illustrated Handscroll of The Collection of Japanese Poetry for One Thousand Years with Flower Paintings of the Four Seasons (Shiki kusabana shita-e Senzaish≥ waka-kan emaki) (Figure 2.8). Because five scrolls of the Heike n≤ky≤ were borrowed from the Itsukushima Shrine and displayed at a meeting of the Daishi Association in 1920, it is not difficult to imagine that Masuda, Dan, and others had ample opportunity to compare their S≤tatsu paintings with repaired segments of the Heike n≤ky≤. Their appreciation of works known to be by S≤tatsu must have led them to recognize that it was S≤tatsu who had restored the sutra set. Meanwhile, Kishi’s suggestion that K≤etsu had restored the sutra scrolls came to the attention of Fukui Rikichir≤, one of the organizers of the project to replicate the Heike n≤ky≤. Fukui, who was named the first professor of art history at T≤hoku Imperial University in the late Taish≤ period, was an active Rimpa scholar. Earlier, in 1915, Fukui had presented the first modern scholarly analysis of Ogata K≤rin in the bulletin of Kyoto Imperial University.17 It may have been Fukui who took the initiative in a lecture of 8 August 1927 to propose that S≤tatsu had restored the Heike n≤ky≤. This lecture, which was published four years later, included a section on S≤tatsu and K≤rin where Fukui relates: I still remember the strange feeling I had when Kishi K≤kei, who died a few years ago, first called my attention to [what he identified as] K≤etsu’s restorations in the Heike n≤ky≤. His comments were so fascinating it was hard to believe they could really be true. After that, however, when I initiated a general survey of all the sutras at Itsukushima Shrine, I actually saw sections of “K≤etsu-style” restoration in two sutra scrolls and in “Ganmon.” Due to the constant stream of works by S≤tatsu discovered since that time, Kishi now

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would probably agree [if he were still alive] that these “K≤etsu-style” restorations were not by K≤etsu but by S≤tatsu.18 Three important points can be gleaned from Fukui’s lecture. First, it was in the late Edo period that connoisseurs and scholars began to advocate that a Rimpa painter had restored the Heike n≤ky≤. Second, as works by S≤tatsu were discovered—one emerging right after another during the Meiji and Taish≤ periods— people began changing their minds about the attribution of the Heike n≤ky≤ repair, tentatively switching their attribution from K≤etsu to S≤tatsu. Third came a dramatic realization that, in fact, it was S≤tatsu who had restored the sutra set. Along the same lines, Tanaka Ichimatsu concluded in a 1929 article that if the restoration of the sutra set actually did date to the Keich≤ era (1596–1615), then the painter must have been S≤tatsu.19 For Tanaka the brushwork in the restored parts of the Heike n≤ky≤—now attributed to S≤tatsu—is particularly interesting in light of the claim that S≤tatsu had played a central role in the revival of yamato-e. From the outset Tanaka attached great importance to the fact that Tanaka Chikayoshi had painted a replica of the Heike n≤ky≤ in the mid1920s and, soon thereafter, others began to concur that S≤tatsu was the artist who had restored the sutra set. With this attribution, the long-lasting ambiguity about S≤tatsu’s identity started to fade and S≤tatsu came to be seen as one of the greatest masters of early-seventeenth-century Japanese art. Along with this growing awareness, a sense began emerging in modern scholarship of

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figure 2.7. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, calligraphy by Hon’ami K≤etsu, detached segment of Illustrated Handscroll of The New Collection of Ancient and Modern Japanese Poetry (Shinkokinsh≥ waka-kan) with Deer, early 17th century, hanging scroll, gold, silver and ink on paper, 33.9 × 75.3 cm, MOA Museum, Shizuoka.

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figure 2.8. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, calligraphy by Hon’ami K≤etsu, detail of Illustrated Handscroll of The Collection of Japanese Poetry for One Thousand Years (Senzaish≥ wakakan) with Flower Paintings of the Four Seasons, early 17th century, handscroll, gold, silver and ink on paper, 34 × 922.2 cm, private collection, Tokyo.

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S≤tatsu’s unique “individuality”—and this sense overlapped perfectly with the identification of S≤tatsu as a participant in the revival of yamato-e traditions. The theory that S≤tatsu had restored the Heike n≤ky≤ was vested from its first appearance with meanings related to a rebirth of Japanese traditions. Next we turn to a group of S≤tatsu’s paintings on folding screens (by≤bu), starting with a famous pair of sixfold screens signed “Hokky≤ S≤tatsu.” It was apparently sometime before 1630 that the imperial court honored S≤tatsu with the title of hokky≤—and at that point he joined the ranks of first-class painters.

The Matsushima Screens Modern texts on Japanese art written before 1990 typically maintain that one of S≤tatsu’s later paintings reveals his interest in the classics. This work, a masterpiece that S≤tatsu produced after being named hokky≤, is the pair of sixfold screens widely known as the Matsushima Screens (Figure 2.9). The screens’ dynamic composition features views of the sea and shore—believed specifically to be Matsushima, a spot in northern Japan near Sendai long regarded as one of the three most beautiful landscape sites in the country. Until recently, most scholars have held that S≤tatsu was inspired to create the Matsushima Screens while restoring the Heike n≤ky≤ and that, as a model for the screens’ composition, he turned to the design of waves and seashore on the cover of the “Jukibon” scroll of the Heike n≤ky≤ (Figure 2.10). As the screens left Japan in 1906 before Japanese scholars could see and evaluate them in person, art historians in Japan were not entirely familiar with the screens during the early twentieth

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figure 2.9. Tawaraya S≤tatsu, Matsushima Screens, early 17th century, pair of sixfold screens, color and gold on paper, 152 × 355.7 cm each, Freer Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

century. Yashiro Yukio (1890 – 1975) introduced the Matsushima Screens for the first time in a Japanese publication of 1938.20 Later, in 1973, Akiyama Terukazu presented a detailed report on the screens at a symposium held in conjunction with the publication of a special issue of Kokka.21 More recently, ∑ta Sh≤ko and Keiko Nakamachi have published groundbreaking research on the Matsushima Screens. ∑ta’s study—presented in her 1995 essay “The Matsushima Screens by Tawaraya S≤tatsu”—focuses special attention on the two motifs depicted in the screens: rough sea (ariso) and shore (suhama).22 She discusses multiple meanings of these motifs in terms of the broad range of sea imagery as well as the manner in which artists from various Asian countries rendered and expanded upon these motifs. In the same year, Nakamachi published an article, “A Study of the Matsushima Screens by Tawaraya S≤tatsu,” in which she investigates the screens’ production by examining documents and presenting new findings.23 Particularly relevant in her discussion are a temple and two men: the merchant Tani Sh≤an (1589 – 1644) and the priest Takuan S≤h≤ (1573–1645). The temple in question is Sh≤unji of

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figure 2.10. Cover of “Jukibon” chapter from the Heike n≤ky≤, 1164, gold and silver on paper, 26.3 × 250.8 cm (full-length), Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima.

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Sakai, where the Matsushima Screens were stored until the middle of the Meiji period. Sh≤unji was built by Sh≤an, who called on the priest Takuan to found the temple. Takuan had bestowed the Buddhist name “Kaigan” (Seashore) on Sh≤an, and Nakamachi believes that it may have been this name that motivated S≤tatsu to create the Matsushima Screens. Moreover, she quotes from a survey of the temple treasures carried out in 1895, which reveals that the Matsushima Screens were called “Rough Sea Screens” (Ariso by≤bu) until the mid-Meiji period. Thus research by ∑ta links nicely with research by Nakamachi. The two scholars have given us a new and broader understanding of the Matsushima Screens that liberates these works from the limited interpretation of former times. Their research enables us to envision other iconological meanings for the remarkable, shining gold sea that courses through the screens and allows us to locate these meanings in the larger context of Japanese culture. Specifically, we now can postulate that the screens were produced for the milieu of the Sakai merchant Tani and his acquaintance, the monk Takuan. As a result, we can tie the subject of the screens to the Sumiyoshi Sea and the Sumiyoshi Great Shrine (Sumiyoshi Taisha) near Sakai; the deity of this shrine has been worshiped as a god of poetry and the sea since ancient times. Research of this sort, excavating the lost context of the Matsushima Screens, clarifies that there was a relationship between a group of artworks—what we

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could perhaps call a Sumiyoshi connection (Sumiyoshi no yukari). These works include screens of the same general subject by K≤rin—one of which is also a Matsushima Screen from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (Figure 2.11)—as well as the Suminoe Writing Box designed by K≤rin after K≤etsu, today in the Seikad≤ Bunko Art Museum (Figure 2.12). The impact of recent research even extends to another masterpiece by S≤tatsu, the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens, a key work that has encouraged scholars to identify S≤tatsu as one of the artists who revived traditional yamato-e. Let us turn next to that piece.

figure 2.11. Ogata K≤rin, Matsushima Screen, early 18th century, sixfold screen, color and gold leaf on paper, 154.7 × 369.4 cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

The Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji Screens It is well known that the pair of sixfold screens by S≤tatsu titled the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji (Plate 1), now in the Seikad≤ Bunko Art Museum, was formerly in the collection of Daigoji in Yamashina near Kyoto. In a 1953 essay, Yashiro Yukio made the story of the screens’ origins widely known.24 The screens were displayed publicly in an exhibition of Daigoji treasures held in the autumn of 1895 at Heian Jing≥, a Shinto shrine that had recently been built in Kyoto. A list of items in the exhibition, recorded in a report in the art journal Kaiga S≤shi, gave the title for the work as Screens of a Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi Shrine (Sumiyoshi m≤de by≤bu) and attributed the painting to Hokky≤ S≤tatsu.25 This seems to be the first record of a public exhibition of the screens. The Daigoji treasure exhibition occurred at a time when Japan was experiencing a sense of its increased national power following the Sino-Japanese War (1894 – 1895). The spirit of the age was felt strongly in

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figure 2.12. Ogata K≤rin, Suminoe Writing Box, 18th century, lead, silver characters, and gold maki-e on black-lacquered ground, 25.8 × 23 × 10 cm, Seikad≤ Bunko Art Museum, Tokyo.

Kyoto, where the fourth domestic exposition was held and where long-neglected Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples were being repaired or rebuilt. A modern image emerged of Kyoto as the “old town” (koto), a place that preserved Japanese traditions. School excursions to Kyoto began at this time. According to a correspondence that I learned about recently, Iwasaki Yanosuke (1851 – 1908), founder of the Seikad≤, procured artworks from Gyokuen Kai≤, the steward of Daigoji. In June of 1895—just before the opening of the Daigoji treasure exhibition—Iwasaki exchanged letters with Gyokuen in the course of his receiving Buddhist altar fittings from the temple.26 As remuneration for these items, Iwasaki sent 150 yen to Daigoji, which the temple then used for repairs. It was via this connection, I believe, that Daigoji presented the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens to Iwasaki. Although I have yet to locate any record of the screens’ transfer, according to an essay by Yoneyama Toratar≤, director of the Seikad≤ Bunko Library, it occurred in the following year, 1896.27 After being moved to Tokyo, the pair of screens was introduced for the first time as scenes of Sekiya and Miotsukushi in the identifying label to a large collotype illustration in the second volume of Selected Relics of Japanese Art (Shinbi taikan), published in 1906.28 The screens represent two separate episodes from the renowned early-eleventh-century novel The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari). The right screen depicts a scene from the “Miotsukushi” chapter in which Prince Genji meets a former lover, Lady Akashi, near the Sumiyoshi Shrine. The left screen portrays a scene from the “Sekiya” chapter, set at the ∑saka-no-seki Gatehouse; on his way to Ishiyamadera, Genji again encounters a former lover, in this case Utsusemi. The Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens

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later were included in the earliest public exhibition of S≤tatsu’s work, titled “S≤tatsu-kai,” held in Tokyo to commemorate the accession of Emperor Taish≤ to the throne in 1913. Organizers borrowed major works from various collections, and the imperial court even lent a pair of screens with S≤tatsu’s fan paintings based on a Tale of the H≤gen War and A Tale of the Heiji War (H≤genHeiji monogatari-zu senmen harimaze by≤bu).29 Upon viewing the exhibition, a young painter of the Japanese art academy, Hayami Gyosh≥ (1894–1935), adopted the artistic pseudonym Gyosh≥, meaning “Steering a Boat,” inspired by Lady Akashi’s boat which S≤tatsu depicted in the upper right panel of the Miotsukushi screen. This well-known episode not only expresses Hayami’s admiration for S≤tatsu but indicates more generally the esteem for this painter in the early twentieth century. Evidently some people had begun to virtually worship S≤tatsu, considering him the founder of Rimpa, and these advocates reformulated the “genealogies” of S≤tatsu and K≤rin by constructing the pedigree of the artists as a school of painters from different centuries who were ardent admirers of S≤tatsu and K≤rin. From this point forward, descriptions of the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens tended to concentrate on decorative qualities—calling attention to such details as the abstract simplification of the background hills. Or the descriptions tended to praise the modernity of the screens—emphasizing the ways in which S≤tatsu transformed traditional yamato-e into a contemporary style. In other words: modern writers elucidated the marvelous aesthetic qualities of the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens and affirmed that both the traditional (or old) and the creative (or new) are essential to a correct understanding of the screens’ essence. In the twentieth century, the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens have been admired by many; in fact, they have become a classic of Japanese art, at least as defined by art historians and painters of the modern Nihonga (Japanese painting) movement. For centuries writers have lauded The Tale of Genji, which is the thematic basis for the screens, as a classic of Japanese literature, and twentiethcentury art historians correspondingly have attempted to create a lineage of classical artworks, some of which illustrate The Tale of Genji. Accordingly, in government-sponsored academic books and journals, such as Selected Relics of Japanese Art and Kokka, writers bestowed a new name on the Seikad≤ screens. Today we usually read their title as Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji Screens. This is how the Japanese government titles the screens in its list of artworks designated as national treasures. There is another significant matter concerning the title of these screens that

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figure 2.13. Label on packing bag for the Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens, ink on cotton, Seikad≤ Bunko Art Museum, Tokyo.

we should consider. I still remember my surprise upon seeing the labels on packing bags in which the screens are stored at the Seikad≤ Bunko. Written on the labels is a completely different title, Illustration of a Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi Shrine (Sumiyoshi m≤de zu) (Figure 2.13), reminding us that when the screens were first publicly exhibited—in Kyoto in 1895—their title was given as Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi Shrine. In most modern descriptions of the screens, writers deal with the classical literary allusions but have little to say about imagistic parallels or layers of thematic content. Most scholars identify these scenes simply as Genji motifs without elaborating on the prevalence in early Edo art of illustrations of famous sites (meisho-e), in which the awe-inspiring beauty of the landscape evokes a religious response in the viewer. The labels on the packing bags seem to be valuable evidence as to the original content of the screens—that is, their content as it was understood before the late nineteenth

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century, when the screens were moved from Daigoji in Kyoto to the collection of Iwasaki Yanosuke in Tokyo. Even though modern writers generally dwell on features of the screens that are considered characteristic of a “yamato-e revival,” the work apparently conveys a close connection with the site of Sumiyoshi, as well. One event that helped to shed light on this issue was an exhibition, “Sumiyoshi Great Shrine: The World of Utamakura” (Sumiyoshi Taisha: Utamakura no sekai), held at the Sakai City Museum in 1984.30 Gathered together in the exhibit, which clarified the continuity of the Sumiyoshi-pilgrimage theme from ancient times onward, were a variety of artworks and designs depicting Sumiyoshi Shrine or the Sumiyoshi Sea, itself a divine being. From this exhibition, which offers new insights into the meaning of S≤tatsu’s Sekiya and Miotsukushi Screens, we now understand that this imagery has a multiplicity of complex layers that draw from various sources current in the seventeenth century. As helpful as the new research has been, however, I suspect that there is still a significant story behind these screens and look forward to future research. To illustrate the ways in which recent scholarship has furthered our understanding of S≤tatsu, I turn next to another masterpiece by the artist: the pair of twofold screens of the Wind and Thunder Gods from the collection of Kenninji in Kyoto.

The Wind and Thunder Gods Screens Only recently—in the past hundred years or so—have scholars and connoisseurs acknowledged that S≤tatsu was the original master painter of Rimpa, even though K≤rin was widely recognized and acclaimed throughout the eighteenth century and well into the nineteenth. One of the earliest publications to portray S≤tatsu as K≤rin’s “teacher” (that is, to present S≤tatsu’s art as an inspiration to K≤rin) was the second volume of Selected Relics of Japanese Art, published in 1899. In the explanatory text accompanying an illustration of S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens, the author describes S≤tatsu’s painting as the model for K≤rin’s screens of the same theme, now in the Tokyo National Museum (Plate 2).31 Information recorded in the Edo period concerning S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens is ambiguous, especially information recorded after K≤rin’s death.32 K≤rin actually documented the existence of S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens by copying them, but thereafter it is difficult to say whether Edo-period artists knew of S≤tatsu’s original version of the composi-

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tion. Even though a few late Rimpa artists of the H≤itsu school were familiar with the composition, it is not clear whether they could identify it as a design first painted by S≤tatsu. Most renderings of the Wind and Thunder Gods theme followed K≤rin’s version or a later version by H≤itsu. As for H≤itsu, despite his having painted Wind and Thunder Gods Screens and despite his having revived K≤rin’s style, he probably was not aware that S≤tatsu had painted the original Wind and Thunder Gods composition. This surmise is based on several facts: H≤itsu lived after K≤rin’s day; little had been written on S≤tatsu’s art in H≤itsu’s day; and H≤itsu worked in the city of Edo. Residing in Edo, H≤itsu must have had greater access to information on K≤rin than information on S≤tatsu. K≤rin, although native to Kyoto, lived in Edo for a number of years in the middle of his life while serving several daimyo families. S≤tatsu, by contrast, appears to have had little or no connection with Edo, even though his successor, Tawaraya S≤setsu (fl. mid-seventeenth century), painted sliding doors for the Maeda warrior household in Edo around 1650. So even though H≤itsu painted his Flowering Plants of Summer and Autumn (Natsuakikusazu) on the reverse side of K≤rin’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens, he probably knew little about S≤tatsu. It was only in the late nineteenth century that scholars and connoisseurs became aware of S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens. In August 1884, an American advocate of Japanese art, Ernest Fenollosa (1853–1908), reported in his survey of the Kenninji collection that the temple owned a pair of Wind and Thunder Gods Screens attributed to S≤tatsu.33 Then, in 1895, the public had an opportunity to view the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens for the first time in a pioneering exhibition in Kyoto that arranged works of Japanese art in chronological sequence. Like Fenollosa, the author of the exhibition list attributed the screens to S≤tatsu.34 In the spring of 1903, the Tokyo Imperial Museum presented an exhibition that included the first large-scale display of art by “the K≤rin school.” Appearing in the catalog to the exhibit are three versions of the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens, one each by S≤tatsu, K≤rin, and H≤itsu.35 It is not certain whether the three versions were exhibited at the same time, side-by-side, at this venue. The author of an exhibition review published in the art journal Bijutsu Shinp≤, however, claimed that the three versions were placed in the same display case and that it was very interesting to compare them.36 Thus we can say that the three versions probably were in the same display case at the same time. The catalog list identifies S≤tatsu’s version as genuine and the prototype for versions by K≤rin and H≤itsu. Clearly we see germinating here the concept that

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Rimpa had been founded by S≤tatsu, who was followed by K≤rin and H≤itsu. Scholars were not merely formulating a theory on a Rimpa lineage, though; they were also advancing a notion that the value of art depends on its originality. Thus S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens came to be prized as an important artwork and came to play an integral role in the modern understanding of Rimpa. The concept of Rimpa as it was being shaped through the evaluation of the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens is closely connected with an issue currently debated by historians of modern Japan: the question of a “creation of tradition” (dent≤ no s≤shutsu).37 Following the wording of this debate, we could say that a newly created tradition, or a modern construct, was emerging in twentiethcentury Japanese art history along with a reorganized and reinforced concept of a Rimpa lineage. According to this newly created tradition, S≤tatsu was a great master of the early Edo period who had turned to earlier classics to formulate fresh and contemporary classics. We should note that post-Taish≤ writers frequently spoke of classics, using the word “koten” to translate the English word “classics.”38 We should note also, as stated in the Introduction to this volume, that Fukui Rikichir≤ was the first Japanese art historian to present a coherent theory that culture of the Momoyama period (1573–1600 or 1615) can be compared with that of the Renaissance in Europe. (Actually, Fukui extended the Momoyama period into the early seventeenth century.)39 Thus in earlytwentieth-century scholarship we encounter for the first time the historical notion of antique Japanese art as traditional or classical—in other words, art of the Momoyama and early Edo periods is cast as a type of renaissance art. Empirical research on S≤tatsu was inaugurated at this time, as well, and writers took advantage of this research to reinforce the image of S≤tatsu as a painter who had revived tradition. Elsewhere I have criticized the biased modern discourse on S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens, a discourse that I consider too dependent on outdated approaches to the study of Japanese cultural history.40 Here I wish to offer a proposal about his Wind and Thunder Gods Screens. In my opinion, there is an intriguing relationship between S≤tatsu’s screens and the thundergod design on a curtain behind the marionette theater that is depicted in a painting from approximately the same time: the Pleasures of the Shij≤ Riverside Screens from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (Figure 2.14). For the present, however, the lost context of S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens remains a mystery.

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Conclusion As we have seen, then, scholars and collectors from the world of finance and industry at the end of the nineteenth century created the image of S≤tatsu as a painter partly responsible for reviving yamato-e. These scholars and collectors were inspired by several important exhibitions and by the return to traditions in Kyoto. Then, in the early twentieth century, a second crucial process shaped the modern image of S≤tatsu: the repeated uncovering of unknown works by S≤tatsu, works that fostered a sense of the artist’s individuality. At the same time, scholars and connoisseurs began attributing the Heike n≤ky≤ restoration to S≤tatsu. Soon this attribution was appreciated as an epoch-making discovery providing evidence for the claim that S≤tatsu had personally encountered and been influenced by classical arts of the Heian period. In fact, the attribution of the Heike n≤ky≤ restoration to S≤tatsu is so firmly set in the minds of contemporary scholars that they cannot escape from its spell. We have lost sight of other possibilities for understanding S≤tatsu’s work, especially for evaluating stylistic and thematic connections between S≤tatsu’s paintings and other visual imagery of the early Edo period. I am confident that the innovative research by ∑ta and Nakamachi—which so vividly describes S≤tatsu’s social connections and activities as a painter—will be highly influential as models for the future study of S≤tatsu. S≤tatsu’s interest in court culture, moreover, should not be treated as comparable to revival efforts of the European Renaissance—a time when people figure 2.14. Thunder god in Pleasures of the Shij≤ Riverside Screens (detail), early 17th century, left panel of pair of sixfold screens, color on gold-leafed paper, 104.1 × 190 cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

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were extricating themselves from the Dark Ages, or the Middle Ages, and when artists were drawing inspiration from the Greek and Roman classics. If we continue to superficially apply this Western construct employed by Japanese scholars since the early twentieth century, we will, in essence, be clinging to a hollow and antiquated strategy. Scholars once considered this a useful strategy for elevating native Japanese developments in art because it allowed them to draw connections between Japanese and Western art history and set Japan on an equal plane with the West. That aim might well seem benign, but there is more to the story. As they made S≤tatsu’s art relevant to modern political concerns in Japan, scholars simultaneously made themselves complicit with nationalistic agendas that were, at best, quite problematic. Thanks to recent studies—which are increasingly detailed and reveal the rich creativity of yamato-e produced before S≤tatsu’s time, especially works from the Muromachi period (1333–1573)—the early Edo period might appear to us today more as an age of continuity or inheritance than an age of creativity. Certainly there was much innovation in seventeenth-century art, but we should not focus on the novelties of early Edo art at the expense of recognizing its reliance on earlier artistic forms. Moreover, recent research on culture of the Kan’ei era (1624–1644) has been instrumental in changing our outlook on seventeenth-century art. This research is well represented by the scholarship of Oka Yoshiko, who deals with such interesting issues as the commercialization of court culture in the early Edo period—as seen, for example, in the circulation among warriors and merchants of portraits of immortal poets (kasen-e).41 Finally, we must not limit ourselves to a simple genealogical treatment of S≤tatsu as the founder of Rimpa. There is much more to learn about his art.

Notes This chapter was translated by Patricia Fister and the author and was edited by Elizabeth Lillehoj. 1. Despite the great acclaim granted Tawaraya S≤tatsu, little is known about his life or his activity as an artist. For more on S≤tatsu in English see Mizuo Hiroshi, Edo Painting: Sotatsu and Korin, trans. John M. Shields (New York: Weatherhill/Heibonsha, 1978), 40 – 48 and 140 – 150; Howard A. Link, Exquisite Visions: Rimpa Paintings from Japan (Honolulu: Honolulu Academy of Arts, 1980), 22 – 30; and Yamane Y≥z≤, “Formation and Development of Rimpa Art,” in Yamane Y≥z≤, Masato Nait≤, and Timothy Clark, eds., Rimpa: Art from the Idemitsu Collection, Tokyo (London: British Museum Press, 1998), 13–49. 2. To reward an eminent artist, the court would bestow upon him the honorific title “hokky≤.”

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3. For more on the concept of classicism in Japanese art-historical discourse see the Introduction and Chapter 1 of this volume. 4. For more on this sutra set see my “Heike n≤ky≤ to Tawaraya S≤tatsu,” in Heike n≤ky≤ to Itsukushima no h≤motsu (Hiroshima: Hiroshima Prefectural Art Museum, 1997), 122–125. 5. The second of these storage boxes for the Heike n≤ky≤, which was ordered by the Heike family, is a thick metallic box with three tiers called the “Lacquered Copper Box with Dragon Among Clouds Design Decorated with Silver and Gold” (Kingin s≤ unry≥mon d≤sei ky≤ bako). 6. Okada Kiyoshi, ed., Itsukushima h≤motsu zue, vol. 2 (Hiroshima: Itsukushima Jinko [afterword dated 1841]). 7. Furukawa Miyuki, Z≤ho k≤ko gafu, vol. 1, rev. Kurokawa Mayori (Tokyo: Y≥rind≤, 1882). 8. Ibid., recto and verso of p. 28. 9. There is little documentary proof, but I think that Ry≤han, a member of H≤itsu’s art appreciation network, probably learned a great deal about K≤rin’s art through H≤itsu. 10. Tajima Shi’ichi, ed., T≤y≤ bijutsu taikan (Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1908), 2:93. 11. Kishi K≤kei, “Ne-no-hi no tana oyobi Itsukushima ky≤kan ni tsuite,” in K≤etsu (Kyoto: Uns≤d≤, 1916), 316. 12. Morita Seionosuke, “K≤etsu s≥haika Kishi K≤kei ≤,” in K≤etsu betsuden Takagamine yorai (Kyoto: Uns≤d≤, 1919), 103–106. 13. According to the catalog for this special exhibition, the viewing of K≤etsu’s works occurred at the twelfth tea ceremony of the Daishi-kai on 22 March 1907. See Daishikai tenkan zuroku (Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1911), 1:20–21. 14. Minamoto Toyomune, Tanaka Ichimatsu, and Mizuo Hiroshi, “Zadan-kai: Heike n≤ky≤ to S≤tatsu,” Kokka 997 (1977):17–32. 15. For more on these cultural salons see Christine M. E. Guth, Art, Tea, and Industry: Masuda Takashi and the Mitsui Circle (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1993). 16. Tanaka Ichimatsu, “Tanaka Chikayoshi ∑ oboegaki,” in Tanaka Chikayoshi (Tokyo: Meicho Kank≤kai, 1985), 1:54–70. 17. Fukui Rikichir≤, “K≤rin k≤,” pt. 1, Geibun 6 (1915):61–90; pt. 2, 65–98; and pt. 3, 42 – 79. I discuss the significance of Fukui’s thesis in “K≤rinkan no hensen 1815 – 1915,” Bijutsu Kenky≥ 371 (1999):1–70. 18. Fukui, Bijutsu, 104–162. 19. Tanaka Ichimatsu, “Heike n≤ky≤ to Jik≤jiky≤,” in Nihon emakimono sh≥sei (Tokyo: Y≥zankaku, 1929), 6:3–26. 20. Yashiro Yukio, “S≤tatsu hitsu Matsushima by≤bu,” Bijutsu Kenky≥ 73 (1938):1–8. 21. Akiyama Terukazu, Tanaka Ichimatsu, and Mizuo Hiroshi, “Zadankai: Freer Gallery z≤ S≤tatsu no Matsushima-zu by≤bu o megutte,” Kokka 958 (1973):5–26. 22. ∑ta Sh≤ko, “The Matsushima Screens by Tawaraya S≤tatsu no Matsushima-zu by≤bu,” in E wa kataru, vol. 9 (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1995). 23. Nakamachi Keiko, “Tawaraya S≤tatsu hitsu Matsushima-zu by≤bu k≤j≤,” pt. 1, Jissen Joshi Daigaku Bijutsushi Gaku 10 (1995):21 – 34. For more on this question, see Chapter 3 in this volume. 24. Yashiro Yukio, “Zuihitu S≤tatsu,” pt. 1, Yamato Bunka 10 (1953):51 – 62. Yashiro

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mistakenly identified the name of the collector of this pair of screens as Iwasaki Yatar≤. In fact the collector was Iwasaki Yanosuke, who was the younger brother of Yatar≤ and the founder of the Seikad≤ collection. 25. Author unknown, “Daigoji no h≤motsu tenkan,” Kaiga S≤shi 107 (31 December 1895):2. 26. What remains of this correspondence is two letters written by Gyokuen Kai≤ that are addressed to Iwasaki Yanosuke and dated 10 June and 30 June 1895. The letters are preserved in the Seikad≤ Bunko Library; materials related to the Iwasaki family are not open to the public, however. 27. Yoneyama Toratar≤, “Seikad≤ no enkaku to bijutsuhin,” in Seikad≤ h≤kan (Tokyo: Seikad≤ Foundation, 1992), 4–8. 28. Tajima Shi’ichi, Shinbi taikan (Kyoto: Nihon Shinbi Kyokai, 1906), 12:pl. 27. 29. This pair of screens, affixed with fan paintings that illustrate scenes from A Tale of the H≤gen War and a Tale of the Heiji War, is still in the Imperial Household Collection, Tokyo. 30. Sakai City Museum, ed., Sumiyoshi Taisha: Utamakura no sekai (Sakai: Sakai City Museum, 1984). 31. Tajima Shi’ichi, Shinbi taikan (Kyoto: Nihon Bukky≤ Shinbi Ky≤kai, 1899), 2:pl. 36. 32. One ambiguous matter concerning S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens is their provenance. For more on this question see Chapter 3 in this volume. 33. Ernest Fenollosa, Survey of the Collection of Kenninji, August 1884. See Murakata Akiko, ed. and trans., The Ernest F. Fenollosa Papers in the Houghton Library, Harvard University (Tokyo: Museum-Shuppan, 1982), 1:220. 34. This exhibition of 1895, titled “A Chronological Exhibition of Japanese Art” (Jidaihin tenrankai), was held in Kyoto in conjunction with the fourth domestic exhibition. 35. The exhibition was held from 12 April to 10 May 1903. More than six hundred works were displayed, including ancient bronze objects from Japan and abroad, along with paintings from the Kano school and “the K≤rin school.” Accompanying the exhibit was a catalog, Tokubetsu tenrankai reppin mokuroku, which is preserved in the Research and Information Center of the Tokyo National Museum. 36. Author unknown, “Jih≤,” Bijutsu Shinp≤ 3(2) (1903):21–22. I learned of this review from research by Soutome Harue, a graduate student at T≤hoku University. See Soutome, “Hishida Shuns≤ Ochiba no k≥kan k≤sei ni kansuru ichi k≤satsu—d≤jidai kaiga no naka de no ichizuke,” Bijutsushigaku 20 (1998):79. 37. Among the historians studying modern Japan, one who has taken the initiative in debates over “creation of tradition” is Takagi Hiroshi. Takagi points out that the Meiji government fostered the establishment of Japanese art history as an academic field in order to convey to Western countries that Japan had its own traditions as suited a modern nation. See Takagi, “Nihon bijutushi no seiritsu shiron: Kodai bijutsushi no jidai kubun no seiritsu,” Nihonshi Kenky≥ 400 (1995):74 – 98. Stefan Tanaka discusses this issue from another perspective in his “Miidasaretamono—Nihon to Seiy≤ no kako toshite no Nihon bijutsushi,” in T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru (Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999), 50–60. 38. For further discussion of “koten” and “classicism” see the Introduction and Chapter 1 of this volume. 39. Fukui Rikichir≤, “Momoyama jidai no bijutsu,” in Nihon Rekishi Chiri Gakkai, ed., Azuchi-Momoyama jidaishi ron (Tokyo: Jiny≥sha, 1915), 371–440.

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40. Tamamushi Satoko, “Sakai H≤itsu hitsu Natsuakikusa-zu by≤bu to Takarai Kikaku no amagoiku—Edo no F≥jin-Raijin ish≤ no bunmyaku kara,” Jissen Joshi Daigaku Bigaku Bijutsushi 13 (1998):79 – 89. See also my “Rinpa: The Past, Present, and Future,” in Miyeko Murase and Judith G. Smith, eds., The Arts of Japan: An International Symposium (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000), 133–160. 41. Oka Yoshiko, “M≤ hitotsu no Kan’ei bunka ron: Buke to d≤gu no kankei,” Ky≤toshi Rekishi Shiry≤kan Kiy≤ 10 (1992):389–419.

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Chapter Three

Keiko Nakamachi

The Patrons of Tawaraya S≤tatsu and Ogata K≤rin Recent research on the history of Japanese art reveals that a construct known as Japanese art history (Nihon bijutsu shi) began emerging at the start of Japan’s modern era, that is, during the Meiji period (1868 – 1912) and the Taish≤ period (1912–1926). This construct contributed to the formation of a Japanese sense of national identity in the early twentieth century and, consequently, it can be associated with the emergence of Japan as a modern nation-state.1 It was in this context that artworks by two so-called Rimpa painters, Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?) and Ogata K≤rin (1658 – 1716), came to be regarded as the “decorative” successors of a Japanese style of painting (yamato-e) that supposedly had originated in the Heian period (794–1185).2 Specifically, S≤tatsu and K≤rin were integrated into a discourse on the classical revival (koten fukk≤) in art of the early Edo period (1600 – 1868). But where did this revival occur and why? And who appreciated the classical elements in S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s work? This chapter examines social dimensions of the classical revival, which I define as one of several artistic movements based on Heian yamato-e: the Japanesestyle painting actually produced under the influence of Chinese art of the Tang dynasty (618–907). Here I consider the circumstances in which works by S≤tatsu and K≤rin were viewed and appreciated in the seventeenth century, along with the strata of society to which their patrons belonged, whether warrior, aristocratic, or commoner. After investigating the function of S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s work in Edo society, I offer some observations on the changing concepts of S≤tatsu and K≤rin from the Edo period to the present. But first we should consider the relationship between Rimpa and modern theories of a classical revival in early Edo art. The modern images of S≤tatsu

and K≤rin were established in the first two decades of the twentieth century along with a sudden rise in the popularity of Rimpa—at a time when the publisher Shinbi Shoin released several large and luxuriously illustrated compendia of works by the two artists and S≤tatsu’s grave was discovered in Kanazawa.3 In 1915, moreover, an exhibition commemorating the two-hundredth anniversary of K≤rin’s death opened in Tokyo and Kyoto, accompanied by a catalog published by Uns≤d≤.4 Within a few years, the art of S≤tatsu’s contemporary and colleague, Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558–1637), was being acclaimed as well.5 Whereas late-Edo-period scholars and connoisseurs had based their evaluations of art by S≤tatsu and K≤rin on standards set in Chinese painting histories and anthologies, modern writers viewed the two Rimpa artists from a totally different perspective.6 Authors of the early-twentieth-century compendia reevaluated S≤tatsu and K≤rin in terms of art as defined in the West—that is to say, on European bases. Two points characterize the modern scholars’ treatment of art by S≤tatsu and K≤rin. First, they elaborated on features considered to be decorative in S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s art, following a current Western notion, and this was a positively construed sense of decorativeness (s≤shokuteki).7 Second, modern writers adopted a nationalistic tone in describing Rimpa and yamato-e as traditional styles of Japanese painting untouched by Chinese influence. Such an interpretation of S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s art fit perfectly into the constructed fabric of modern Japanese art history and became undeniably important since “art history” was one of the many discourses being integrated into the modern project of nation-state formation in Japan. This way of thinking— problematic as it may be—endures today and provides steady support for the continuing interest in Rimpa. From the 1940s on, historians of early-Edo-period culture in Kyoto, particularly Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤ and his cohort, began to link the phrase “classical revival” with S≤tatsu.8 According to their analyses, Kyoto experienced a Kan’ei cultural phase in the first half of the seventeenth century when culture prospered under Emperor Gomizunoo (1596 – 1680; r. 1611 – 1629), his associates, and a number of influential townspeople including members of the Hon’ami and Suminokura families. This was, in the words of Hayashiya and his circle, a phase of “classical revival” with a “rebirth of dynastic traditions” (≤ch≤ dent≤ no fukkatsu) deriving from the Heian period, distinguishing aspects of which can be seen in architecture, tea ceremony, flower arrangement, and other artistic forms. There was, for example, the tastefully discriminating (sukiya) architecture in teahouses at Shugakuin Detached Palace built by Gomizunoo, at Katsura Detached Palace built by Hachij≤ no Miya Toshihito

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(1579 – 1629; uncle of Gomizunoo) and Hachij≤ no Miya Toshitada (1619 – 1662), and at the Ekan Sans≤ built by Ichij≤ Kanet≤ (1605 – 1672; younger brother of Gomizunoo), all located in or near Kyoto.9 These individuals—all from the aristocracy—hosted tea gatherings conducted in the style of Kanamori S≤wa (1584 or 1589–1656) following an aesthetic referred to as “beautiful and tranquil” (kirei sabi).10 There were also the exhibitions of flowers arranged by Ikenob≤ Senk≤ II (1536?–1621), which were displayed at the Kyoto imperial palace.11 Hayashiya’s group advanced the theory that such cultural forms are expressions of a brilliant Kyoto culture that flowered during the Kan’ei cultural phase. Although there are problems with this theory and the concept of an early-Edo classical revival, I adopt these notions here as a means to evaluate the social dimensions of S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s art. During the Kan’ei era, the Edo military government (bakufu)—under the third Tokugawa shogun, Iemitsu (1604–1651; r. 1623–1651)—made clear its intentions to consolidate the Edo political structure and subordinate the imperial court. In Kyoto opposition to the Tokugawa—along with feelings of resignation and estrangement from politics—drove members of the court to cultural activities. In 1626, hoping to revive traditional court ceremonies, Gomizunoo commissioned the painter Sumiyoshi Jokei (1599 – 1670) and his assistants to copy the Narrative Handscrolls of Annual Rites and Ceremonies of the Court (Nenj≥ gy≤ji emaki), the original version of which had been ordered by retired Emperor Goshirakawa (1127 – 1192; r. 1155 – 1158) at the end of the Heian period.12 The Nenj≥ gy≤ji emaki is an illustrated calendar of events at the imperial court, including scenes of official rites and festivities. Thus this commission is taken as evidence that Gomizunoo looked back with nostalgia to a day when society revolved around the emperor and his court nobles. Elite Kyoto townspeople played a role in the seventeenth-century classical revival. For centuries they had felt a deep reverence for the emperor and had developed a sense of close affiliation with the court, which was often antagonistic to the military government. From within the educated and wealthy ranks of commoner society emerged men who helped to shape the era’s culture, such as Hon’ami K≤etsu and Suminokura Soan (1571 – 1632), and it was from this group of Kyoto townspeople that S≤tatsu emerged.13 A discovery made around 1950 has strengthened our understanding of Kan’ei-era ties between S≤tatsu and the court. This discovery was a letter by Gomizunoo’s brother, Ichij≤ Kanet≤. Dated 1630 and addressed to a court lady in the service of the retired emperor, this letter states that Gomizunoo had commissioned S≤tatsu to paint three pairs of screens, one of which was covered with gold and featured

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a painting of trees with myrica berries (y≤bai).14 Thus Gomizunoo and Kanet≤ both knew S≤tatsu—as did the courtier Karasumaru Mitsuhiro (1579–1638)— indicating that S≤tatsu can be placed within a network of courtier culture. Noteworthy in this regard is the prominent role played by nobles and townspeople in shaping cultural developments of the early Edo period, just as they had done earlier in the Momoyama period (1573 – 1600). Even though the early Edo period is generally conceived of as an age of warriors, townspeople and others seem to have exerted considerable influence on culture—as, I suspect, future research will fully demonstrate. Much work is needed, however, to clarify S≤tatsu’s activities, his involvement with the classical revival, and his link to court culture. Many themes that S≤tatsu chose to illustrate reveal a strong sense of affinity with aristocratic culture, and S≤tatsu associated with people who were tied to the court in the Kan’ei era. These courtiers, though, were not his only patrons.

The Patrons of S≤tatsu Table 3.1 lists extant works by S≤tatsu and S≤tatsu-school artists whose provenance is clear. Although no one has established that these works were made on commission, it is highly likely that they were. From Table 3.1 we realize immediately that many works with a known provenance painted by S≤tatsu and S≤tatsu-school artists currently belong or once belonged to Daigoji, a temple in Yamashina to the east of Kyoto. A total of five such paintings are known if we include the piece depicting Zhutou (J: Chot≤) and Budai (J: Hotei), a twofold screen that the Mury≤juin of Daigoji probably owned at one time. The other four paintings are the pair of sixfold screens of Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari Sekiya-Miotsukushi-zu by≤bu; Plate 1); the pair of twofold screens of Bugaku Dancers (Bugaku-zu by≤bu); the pair of twofold Screens with Fans (Senmen harimaze by≤bu); and the singlepanel screen with painting on two sides of Ducks and Reeds (Ashigamo-zu tsuitate).15 In fact, two of the paintings associated with Daigoji—the screens of Sekiya and Miotsukushi and the screens of Bugaku Dancers—are among S≤tatsu’s best-known works. Although scholars have yet to clarify the relationship between S≤tatsu and Daigoji, we do know that a subtemple of Daigoji, the Samb≤in, owned several of these works and that clerics at the Samb≤in maintained close ties with members of aristocratic society as it was one of the Buddhist temples affiliated with the imperial family (monzeki). It is clear, therefore, that individuals at Daigoji were connected with the court.

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table 3.1. Provenance of Works by S≤tatsu and the S≤tatsu School Subject/ Title

Current Collection

Former Collection

Related Facts

Folding screens (by¯obu) and sliding doors-and-panels (fusuma) Tale of Genji: Sekiya and Miotsukushi

Seikad≤ Bunko Museum

Daigoji

Bugaku Dancers

Daigoji

Daigoji

Screens with Fans

Daigoji

Daigoji

Ducks and Reeds

Daigoji

Daigoji

Single-leaf screen, formerly wall painting (kabeharitsuke-e) from Mury≤juin, Daigoji

Wind and Thunder Gods

Kenninji

My≤k≤ji

Restored by Udda Kinnori

Matsushima

Freer Gallery

Sh≤unji, Sakai

Sh≤unji built by Tani Sh≤an

Screens with Fans

Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan

Imperial Collection

Formerly in Date family coll.?

Narrow Lane with Ivy

Manno Museum of Art

Tsugaru family

Inscription by Mitsuhiro

Pine, Chinese Lions, Y≤genin Elephants

Y≤genin, Kyoto

Restored by wife of Tokugawa Hidetada

Zhutou, Budai

H≤kaiji, Kyoto

Supposedly in former coll. of Mury≤juin, Daigoji, Kyoto

H≤kaiji

Hanging scrolls (kakefuku), handscrolls (makimono), and other formats Oxen

Ch≤my≤ji

Ch≤my≤ji, Kyoto

Inscription by Mitsuhiro

Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤

Idemitsu Museum and elsewhere

M≤ri family coll.

Formerly in Echizen Matsudaira family coll.? Inscription by Mitsuhiroa

Heike n≤ky≤

Itsukushima Shrine

Itsukushima Shrine

a. Another set of Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ is found in the Watanabe collection.

Another point we glean from Table 3.1 is that three works by S≤tatsu and S≤tatsu-school artists bear inscriptions by the renowned courtier and calligrapher Karasumaru Mitsuhiro. These three works are the set of Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ (Saigy≤ monogatari emaki); the diptych of hanging scrolls with ink paintings of Oxen (Ushi-zu); and the pair of sixfold screens of Narrow Lane with Ivy (Tsuta-no-hosomichi-zu by≤bu). In studies reconstructing the career of S≤tatsu, scholars regularly cite one of these, the Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ formerly in the M≤ri family collection. Mitsuhiro’s inscription on this set of scrolls—a postscript on the fourth scroll, which is dated to 1630 (Kan’ei 7)—states that a certain Honda Izunokami Tomimasa ordered this set and that “S≤tatsu hokky≤” (a name the artist adopted) borrowed and copied an original set of the Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ from the imperial collection.16 In earlier years, this Honda Izunokami Tomimasa (1572 – 1649) had served as the chief retainer (kar≤) of Matsudaira Hideyasu (1574–1607), second son of Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542 – 1616) and former lord of Echizen province (present-day Fukui prefecture). Then, after Hideyasu’s death, Mitsuhiro married his widow, Tsuruko. Thus Mitsuhiro probably became acquainted with Honda Tomimasa through this connection. It is possible that someone in the Matsudaira family later presented the Saigy≤ scroll set as a wedding gift to a M≤ri clanswoman on her marriage to a Matsudaira clansman—the bride and groom are as yet unidentified—and, subsequently, the M≤ri family passed down the scroll set from one generation to the next. This possibility leads us to two conclusions—that the set of Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ was made for the Echizen Matsudaira family and that when a Matsudaira woman married, a scroll set might function as part of her trousseau. Not only can we characterize the Saigy≤ scroll set as a symbol of cultural refinement fit for ladies, but we can see members of the warrior class incorporating aspects of aristocratic culture into their own. During the Edo period, members of warrior families commonly selected aristocratic themes to decorate items being made for their daughters’ trousseaux. To cite a famous example, the Tokugawa ordered a set of wedding furnishings (d≤gu) to commemorate the marriage of Chiyohime (Reisen’in), the firstborn daughter of the third shogun Iemitsu, to the second lord of the Owari domain, Tokugawa Mitsutomo (1625–1700). (This set is today in the collection of the Tokugawa Art Museum in Nagoya, Figure 4.7) Scenes decorating the surfaces of this set of d≤gu illustrate “The First Warbler” (Hatsune) chapter from The Tale of Genji. As a final note on the Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤, we can speculate that Mitsuhiro assumed a greater role in producing the scroll set than merely writing the text

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and the postscript. Evidently he also acted as coordinator of the set’s production, making the collaborative project possible through his personal connections. In this case, in addition to borrowing the original set from the imperial collection, he may have played a part in selecting S≤tatsu to paint the illustrations. Next we turn to the pair of screens of Narrow Lane with Ivy in the Manno Museum of Art, originally owned by the Tsugaru family, military lords (daimyo) of a part of Mutsu province (the present-day western region of Aomori prefecture). Most scholars now believe that one of S≤tatsu’s leading students painted these screens, which also bear an inscription by Mitsuhiro running across the upper part of the composition. In this inscription Mitsuhiro refers to a passage from the Tales of Ise (Ise monogatari), a classic of Japanese court literature that dates to the late ninth or early tenth century. Based on this reference, we can surmise that the ivy—painted here in green (rokush≤) against a gold ground— alludes to the road overgrown with ivy appearing on Mount Utsu (Utsuyama) as described in the ninth chapter of the Tales of Ise.17 The unusual nature of the composition in Narrow Lane with Ivy results as much from the long inscription added by Mitsuhiro as it does from the depiction and arrangement of forms, which are abstract yet with a high sense of design. Earlier, in the Keich≤ era (1596 – 1614), S≤tatsu had painted ivy in gold, silver, and polychrome on square poem sheets (shikishi); consequently, some scholars might characterize Narrow Lane with Ivy as a student’s enlargement of a small ornamental composition by S≤tatsu to the large-scale screen format. Today people tend to value Narrow Lane with Ivy more for its innovative composition than for the inscription. In fact, descriptions of the screens in the many illustrated books on Rimpa usually mention the inscription only in passing. Yet the person who commissioned this work probably placed the highest value on Mitsuhiro’s aristocratic calligraphy. This is why the screens should be categorized as a calligraphic work by Mitsuhiro and not as an enlarged ornamental composition for screens. We can imagine that Mitsuhiro, having been asked to grace a pair of screens with his calligraphy, turned to S≤tatsu and requested that the artist create a pictorial design that essentially would serve as underpainting for the screens. It is also noteworthy that the screens of Narrow Lane with Ivy, like the Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤, were passed down in a daimyo family. Admittedly both the image and the inscription on Narrow Lane with Ivy refer to courtly culture. Not only did the nobleman Mitsuhiro add his calligraphy—here adopting the Teika style (Teika-ry≥), an aristocratic manner supposedly developed by the famous poet Fujiwara no Teika (1162 – 1241)—but the poem-and-painting theme is borrowed from the Tales of Ise. The owner of the screens belonged to

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the warrior class, however. And although we do not know who commissioned the screens, that person may have been from the warrior class as well. Because Mitsuhiro acted as an emissary between the Kyoto court and the Edo government, he must have had ample opportunity to interact with members of the warrior class as he traveled between the two cities. On the road he would have encountered many warriors participating in a system of alternate attendance (sankin k≤tai) instituted by the Tokugawa shogunate. Therefore, we can postulate that Mitsuhiro played a pivotal role in introducing S≤tatsu’s works to warrior lords. The pair of Screens with Fans in the Museum of the Imperial Collections (Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan) is one work by S≤tatsu that definitely was passed down through the generations at court. Screens with Fans—many of the fans illustrating scenes from two early-thirteenth-century war narratives, The Tale of the H≤gen War and The Tale of the Heiji War (H≤gen-Heiji monogatari)—may have been treasured at court for centuries, but just when they entered the court remains unclear. According to early accounts, the Date family, warrior lords of Sendai in the southern part of Mutsu province, presented the screens to the imperial family during the Meiji period, but it is now believed that the screens entered the imperial collection sometime before the late 1760s.18 Thus we must consider the possibility, yet to be established, that Screens with Fans was one of the three pairs of screens that Ichij≤ Kanet≤ discusses in his letter to Emperor Gomizunoo. There are, as well, two works by S≤tatsu commissioned or once owned by members of the townspeople’s community. These are the pair of sixfold screens known as the Matsushima Screens (Matsushima-zu by≤bu) in the Freer Gallery of Art, formerly belonging to Sh≤unji in Sakai (see Figure 2.9), and the pair of twofold screens titled the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens (F≥jin-Raijin-zu by≤bu) in the collection of Kenninji, once supposedly owned by My≤k≤ji at Narutaki in Kyoto (Plate 2). Sh≤unji was built in the early Edo period with funds supplied by a wealthy and powerful merchant of Sakai, Tani Sh≤an (1589– 1644), who donated his personal possessions to the temple.19 The founder of Sh≤unji was Takuan S≤h≤ (1573–1645), a prominent priest from the Zen temple of Daitokuji where Sh≤an practiced meditation. Takuan bestowed the sobriquet (g≤) “Kaigan” (Seashore) upon Sh≤an before the construction of Sh≤unji, and this name apparently served as a catalyst for the creation of the Matsushima Screens, which were known as the “Rough Sea Screens” (Ariso by≤bu) into the Meiji period. In other words: Sh≤an ordered the screens painted in commemoration of the new temple, and the screens were linked to him the-

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matically as they pictured the seashore and Sh≤an’s sobriquet was “Kaigan.” The various auspicious motifs that appear in the Matsushima Screens reflect the circumstances under which the work was painted. Moreover, it is possible that Mitsuhiro, who was familiar with Takuan, may have played a part in introducing the Sakai patron Sh≤an to the Kyoto painter S≤tatsu. As for the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens, it is assumed that S≤tatsu painted these for My≤k≤ji in Kyoto, a Zen temple that traced its origins to the Muromachi period (1392–1573) but was reestablished in the early Edo period.20 Late in the 1630s a rich merchant from Echizen (present-day Fukui prefecture), Udda J≥emon Kinnori (d. 1647), saw to the reconstruction of My≤k≤ji in a tranquil area, away from the center of Kyoto, where a number of wealthy individuals had built retreats. In refurbishing My≤k≤ji, Kinnori intended to revive this spot as a getaway where poets from the aristocracy could fraternize with poets from other classes. We learn more about My≤k≤ji and the Udda family from seventeenthcentury records. According to an entry in the Kakumeiki—a diary kept by the nobleman-cleric H≤rin J≤sh≤ (1593 – 1668)—on the twenty-fourth day of the eighth month of 1649 H≤rin accompanied two men from Kyoto temples— Konchiin Genry≤ (dates unknown) and Sank≤ J≤eki (1573–1650)—along with a temple employee, Hiraga Seibei (d. 1652), to “Narutaki Betsuya” (a retreat at Narutaki in northwestern Kyoto, that is, My≤k≤ji).21 There H≤rin met Udda J≥emon (Kinnori’s son Kagenori [d. 1670]) for the first time.22 Sank≤ J≤eki may have instigated this visit; three years earlier, in 1646, he had conducted services commemorating the 350th anniversary of the death of Hott≤ Kokushi (1207 – 1298), founder of My≤k≤ji. Then, years later, on the eleventh day of the third month of 1660, retired emperor Gomizunoo, who was on his way to Ninnaji in northwestern Kyoto, stopped at the mountain retreat of a certain Itoya Joun (an alternate name for Kagenori) at My≤k≤ji.23 A visit by Gomizunoo was more than welcomed by the Udda, who were striving to affiliate themselves with cultural elites and associated with prominent literary figures like the poet of comic linked verse (haikai no renga) Matsunaga Teitoku (1571–1653) and the master of court poetry (waka) Kinoshita Ch≤sh≤shi (1569–1649). Thus S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens made their first appearance in elegant and refined spaces for leisure that had been created by cultured townspeople and courtiers. The rise and fall of eminent early Edo merchants like members of the Udda family is told by Mitsui Takafusa (1684–1748) in his Record of Merchants (Ch≤nin k≤kenroku), written around 1730 and narrated from the perspective of a new breed of townspeople.24 In the Ch≤nin k≤kenroku, Takafusa speaks of

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Udda Kinnori as Itoya J≥emon, and he reveals Kinnori’s free-spending lifestyle in accounts of his initiating reconstruction at My≤k≤ji and acquiring acclaimed tea utensils. Kinnori receives harsh criticism here for not knowing his proper place and for seeking to mingle in court circles, which is said to have caused his eventual bankruptcy.25 Because the Ch≤nin k≤kenroku was meant as a didactic text conveying Mitsui family precepts, it tends to preach prudence and restraint. Its author was a new type of merchant, a type that became even more active in the middle of the Edo period. These merchants held quite different economic and cultural values than those of their predecessors. For them, Kinnori’s activities could only be thought of as wasteful. Accordingly, they condemned Kinnori and other early Edo merchants for coveting high culture and aspiring to affiliate with aristocratic society. In sum, then, S≤tatsu apparently painted the Matsushima Screens and the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens for two wealthy urban commoner patrons, Tani Sh≤an and Udda Kinnori. Indeed S≤tatsu was himself a member of the urban commoner class, though he came from Kyoto whereas Sh≤an and Kinnori were from other cities. While temples may have been major patrons of S≤tatsu, it was individuals from the urban commoner, aristocratic, or warrior classes serving at temples who became S≤tatsu’s patrons—and as my focus here is on the social dimension of early Rimpa patronage, the class affiliation of patrons is crucial.

The Patrons of K≤rin In the Genroku era (1688 – 1704), a generational shift occurred in the great merchant families who had served as S≤tatsu’s patrons. Second- and thirdgeneration descendants of these families could no longer afford to construct temples or commission artists like S≤tatsu to paint large-scale gilt screens. In 1689, a turning point came in the relationship between the Tani family, for whom S≤tatsu painted the Matsushima Screens, and Sh≤unji, which had originated as the temple of Tani Sh≤an and Takuan S≤h≤. In that year Sh≤unji became affiliated with the Daisen sect of Daitokuji and entered the next phase in its history. The Udda family, who had sponsored the reconstruction of My≤k≤ji and commissioned S≤tatsu to paint the Wind and Thunder Gods Screens, departed Kyoto in 1703 when the grandson of Kinnori, Mitsunori (1664 – 1731), was appointed to serve in the Nakamura domain of S≤ma (present-day Fukushima prefecture). It was around this time that Ogata K≤rin began actively pursuing the art of painting. The Ogata family shop—the Kariganeya, which

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had prospered early in the Edo period as one of the leading dry-goods stores in the country—was no longer active, having been forced to close its doors due to poor business. From around the end of the seventeenth century, life among the aristocracy was not as lively as before. K≤rin often called on aristocratic households, but his visits were mainly social—and, as far as we know, his courtier acquaintances placed no orders with him for large-scale painting. Although records state that the noblemen Nij≤ Tsunahira (1672 – 1732) and Takatsukasa Fusasuke (1637 – 1700) visited K≤rin’s home, their visits were purely a matter of leisure, with few or no financial benefits for K≤rin.26 Apparently hoping to break free from such conditions, K≤rin left Kyoto and traveled to Edo, making several round trips between Kyoto and Edo in the years from 1704 to 1709. K≤rin’s purpose for visiting Edo was to find an alternative group of patrons. Apart from the merchants living in Edo, there were numerous warriors in the new capital. The warrior lords, required to reside in Edo every other year in keeping with the alternate attendance system, all kept fine residences in the city. According to surviving records, in 1707 and 1708 K≤rin was employed by the Sakai family, warrior lords of K≤zuke province (present-day Gumma prefecture). The painter Sakai H≤itsu (1761 – 1828), a later admirer of K≤rin, was born into this very family. Records suggest that K≤rin also frequented a number of other daimyo households, including that of the Tsugaru. In a letter he sent from Edo to a friend in Kyoto, K≤rin complains that he is tired of painting in daimyo households. Although serving in warrior households might not have agreed with K≤rin’s personality, the success of his stay in Edo is attested to by the many works—in fact, a large percentage of his entire artistic output—that once were found in the collections of prominent daimyo families. Most of S≤tatsu’s works, by contrast, entered temple collections in the Kyoto area. Table 3.2, listing the works by K≤rin with known provenance, indicates that most of his well-known screens—other than the relatively early Iris Screens— belonged to prominent daimyo families. These families included the Tsugaru, the Hachisuka, the Ikeda, and the Hitotsubashi Tokugawa. Strictly speaking, however, no one knows exactly when these works entered the daimyo collections. We can date some of the pieces listed in Table 3.2 to the years following K≤rin’s stay in Edo based on the painting style. In any case, more of K≤rin’s works belonged to daimyo families than did S≤tatsu’s—and this phenomenon undeniably was associated with K≤rin’s stays in Edo, a city of warriors. Warrior lords must have been happy to acquire paintings by the Kyoto artist K≤rin, whose works differed in flavor from those by members of the Kano

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table 3.2. Provenance of Works by K≤rin Subject/Title

Current Collection

Former Collection

Red and White Plums

MOA Museum

Tsugaru family

Black Pine and Maple Trees

Tokyo University of Fine Arts Museum

Hachisuka family

Yatsuhashi

Metropolitan Museum of Art (NY)

Ikeda family

Wind and Thunder Gods

Tokyo National Museum

Hitotsubashi Tokugawa family

Taigong Wang

Kyoto National Museum

Ikeda family

Iris

Nezu Art Museum

Nishi Honganji

Peacocks and Hollyhocks

Tokyo National Museum

Kuj≤ family

Matsushima

Museum of Fine Arts (Boston)

Unknown daimyo coll.

Screens

Hanging scrolls and other formats Flowering Grasses of Four Seasons

Private coll.

Tsugaru family

Azalea

Hatakeyama Museum

Kuroda family

Kosode with Autumn Grasses

Tokyo National Museum

Fuyuki family?

school, official painters to the shogunate (goy≤-eshi), who also were working in Edo. As recent scholarship demonstrates, it was individuals from the warrior class who sought out and purchased much of early-Edo-period art, even work by artists who supposedly catered to the tastes of Kyoto aristocrats. One such artist was Nonomura Ninsei (d. ca. 1694), who opened a kiln at Omuro near Ninnaji in Kyoto and produced the finest ceramics decorated with overglaze polychrome enamel (iro-e t≤ki).27 Omuro appealed to a large clientele, including the newly affluent townspeople and high-ranking warriors, who appreciated Ninnaji’s association with ancient courtly culture and who themselves hoped for some connection with refined, classical society. Moreover, many of the motifs that Ninsei painted on his ceramic wares were drawn from courtly life; in this respect at least, his pieces are inarguably products of court culture.

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More than any others, however, it was members of the warrior class on the periphery of aristocratic circles who typically owned objects so evocative of Kyoto grace and refinement. That late-seventeenth-century warriors were fond of tea utensils made by Ninsei is not unexpected; nor is it surprising that they sought the same level of refinement in other utilitarian objects, such as folding screens. And just as warriors purchased ceramic wares by Ninsei in emulation of Kyoto aristocratic culture, so they acquired screens by K≤rin. But some of the recurring themes in works by S≤tatsu and K≤rin—flowering plants like iris, chrysanthemum, and poppy, as well as Japanese narrative tales —were not necessarily held in the highest regard by those in power during the Momoyama and early Edo periods: the warriors. Warrior lords considered such themes to be of minor significance, representing the private sphere rather than the public. Gender associations accompanied these themes; the private connoted the female whereas the public connoted the male.28 As has frequently been noted, those holding power in Japan commonly adopted images from China (Kara) as symbols to legitimize their power.29 Although Kara literally means “the Tang dynasty,” Edo writers used it more broadly in reference to ancient China or China imaginatively idealized as a foreign country. The tendency to seek legitimacy through references to Kara changed from one period to the next in Japan. But generally speaking, the trends set by warrior leaders in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries continued through the Edo period. Painting on sliding doors and panels tells us much about the role of painting during the Edo period—at least the role of painting as defined by those holding power. Supervisors of artistic projects followed a system in determining which subjects and which techniques would be employed for paintings placed in ornamental architectural spaces, such as paintings on sliding doors and panels decorating the various rooms of castles and palaces. The artistic supervisors based their selections on the function, status, and gender of those who would occupy the room in question. In rooms for important persons, they tended to choose scenes from Chinese history or narratives featuring ancient figures (Kara jimbutsu) like the Legendary Hermits (Sennin), the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove (Chikurin no shichiken), and the Four Accomplishments (Kinkishoga). For formal or ceremonial spaces, they selected flowers-and-trees (kabokuzu) or flowers-and-birds (kach≤ga). In ceremonial spaces, moreover, the supervisors strove to illustrate a single season or to avoid indicating a season at all—for example, showing only a type of evergreen such as pine instead of adding various plants to the scene that would indicate spring or autumn. The the-

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matic category of flowers-and-birds, like ancient Chinese figures, had been imported from China. For decorating the inner quarters, however, which held a lower status and were not used on formal occasions, supervisors typically selected classical Japanese tales or flowering grasses with no large accompanying trees. Neither Japanese tales nor flowering grasses suggest Chinese authority. To illustrate this system, consider the paintings executed in the imperial palace constructed by the Tokugawa around 1612.30 Here a subject used since the Heian period, Chinese Sages (Kenj≤ no s≤ji), appeared on screens placed in the Shishinden (a building for state ceremonies), in which important court events such as coronations were held. Ancient Chinese figures and flowersand-birds ornamented the inner quarters of the Seiry≤den (a building that served ceremonial purposes in the seventeenth century), as well as the Tsunegoten (a building with formal rooms for various functions). In the case of the palace reconstruction of 1641, paintings of ancient Chinese figures and flowersand-birds filled the Shishinden and the first four rooms of the Tsunegoten; however, renderings of flowering plants and narrative tales—such as Fields in Autumn (Aki-no-no) and the Tales of Ise—appeared in the inner quarters. Incidentally, members of the Kano school undertook the paintings of both the 1612 and the 1641 palace reconstruction. Essentially, then, if images from ancient China held the foremost rank, paintings by S≤tatsu and K≤rin held a lower status. Their paintings did not fit into the hierarchical evaluative strategy followed by warrior patrons at the time. According to this strategy, themes relating to ancient China were displayed in formal spaces and were most highly esteemed. In contrast, the main spaces in which S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s works were displayed had no connection with political power, ceremony, or status. Consequently their paintings had no association with the authority of Kara. Their art was meant for the world of play, so to speak, closer to a realm of leisure. This is one reason why S≤tatsu and K≤rin were not bound by convention or tradition and were free to employ novel and original artistic effects. Perhaps as a direct result of this situation, the two painters incorporated aspects of play and humor into their innovative compositions. Working in a society that valued ancient Chinese imagery so highly, S≤tatsu and K≤rin employed a sophisticated Japanese taste to develop approaches that were chic and elegant. This was the significance of Rimpa in Edo Japan. An interesting point was later raised by Kuwayama Gyokush≥ (1743–1799), who although not a Rimpa patron was aware of Rimpa’s social place in the eighteenth century. An artist and a theorist, Gyokush≥ belonged to the Kansaiarea circle of literati (C: wen jen; J: bunjin)—also known as the Southern

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school—a loosely affiliated group of individuals who claimed to follow the precepts of nonprofessional painters of China. In his Humble Words on Matters of Painting (Kaiji higen; published in 1799), Gyokush≥ asked: Can ink play by those such as Lord Konoe [Konoe Nobutada (1565–1614)], Seisei≤ [Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ (1584 – 1639)], S≤tatsu, and K≤rin be considered a Southern school of our own?31 Here Gyokush≥ advances S≤tatsu and K≤rin as painters of a Japanese Southern school. Alongside S≤tatsu and K≤rin, he places Konoe Nobutada, a nobleman who rose to the highest ranks at the imperial court. Nobutada was a prominent calligrapher and a painter known for his figures of divine beings rendered in ink with quick, concise brushwork. To the group of “Southern school artists” Gyokush≥ adds Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤, another renowned calligrapher and an aficionado of tea. Like Nobutada, Sh≤kad≤ produced humorous ink sketches of figures. In short, Nobutada and Sh≤kad≤ were individuals of elite culture—specifically, they represented Kyoto high culture of the late Momoyama and early Edo periods. Because Nobutada and Sh≤kad≤ painted as an avocation, that is to say as amateurs, it may seem inappropriate from a modern perspective to group them with S≤tatsu and K≤rin, who made a living from their art. For Gyokush≥, however, a late-eighteenth-century literatus, these four gentlemen possessed similar characters. Furthermore, in their art they conveyed a sense of noble amateurism and an intent to shun vulgarism, one comparable to Southern-school Chinese art. Gyokush≥’s comments on S≤tatsu and K≤rin are relevant because they reveal that at the end of the eighteenth century S≤tatsu and K≤rin—despite making a living from their paintings—were regarded as “literati,” that is, as painters outside the professional world of painters, apart in particular from official painters such as those of the Kano school.

Conclusion In the seventeenth century, S≤tatsu and K≤rin were not grouped in the same category as artists who served the ruling Edo lords, members of the professional Kano school. S≤tatsu and K≤rin were different; they were painters from Kyoto, the center of aristocratic culture. Certainly there were Kano artists working in Kyoto, even in the imperial palace, and it was not just Kyoto aristocrats who owned works by S≤tatsu and K≤rin. As we have seen, many paintings by K≤rin belonged to warrior families. Nevertheless, I think we can say that people of the day considered S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s paintings as the most valuable

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art “of Japan”—in other words, as art that was non-Chinese. Thus S≤tatsu and K≤rin were essentially perceived in the Edo period as painters who conveyed the luxurious side of native Japanese taste. In the early twentieth century, however, writers placed too much emphasis on the Japaneseness of S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s art. This tendency spread nationally, and then internationally, such that S≤tatsu’s and K≤rin’s art today is seen around the world as typically Japanese. On one level, works by S≤tatsu and K≤rin did present a typical Japanese style (and by this I mean that theirs is a “classical” manner), just as their paintings hold high artistic value from a modern point of view. Yet they worked in a class-based society, and the social function of their painting was by no means so divorced from social tensions of their day as modern interpretations imply. Being typically Japanese was merely one quality of their art. The time has come, therefore, to reexamine commonly held notions about the identities of S≤tatsu and K≤rin. We need to shed our bias and consider where to situate these two painters within the diverse field of Edoperiod art. Paintings, especially paintings on sliding doors and folding screens, were not only appreciated aesthetically in the Edo period. They were valued for their social function as well. Paintings of human figures rendered in the “Chinese mode” on gold-leaf grounds were used for ceremonial purposes, for example, and esteemed more than the flowering plants in the “Japanese mode.” Although the works of S≤tatsu and K≤rin were not highly ranked, they were valued by wealthy urban commoners and warriors who lived in cities like Kyoto and Edo because such paintings embodied the refined taste of aristocratic culture these individuals desired for themselves.

Notes This chapter was translated by Midori Oka and edited by Elizabeth Lillehoj. 1. For more on this point see, for example, Sat≤ D≤shin, “Sekaikan no saihen to rekishikan no saihen,” in T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru (Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999), 111–127; Sat≤ D≤shin, “Nihon bijutsu” tanj≤: Kindai Nihon no “kotoba” to senryaku (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1996); and Kitazawa Noriaki, Me no shinden: “Bijutsu” juy≤shi n≤to (Tokyo: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1989). 2. See my “Bakumatsu kara Meiji no S≤tatsu-K≤rin kan,” in Rimpa ni yume miru (Tokyo: Shinch≤sha, 1999). 3. K≤rin-ha gash≥, 5 vols. (Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1903–1906); T≤y≤ bijutsu taikan, vol. 5 (Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1909); S≤tatsu gash≥ (Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1913); and K≤etsuha sanmeika sh≥ (Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1915).

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4. K≤rin: K≤rin gasei nihyakunenki kinen (Kyoto: Uns≤d≤, 1915). 5. K≤etsu Association, ed., K≤etsu (Kyoto: Uns≤d≤: 1916), and K≤etsu Association, ed., K≤etsu betsuden Takagamine yorai (Kyoto: Uns≤d≤: 1918). 6. For an Edo-period example see Kuwayama Gyokush≥’s evaluation of S≤tatsu and K≤rin discussed in Chapter 1 of this volume, pages 31 – 34. For a modern example see the preface by Kuki in K≤rin-ha gash≥ published by Shinbi Shoin. Kuki held several posts in succession, including head administrator of the Teishitsu Museum, and he was a leader in connoisseurship of antiquities in the Meiji and Taish≤ periods. In his preface, which is full of classical Chinese terminology, Kuki praises artists of the K≤rin school (including painters from K≤rin through Suzuki Kiitsu [1796 – 1858]) for their “skills at decorating.” Kuki states here that the distinguishing features of the school are its composition, organization, sense of design, and use of color. Kuki’s comments in essays such as this preface helped form a methodological basis for modern art-historical research. 7. The concept of the decorative was changing dramatically, even in art theory of Western Europe, after the 1860s when Japanese art historians first applied the concept to paintings by S≤tatsu and K≤rin. Tamamushi Satoko has analyzed modern attempts to lend a sense of significance to so-called decorative work by S≤tatsu and K≤rin by making it seem “universal.” See Tamamushi, “ ‘Nihon bijutsu no s≤shokusei’ to iu gensetsu,” in Ima, Nihon no bijutsushigaku o furikaeru, 240–257. 8. For more on this discourse of a seventeenth-century classical revival in culture, see the Introduction to this volume. 9. Kanet≤ (also known as Akira and Ekan) was adopted into the Ichij≤ family and later rose to a high rank at court. The Ekan Sans≤ was moved to Kamakura in 1959. 10. S≤wa (a.k.a. Shigechika) is credited with founding aristocratic tea (d≤j≤cha) and was a leading figure in seventeenth-century Kyoto culture. He was the son of Kanamori Yoshishige (1558 – 1615), who was a military retainer of Tokugawa Ieyasu and lord of Takayama Castle in Hida. For more on the aesthetic term “kirei sabi” in English see Kumakura Isao, “Kan’ei Culture and Chanoyu,” in Paul Varley and Kumakura Isao, eds., Tea in Japan: Essays on the History of Chanoyu (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1989), 143–149. 11. Senk≤ II developed “standing flowers” (rikka), a novel style of flower arrangement in which flowers, branches, and leaves are treated as monumental sculpture. Largescale rikka was considered a form of ceremonial display. After the end of the seventeenth century, many other informal types of flower arrangement came to be appreciated by a range of practitioners, including townspeople and warriors. 12. According to some accounts, Gomizunoo commissioned Jokei and his son Gukei (1631 – 1705) to paint the scrolls in 1626. See, for example, Okudaira Hideo, Narrative Picture Scrolls (New York: Weatherhill/Shibundo, 1973), 135. Since Gukei was born in 1631, however, that is improbable. It is more likely that Gukei, if involved in the project, produced copies later. During Gomizunoo’s reign, the sixty scrolls of the twelfthcentury Nenj≥ gy≤ji emaki belonged to the emperor’s collection; but later in the seventeenth century they were lost in palace fires, leaving the Sumiyoshi copy as the only Nenj≥ gy≤ji emaki in existence. This Sumiyoshi set survives as sixteen handscrolls and is found today in the Tanaka collection along with a few other related scrolls. 13. For more on courtier/commoner connections in seventeenth-century Kyoto see Chapter 7 in this volume. 14. This letter is preserved in the collection of Tokuriki Tomikichir≤; Hayashiya, Kin-

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sei dent≤ bunkaron, 79. Scholars had thought that these screens no longer survive, but recently Hayashi Susumu introduced a sixfold screen painted with myrica berry and other kinds of trees; this screen is in a private collection in Osaka. Hayashi proposed that it is the same myrica berry screen mentioned in Kanet≤’s letter; Hayashi, “Shinshutsu no S≤tatsu-hitsu Y≤bai-zu by≤bu ni tsuite,” Bijutsushi 147 (1999):152–153. 15. Yamane Y≥z≤, “S≤tatsu and Daigoji—Ashigamo-zu tsuitate o ch≥shin ni,” Yamato Bunka 26 (1958):48–58. For an extensive discussion of the relationship between S≤tatsu and Daigoji see my Daigoji taikan (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, forthcoming). 16. A number of versions of Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ (also known as the Saigy≤ h≤shi gy≤j≤ ekotoba) survive. The earliest known scrolls are apparently from a set dated to the thirteenth century, one now in the Manno Museum of Art and the other in the Tokugawa Museum of Art. S≤tatsu painted two versions of the Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤, one formerly in the M≤ri family collection and the other in the Watanabe collection. S≤tatsu copied an original set of Handscrolls of the Life of Saigy≤ painted by Kaida Uneme (dates unknown) in 1500. Kaida’s set is not known to survive, but there are other copies of Kaida’s set besides S≤tatsu’s version that do survive. For more on the various versions see Yamane Y≥z≤, “S≤tatsu to Saigy≤ monogatari-e,” in Rimpa kaiga zensh≥ 1 S≤tatsu-ha (Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shimbunsha, 1977), 49–59. 17. For a translation of this passage see Helen Craig McCullough, ed. and comp., Classical Japanese Prose: An Anthology (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), 42. 18. Kondo Takemoto, “Gomotsu S≤tatsu Senmen-chirashi by≤bu no denrai ni tsuite no goden,” Kobijutsu 33 (1971):78–82. 19. For more on the screens see my “S≤tatsu-hitsu Matsushima-zu by≤bu k≤,” Jissen Joshi Daigaku Bigaku Bijutsushigaku 10 (1995):21–34. 20. Apparently the screens were transferred at some point from My≤k≤ji in the northern part of Kyoto to Kenninji closer to the heart of Kyoto. Aimi K≤u speculates that the screens were moved from My≤k≤ji to Kenninji around 1829, although he provides no documentary support for his claim. See his “S≤tatsu F≥raijin to My≤k≤ji,” in Nihon shoshigaku taikei 45, 1 Aimi K≤u sh≥ (Tokyo: Seish≤d≤ Shoten, 1985), 44–49. Elsewhere I elaborate on Aimi’s suggestion and consider the possibility that K≤rin copied S≤tatsu’s Wind and Thunder Gods Screens when they were stored at My≤k≤ji, located near Narutaki Kiln, where K≤rin’s brother Kenzan produced ceramics; see my “F≥jin-Raijin-zu by≤bu to S≤tatsu-K≤rin,” Jissen Joshi Daigaku Bigaku Bijutsushi 1 (1986):89–104. 21. H≤rin, who served as abbot of Rokuonji in northwestern Kyoto and had many aristocratic connections, kept his diary, the Kakumeiki, between 1635 and 1668. See Akamatsu Toshihide, ed., Kakumeiki, 6 vols. (Kyoto: Shibunkaku Shuppan, 1997). 22. Through the generations, the head of the Udda family was commonly called “J≥emon.” In 1649, when H≤rin recorded the diary entry under consideration, Kinnori was no longer living, so the J≥emon referred to here must have been Kinnori’s son Kagenori. See Akamatsu, Kakumeiki, 2:544–555. 23. Ibid., 4:636. 24. Mitsui Takafusa, Ch≤nin k≤kenroku, in Nihon shis≤shi taikei (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1975), 59:175–233. 25. Ibid., 59:181–182. 26. Kawasaki Hiroshi, “ ‘Shosoyogin’ ni arawareta K≤rin to Kenzan,” Kobijutsu 81 (1987):58–90 and Kobijutsu 82 (1987):84–90. 27. Ninsei opened a kiln at Omuro near Ninnaji in Kyoto apparently with the assis-

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tance of Kanamori S≤wa. Oka Yoshiko argues persuasively that the impetus to locate the new kiln at Ninnaji may have originated with S≤wa, who had connections with government officials and aristocrats close to Ninnaji, a monzeki temple. For more on this issue see Oka, “Kanamori S≤wa—Omuro kaiy≤ izen o ch≥shin ni,” Gein≤shi Kenky≥ 114 (July 1991):37 – 60. For more, generally, on tea and warrior patrons of the arts see Oka, “Kan’ei bunka no chanoyu,” in Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku (Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1988), 163–170. 28. Chino Kaori has formulated a binary structure of Japanese culture wherein the male is associated with the attributes of public/unified/Kara (China, or “a phantom great foreign country”) while the female is associated with the equally positive attributes of private/diverse/Yamato (Japan). See Chino, “Nihon bijutsu no jend≠,” Bijutsushi 136 (1994):235 – 246. For an English version of this article see Chino, “Gender in Japanese Art,” trans., Joshua S. Mostow, Aesthetics 7 (1996):49–68. 29. Strange to say, those in power in premodern Japan generally did not think that images from ancient Japan conveyed authority; instead, they saw images of Kara as authoritative. It was only after the Meiji period that images from Japanese mythology began to be painted and understood as symbols of national identity. 30. For more on this phase of construction and decoration of the imperial palace see Fujioka Michio, Shinch≤: Ky≤to gosho (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1987), 178–195. 31. Gyokush≥, Kaiji higen, in Nihon kaigaron taikei, 1:148. The sentence quoted here is thought to have been added by Kimura Kenkad≤ (1736 – 1802), who wrote the foreword and revised the text after Gyokush≥’s death. For more on this question see Chapter 1 in this volume, pages 32–33.

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Chapter Four

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Japanese Exemplars for a New Age: Genji Paintings from the Seventeenth-Century Tosa School Is it correct to apply the terms “classicism” and “classical revival” to early Edo art? My own position has changed since 1998, when I coorganized the symposium on which this volume is based. The routine employment—and apparent acceptance—of such terms by most scholars of Japanese art and literature notwithstanding, applying a system of Western aesthetic principles to the study of Japanese culture is inherently problematic and using these terms in relation to Japanese art may be seen as ideologically corrupt. Melanie Trede rightly suggests in Chapter 1 that colonialist and nationalist agendas have forever tainted the term “classicism.” In modifying my position, however, I do not mean to reject altogether the project of investigating seventeenth-century uses of the past. There are many indications, for example, that the early to mid-seventeenth century was a time when patrons of the arts were especially willing, even eager, to embrace literary works and artistic styles associated with the ancient imperial court. I believe that these patrons, along with contemporary writers and artists, viewed certain ancient works and styles as classics in the limited sense of “serving as the established model or standard” or “having lasting significance or worth; enduring.”1 Kamakura-period poetry anthologies like the One Hundred Poems, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu; ca. 1230), discussed by Joshua Mostow in Chapter 5 of this volume, and other works written by members of the Heian court, such as Tales of Ise (Ise monogatari; tenth century) and The Tale of Genji (ca. 1000), were seen in the seventeenth century as sources to be mined for inspiration—at least in part because they embodied the authority of the

past, specifically that of the ancient imperial court. While seventeenth-century views of the past were certainly not monolithic, there is a cohesive quality to the presentation of court-based themes suggestive of a conscious revival. Whether or not one agrees today with the designation of Genji or Ise as objects worthy of veneration, there are abundant signs that writers, artists, and patrons of the early to mid-seventeenth century invested such court-based texts with a special importance. My interest is not in arguing about canon building, however, or in building one of my own, but in investigating the forces motivating seventeenth-century artists to take up and reformulate these ancient themes and styles. Specifically, this essay explores the network of social and economic concerns underlying the presence and formal presentation of The Tale of Genji theme in seventeenth-century art and design.2 Although pictures of The Tale of Genji (known as Genji-e) were created throughout the medieval period, the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries witnessed a dramatic rise in their production (Plates 4–7). Demand for Genji-e seems to have risen concurrently with the dissemination of the text to a new, wider readership—made possible through the rapid development of block-printing technology. With the spread of printed texts relating to Genji, a host of Genji-e albums, handscrolls, hanging scrolls, and screens poured forth from studios attached to every major school. Yet paintings and screens adorned with pictures from the novel were only one part of a larger “iconic circuit” of Genji-e, which included works in many other media. Craig Clunas, writing about Ming-dynasty (1368–1644) pictorial art, defines iconic circuit as “an economy of representations in which images of a certain kind circulated between different media in which pictures were involved.”3 In the case of seventeenthcentury Japan, we find not only paintings but also lacquer tables and receptacles, fans, painted shells and playing cards, cloth- and paper-covered boxes among the objects decorated with motifs from Genji. Scholarship on Genji-e has advanced greatly during the last twenty years through the efforts of such eminent art historians as Akiyama Terukazu, Miyeko Murase, and Taguchi Eiichi. Akiyama’s early insights into the narrative structure of the twelfth-century Genji handscrolls, first published almost forty years ago, are still unsurpassed today. In her 1983 book, Murase analyzed later Genji paintings through the lens of iconography, comparing painted images from the seventeenth century with a sixteenth-century painting manual. In the late 1980s, Taguchi coauthored The Sumptuous World of Genji-e: The Tale of Genji, a compendium of valuable information on Genji-e of the Muromachi

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(1392–1573), Momoyama (1573–1600), and Edo (1600–1868) periods. The work of these and other scholars in Japan enables us to easily identify the subject matter of pictures based on Genji, to trace the lines of transmission from one work to the next, and to understand changes in compositional strategies as artists moved from one format to another. Particularly impressive and useful in this regard is Taguchi’s book, which tracks and compares the iconography used in almost forty different works on the theme.4 With this substantial foundation in place, we can begin assessing Genji-e from perspectives that go beyond standard stylistic or iconographic analysis. One area of investigation, reflected in this chapter, is the reception of Genji pictures—in this case, the question of what such works meant to viewers in the seventeenth century, some six hundred years after the novel was written. Without denying the critical function of iconographic analysis, I want to move beyond the storylines attached to different pictures from the Genji cycle to consider the cultural, social, and economic implications of Genji-e as objects born of a particular time and place. While acknowledging the crucial role of formalist, or stylistic, analysis in placing Genji-e within linear developmental schema, in this chapter my observations about artistic style are marshaled to the task of understanding what made Genji-e successful in seventeenth-century terms. My objective here is to explore the role Genji-e played in the lives of elite women during the seventeenth century. Admittedly, there is scant documentary evidence about how Genji-e were acquired and used by women in this period. Although Genji-e must have functioned in a variety of circumstances, the known sources refer primarily to Genji-e included among bridal trousseaux and wedding gifts, or as the possessions of aristocratic nuns, offering little information about how Genji-e were understood by women of different ages or social status. The dearth of documentary evidence is disheartening, perhaps, but not altogether discouraging. As scholars begin to study in greater depth the evidence about elite women’s lives in the seventeenth century, new information about the paintings and other objects will no doubt come to light. While citing the documentary evidence in due course, I want to focus on elucidating a connection between the proliferation of Genji-e in this period and the burgeoning seventeenth-century discourse on proper female conduct, morality, and education. During the second half of the century, in particular, Japanese intellectuals—influenced by Neo-Confucian perspectives on proper moral conduct—were actively formulating new paradigms of ideal womanhood. I will argue that these paradigms, and the broader discourse on which

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they were based, had profound implications for the production of Genji-e. They did so by stimulating demand, shaping artists’ decisions about how to present Genji scenes, and ultimately affecting the reception of Genji-e by seventeenth-century viewers, both male and female. It should be noted at the outset that views of proper female behavior were not, in any sense, elements of an official Tokugawa ideology but part of the clamor of competing voices that made up the mid-seventeenth-century discourse on gender. A major forum for this discourse was an array of printed books, published in Kyoto from about 1640 on, known as the kanaz≤shi jokun, or didactic texts for women written in the Japanese syllabic script (kana). Aoyama Tadakazu divides these texts into four categories that give some idea of their thematic content and sources: texts centered on Buddhist thought, with a Japanese-style “Lady Murasaki” as their ideal; works based on Confucian philosophy, with Chinese-style “eminent women” as the model; books presenting ideal “virtuous women” derived from a syncretic mix of Shinto, Buddhist, and Confucian ideas; and works describing “modern women” corresponding to contemporary reality.5 The didactic texts for women illuminate several aspects of the surge in Genji-e production. Following Chinese models, the texts emphasize the importance for elite women of studying ancient literary works, implicitly sanctioning the study of Japanese “classics” as a prerequisite for ideal womanhood. Some of the texts address Genji directly, offering characters from the novel, and its author, Murasaki Shikibu, as role models for contemporary women. In one case, a didactic text offers as an illustration of suitable female conduct a picture of women playing the shell-matching game, which requires familiarity with the Genji iconography. These observations, taken together with the presence of Genji-e among the bridal trousseaux of wealthy women, suggest a climate in which Genji was considered especially suitable for the eyes of young women—and indicate that familiarity with both the Genji story and its pictorial iconography were deemed critical female attainments. In examining how the discourse on ideal female conduct affected individual works of art, I limit my discussion to a small group of Genji-e created during the second half of the seventeenth century by Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691), who served as edokoro azukari, or director of the imperial court painting bureau. My analysis of these images reveals that contemporary attitudes about Genji’s value for elite women shaped the manner in which Mitsuoki rendered this time-honored theme.

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Background: The Tale of Genji and Seventeenth-Century Readers One factor governing the proliferation of Genji-e in seventeenth-century Japan was increased access to the text itself. As early as the fifteenth century, instructors used digests or synopses of The Tale of Genji, such as the Small Mirror of Genji (Genji kokagami; ca. 1425), to spread knowledge of the novel to readers ill equipped to decipher the lengthy classical text.6 Advances in printing technology led in the seventeenth century to vastly increased dissemination of both the original text and the medieval digests. In the first half of the century, the Small Mirror of Genji was published in three movable-type editions; several more block-type editions appeared in 1651.7 Many new editions of Genji were published as well. Some, like The Tale of Genji—Lake Moon Commentary (Genji monogatari kogetsush≤; 1673) by Kitamura Kigin (1624–1705), were rendered more accessible by annotation with furigana (kana readings for kanji characters). Frequently illustrations accompanied the new editions: two such examples include The Illustrated Tale of Genji (Eiri Genji monogatari), published in 1650 with pictures by Yamamoto Shunsh≤ (1610 – 1682),8 and Synopsis Books of The Tale of Genji (J≥j≤ Genji), published in 1661 by Nonoguchi Ry≥ho (1599–1669). The availability of printed editions meant that more people were familiar with the story in the seventeenth century than ever before. In general terms the text’s popularity, and the availability of simple illustrations as models, must have spurred the production of many new paintings as well as utensils and accoutrements decorated with Genji scenes. We know that interest in Genji was especially high around 1650, when a wealthy patron commissioned a sumptuous set of one hundred or more Genji-e handscrolls (Plate 3). Earlier handscrolls, like the twelfth-century Illustrated Scrolls of The Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari emaki), included no more than two or three episodes from each chapter. But this set—now dispersed—included the complete text of the novel accompanied by several illustrations for each chapter. The detailed paintings of the set go far beyond the conventional iconography used in most Genji-e of the time, suggesting a patron with a deep knowledge and appreciation of the text. Although traditionally attributed to Tosa Mitsuoki, the scrolls appear to have been part of a collaborative effort involving many different artists and high-ranking calligraphers.9 Even as interest in Genji spread, members of the imperial court remained a key constituency among readers. The study of ancient Japanese literature

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figure 4.1. Four Pairs of Shells, from a shell game, third quarter of 17th century, ink, color, and gold on clamshells, each shell approximately 7 × 9 cm, Donke’in Monzeki, Kyoto.

had always played a role in life at court, but in 1615 the first Tokugawa shogun Ieyasu (1542 – 1616; r. 1603 – 1605) turned the practice into official policy in his regulations for the nobility, the Kuge shohatto. Article One of the regulations states: The Emperor is to be engaged in the arts, the first of which is scholarship. . . . The composing of waka began with Emperor K≤k≤ (830–87) and continues to this day. Though it consists merely of beautiful expressions, it is our country’s art; it should not be abandoned. As written in the Kinpish≤ [the emperor’s] primary efforts should be directed to the arts.10 Thus the emperor was to dedicate himself to the study of ancient literary forms, especially waka, the thirty-one-syllable poetic form, of which Genji was a primary source.11 Of the seventeenth-century emperors, Gomizunoo (1596–1680;

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r. 1611–1629) was especially concerned with such scholarship, completing three works of commentary on Genji as well as two volumes on the Tales of Ise, an anonymous work of the late ninth to tenth centuries.12 Of Gomizunoo’s immediate successors in the seventeenth century, Gok≤my≤ (1633 – 1654; r. 1643– 1654) is said to have scorned Japanese literature in favor of Chinese learning, but Gosai (1637–1685; r. 1654–1663) was an enthusiastic scholar of native texts.13 That aristocratic women of the seventeenth century were also interested in Genji is clear from a variety of objects associated with imperial patronage. The first is a set of shells painted with small-scale Genji-e that was donated by Emperor Gosai to the Donke’in, an imperial convent (monzeki) in Kyoto, whose abbess was Gosai’s daughter (Figure 4.1). Second is a set of small boxes decorated with motifs from Genji, property of Daish≤ji monzeki, attributed by temple tradition to the hand of Empress T≤fukumon’in (1607 – 1678), wife of Gomizunoo. Using a combination of fabric appliqué and embroidery, the maker decorated the boxes with figural scenes or motifs associated with one or more chapters, and each bears a glyph of parallel lines used in the incense game Genji k≤. The technique of constructing figures and other motifs from fabric is one that T≤fukumon’in herself used in making oshie, or pictures fashioned from paper and cloth; if not made directly by her, the Daish≤ji boxes were probably produced by women in her circle.14 In addition, the Keik≤’in nunnery of Mie prefecture owns a painted Genji-e album that T≤fukumon’in purportedly gave to the abbess, Sh≥tei Sh≤nin (dates unknown).15

Genji-e in Elite Women’s Lives The existence of such objects suggests that elite women were expected to be familiar with The Tale of Genji in the mid-seventeenth century and, moreover, that knowledge of Genji was part of the normative behavior that made elite women acceptable in domestic and social terms. Although women at court certainly read Genji throughout the medieval period, in the seventeenth century a newly vigorous discourse on women’s proper conduct provided fresh impetus for high-ranking women, both at court and in wealthy warrior households, to read The Tale of Genji.16 During the seventeenth century, a variety of printed didactic texts for women written in Japanese syllabic script disseminated guidelines for female conduct that were strongly influenced by Chinese Neo-Confucian sources.17 Like those sources, the Japanese didactic texts for women voice the mandate that high-ranking women should spend time reading, studying, and learning from the precepts set down by earlier writers. The

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renewed emphasis on such study for elite women, and the dissemination of an ideal of literate womanhood that is reflected in the seventeenth-century didactic texts, gave a gloss of moral worthiness to the activity of reading Genji. The importance of women’s cultural education had been acknowledged by such leading Song Neo-Confucianists as Zhu Xi (1130 – 1200), who, for example, heaped praise on literary women in several of the funerary inscriptions he wrote.18 A woman’s familiarity with the classics was integral to her role as a mother; as family educator, a woman had a duty to transmit cultural knowledge to her children, both male and female.19 Before Zhu Xi, Sima Guang (1019 – 1086) wrote in support of female education, citing as texts suitable for girls the Analects (Lunyü), the Classic of Filial Piety (Xiao jing), the Biographies of Eminent Women (Lienü zhuan), and Ban Zhao’s (fl. first century) Admonitions for Women (Nü jie).20 The Women’s Classic of Filial Piety (Nü xiao jing), an influential Confucian text of the Tang dynasty (618–907), specifically directed high-ranking women (“noble ladies”) to “study the words of the virtuous” by reading the classic Book of Odes (Shi jing) and Book of Historical Documents (Shu jing).21 Although Japanese publishers first printed their own editions of the Chinese didactic texts for women in the 1650s, it is likely that earlier, throughout the first half of the century, Chinese manuscript and printed texts were available to interested Japanese writers.22 The ideal of female cultivation is expressed pictorially in the Four Books for Women (Onna shisho), one of the earliest Japanese editions (1656), which includes four of the six classic Chinese texts for women (Figure 4.2). In the Four Books for Women, the opening illustration for the Admonitions for Women shows the author Ban Zhao seated before a table, a book spread open before her, writing brush in hand.23 Basing their work on the Chinese texts—and their illustrations—by the late 1630s Japanese writers were compiling their own didactic texts for women, written in Japanese and incorporating stories about Japanese women and their lives. Some of the new books were direct Japanese equivalents of works like the Biographies of Eminent Women. Others blend Confucian elements—tales of filial piety patterned after Chinese examples, for instance—with stories and exhortations for women that draw upon Buddhist and Shinto philosophy. Collectively they provide important evidence of ways in which Japanese intellectuals sought to apply Confucian models to the conduct of Japanese life—in particular the formulation of new paradigms of ideal Japanese womanhood during the mid-seventeenth century. For high-ranking women these paradigms centered, as in the Chinese texts,

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figure 4.2. Illustration from the Admonitions for Women (Nü jie) volume from the Four Books for Women (Onna shisho), 1656, block-printed book, ink on paper, 25.6 × 16 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

on the ideal of moral learning acquired through reading and study. The view that women should study the precepts is expressed in the oldest of the Japanese didactic texts for women, the Selected Lessons for Women (Jokun sh≤), a work printed in several editions, the earliest dated to 1637.24 In his preface the author says that he is bequeathing these admonitions to his daughter, who was born to him late in life, at age sixty. Accompanying the preface are two illustrations. The first shows the author at home seated before a writing table with his wife, young daughter, and servants before him (Figure 4.3). The second illustration features several women: one in courtly robes is shown reading a book opposite a younger woman, who holds a volume open in her hands (Figure 4.4). This picture seems to depict the women of the household after the writer has passed on—and can be interpreted as an illustration of the wife and daughter living in seclusion after the author’s death, studying the precepts he bequeathed to them. The Mirror of Japanese Women (Honch≤ jokan), published in a printed edi-

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figure 4.3. First illustration from Selected Lessons for Women (Jokun sh≤), vol. 1, 1658, block-printed book, ink on paper, 26 × 16 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

tion in 1661, presents a related ideal; it valorizes women who are known for their cultivation of literary skills and their mastery of the classics. The Mirror of Japanese Women represents a direct Japanese equivalent of the Chinese Confucian text Biographies of Eminent Women. Under chapter headings borrowed from its Chinese prototype, the Mirror of Japanese Women offered Japanese readers eighty-one biographies of famous Japanese women.25 Among them were many women like Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Sh≤nagon (ca. 966 – 1017), who were remembered for their ability as poets/writers steeped in the traditions of Japanese literature. The illustrations emphasize the women’s literary reputations over other virtues. Murasaki Shikibu is shown writing in a villa at Lake Biwa, inspired by the full moon to set down the first chapters of Genji (Figure 4.5); Sei Sh≤nagon is shown raising a bamboo blind in the famous Pillow Book (Makura no s≤shi) episode where she correctly acknowledges a poetic quotation by the empress.26 Just as the Mirror of Japanese Women was first being published, painters of

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figure 4.4. Second illustration from Selected Lessons for Women (Jokun sh≤), vol. 1, 1658, block-printed book, ink on paper, 26 × 16 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

hanging scrolls began featuring with new frequency female writers of the Heian period. In Kyoto, Tosa Mitsuoki and his Kano-trained contemporary, Kiyohara Yukinobu (1643 – 1682), each produced several hanging scrolls representing Murasaki Shikibu (Figure 4.6) and Sei Sh≤nagon, in much the same manner as the Mirror of Japanese Women.27 Other artists of the period, including Kano Tan’y≥ (1602–1674) and the Kyoto genre painter Nonoguchi Ry≥ho,28 made similar imaginary portraits of Murasaki Shikibu. The prevalence of these paintings after midcentury suggests that interest in the Genji author was especially high. These images of exemplary literary women raise an important point. While female cultivation of the sort represented by Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Sh≤nagon was clearly viewed in positive terms, there was some disagreement about what books women should be encouraged—even allowed—to read in the seventeenth century. Such eminent Neo-Confucian writers as Yamaga Sok≤ (1622– 1685) condemned Japanese literature, citing as morally unsound the licentious

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figure 4.5. Illustration from Mirror of Japanese Women (Honch≤ jokan), vol. 9, 1661, block-printed book, ink on paper, 25.4 × 16 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

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behavior of characters in Genji and other tales and declaring such stories unsuitable for female readers.29 Nonetheless, such views did not prevail universally—as witnessed by the widespread dissemination of Genji and its presence even in convents, particularly those headed by nuns of royal birth (monzeki). Indeed, at least two texts from the second half of the century defended Genji in Confucian terms. In a discussion of poems in the seventeen-syllable verse form (haikai), Kitamura Kigin (1624–1705) once claimed that “Murasaki Shikibu’s original purpose was to make the [Genji monogatari] a vehicle to convey the five cardinal articles of morality”—a reference to the Confucian principles governing human conduct.30 Kumazawa Banzan (1619 – 1691), a leading NeoConfucian thinker of the Wang Yangming school, also saw merit in Genji, especially for women. In his Discursive Commentary on Genji (Genji gaiden), a defense of the novel written in 1673, Banzan argues that its “detailed depiction of human feelings (ninj≤)” lends it moral authority, for “when human feelings are not understood, the harmony of the Five Human Relationships is lost.”31 Moreover, the more syncretic didactic texts for women are inclined toward a sympathetic view of traditional Japanese court culture, including female study of literary classics. In an early example, the author of Selected Tales for Women placed Chinese tales of filial behavior alongside passages praising Genji and

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figure 4.6. Tosa Mitsuoki, Murasaki Shikibu Viewing the Moon at Ishiyamadera, ca. 1685–1691, hanging scroll, ink and color on silk, 122.3 × 55.6 cm, Ishiyamadera, Shiga.

Ise; another section of the book is dedicated to a detailed discussion of the waka tradition.32 Other jokun in which Buddhist, Confucian, and Shinto viewpoints are merged exhibit a similarly receptive attitude toward the Japanese literary tradition.33 Despite what some orthodox Neo-Confucianists might have believed, many

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figure 4.7. K≤ami Nagashige, Dowry Set with Designs from “First Warbler” (“Hatsune,” chap. 23), ca. 1637– 1639, gold maki-e on black lacquer, various sizes, Tokugawa Art Museum.

writers must have felt that knowledge of Genji—and with it the waka tradition —was both morally and socially acceptable for women. The proliferation of Genji images was due in some measure to the prevalence of this attitude in upper-class families. New paradigms of ideal womanhood, centering on the cultivation of literary skills, made Genji-e newly desirable—for both male and female patrons. Viewed as appropriate possessions for women of high birth, Genji-e held a special place in the trousseaux and gifts prepared for the brides of warlords during this period. There are many documented examples of Genji-e made for marriages dur-

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ing the seventeenth century. Notable examples include the dowry set of lacquer boxes decorated with motifs from the “First Warbler” (“Hatsune”) chapter of Genji, produced around 1637–1639 for the marriage of Tokugawa Iemitsu’s (1604–1651; r. 1623–1651) eldest daughter to Tokugawa Mitsumoto (1625–1700) (Figure 4.7), and a set of Genji-e shells said to have been among the objects made for Katsuko, the daughter of Honda Tadatoki, upon the occasion of her marriage to Ikeda Mitsumasa (1609 – 1682) in 1628.34 The magnificent pair of Genji-e screens painted by Kano Tan’y≥ in the Imperial Collection are thought to have been a gift of the Tokugawa family in 1649, when Prince Toshitada (1619 – 1662) married a Maeda daughter, F≥hime (1621 – 1662), who had been raised as the shogun’s adopted daughter. There is speculation that the gift was ordered by Empress T≤fukumon’in.35 According to Miyeko Murase, sets of illustrated Genji books, contained in custom-fit lacquered boxes, were often included in the trousseaux of young brides during the eighteenth century.36 Although it has been difficult to document this practice for the seventeenth century, it seems fair to assume that Genji-e albums—like Genji-e screens, shells, and boxes—were part of the household goods prepared for elite young brides during the mid-1600s. As part of the bridal trousseau, pictures of The Tale of Genji functioned both symbolically and practically as possessions ensuring female success in marriage, motherhood, and other domestic relationships. As one component of the ritualized display attending high-profile marriages in the seventeenth century, the Genji-e in their various forms were a literal embodiment of the “cultural capital” that a woman brought to the union—symbolizing the bride’s level of cultivation, in other words, her presumed familiarity with the Japanese literary tradition. Set side by side with the other components of the trousseau—such as the various lacquered implements and boxes required for proper female grooming—the Genji-e suggest that the bride was a woman combining beauty with talent and virtue, someone not unlike Murasaki Shikibu herself. From one perspective, the possession of a lavishly painted pair of Genji-e screens or a Genji album was a mark of elite status signifying that the bride was a perfect embodiment of Japanese womanhood from a respectable family. In cruder terms, such an album spoke of the material wealth of the bride’s family and their identification with courtly taste—still important for arriviste warlords and upand-coming commoners. The bride’s knowledge of ancient literature, embodied in the Genji-e, was important in her eventual role as mother, as well, to be transmitted to the couple’s children as part of their proper cultural education.

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Mitsuoki’s Genji-e: A Case of Artistic Decorum The symbolic qualities just ascribed to Genji-e within the context of the bridal trousseau also provide a useful structure for interpreting the visual attributes most closely associated with these pictures. Just as reverence for tradition, respect for precedent, and a desire to observe and model good conduct were inscribed in the act of reading Genji, tradition, precedent, and a kind of artistic decorum were privileged in the production of Genji-e. A perfect case in point may be found in the work of Tosa Mitsuoki, who was active in Kyoto through most of the second half of the seventeenth century. Mitsuoki was appointed edokoro azukari, or director of the imperial painting bureau, in 1654, the year of Gosai’s ascendance to the throne, and he served in that office until 1681. During his tenure as official court painter, Mitsuoki created a number of Genji-e, including an album dated 1658 (Plates 4–7) and two pairs of folding screens (Figures 4.11 – 4.12 and Plate 8). Given Mitsuoki’s official status, members of court society probably commissioned these undocumented paintings, although we cannot rule out other wealthy patrons of the warrior or commoner class. Stylistically Mitsuoki’s Genji-e are deeply conservative: they assert visually that orthodoxy and fidelity to tradition are positive virtues and that decorum, artistic or otherwise, should at all times be rigorously observed. In other words, in making his Genji-e, Mitsuoki made artistic choices entirely appropriate for viewers who held decorum and exemplary conduct at a premium. Mitsuoki’s Genji-e proclaim respect for tradition and precedent in their formal figural style and conventional iconography. His use of pictorial conventions like “line for an eye, hook for a nose” (hikime kagibana) for faces and the thickly layered, brilliantly colored robes refers back to the Heian period (Plate 4). In a more immediate way, these conventions also pay homage to paintings by Mitsuoki’s ancestors, his father Mitsunori (1583–1638) and grandfather Mitsuyoshi (1539–1615), both famous for Genji-e painted in a detailed, miniaturist manner like that used by Mitsuoki (Figure 4.8). The artist’s iconographic choices conform to earlier practice, as well: Taguchi Eiichi notes that fifteen of the pictures in Mitsuoki’s 1658 Genji album use the same compositions as those in an album by Mitsunori today housed in the Tokugawa Museum, while others closely resemble compositions painted by Mitsuyoshi.37 A kind of artistic decorum is observed throughout Mitsuoki’s paintings, as if he were seeking to match in his own conduct the behavior expected of a young

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figure 4.8. Tosa Mitsunori, illustration for “Channel Buoys” (“Miotsukushi,” chap. 14), Tale of Genji Album (Genji monogatari gach≤), album leaf, ink, color, and gold on paper, 15.3 × 14.1 cm, Tokugawa Art Museum.

bride. Throughout his Genji-e he employs the technically demanding shintai mode, in which each motif is meticulously defined in ink, painted with opaque color, and then detailed with extreme delicacy. Mitsuoki depicted the architectural elements with precise ruling and detailing, enriched the surface with solid gold clouds, and carefully rendered natural elements such as grasses, trees, and flowers.38 In making his pictures, he put a premium on order, discipline, and attention to detail. And although his pictures share the same basic vocabulary as those of his predecessors, Mitsuoki’s Genji-e are, overall, more austere; they are cool and reserved where those by Mitsuyoshi and Mitsunori are lush and complex. The quality of decorum extends as well to Mitsuoki’s portrayal of human intercourse. If, as Banzan suggested, Murasaki Shikibu’s novel should be valued for its representation of human relations, then Mitsuoki does an admirable job

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of making its characters appear well behaved. In his illustration for the “Rack of Clouds” (“Usugumo”) chapter (Plate 5), as in many other examples, the female subject is swathed in clothing so all-encompassing as to prevent any glimpse of the human form, and her face is masklike, unexpressive, perfectly composed. Men and women encounter each other in this world, but always at arm’s length, or separated by a screen, never entangled, rarely even touching. Nowhere is there any hint of lewd, provocative, or explicit behavior—nothing inappropriate for a proper young woman’s gaze. Interaction between partners is symbolized in the most genteel way through the presence of a writing box, brush and paper, media for an exchange of poems (Plates 6–7). These symbols of literary activity appear with greater frequency in Mitsuoki’s Genji-e than in the work of his predecessors—as if in an attempt to further vitiate the erotic content of the novel by pointing toward the poems composed by a couple rather than their sexual encounters. The point here is to recognize that the qualities of propriety, restraint, discipline, and orthodoxy, so apparent in Mitsuoki’s work, were a positive statement of intent by the artist, a thoughtful response to his theme. Although they may fail to excite the contemporary eye (lacking the allure of Edo-period genre paintings), Mitsuoki’s Genji-e are extremely successful on their own terms. They should be understood as a conscious response to patrons who prized literary accomplishments for women—people who saw in such paintings a visual repository of behavioral models to be taken into marriage, studied, and passed along to future generations.

Genji as a Locus of Social Activity Although we can assume that most elite women were exposed to Genji in the seventeenth century, how extensive was the knowledge expected of them? It is difficult to gauge how sensitive these women were to nuances of textual interpretation or whether they truly identified with the emotions of the characters portrayed. Apart from any public symbolism Genji-e may have held within the context of marriage rituals, it was primarily in the private domestic sphere that items decorated with Genji-e would have been used.39 On a practical level, Genji albums provided basic knowledge about the novel and Heian courtly customs; in this sense, they were an instrument for furthering women’s literary and historical education. At the same time, the albums were themselves compendia of information about the visual vocabulary of Genji. Typically lacking a written text, the album pictures present a clear, easily deciphered iconogra-

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phy. In their anonymity, the figures are seemingly interchangeable. Yet these images contain all the clues necessary for knowledgeable viewers to identify a given episode: butterfly dancers and cherry blossoms for the “Butterflies” (“Koch≤”) chapter, a couple in a skiff for the “Boat upon the Waters” (“Ukifune”) chapter, and so on. One should not underestimate the importance of this kind of knowledge, which was a practical asset essential for success in the society of the women’s quarters in high-ranking aristocratic and wealthy warrior households. The multiplicity of small objects adorned with Genji motifs—from shells to incense boxes and playing cards—were not merely intended for decoration but were often put to use in games and activities based on The Tale of Genji. The Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women (Honch≤ teijo kagami), a Genroku-era (1688–1703) didactic text, includes a scene of women playing the shell-matching game, among several illustrations (Figure 4.9); other pictures of polite social gathering show women playing stringed instruments, koto and biwa, and an incense party. From documented examples it would seem that women at the imperial court played these games, as did women living in convents and women in daimyo households. To play these games well, and to be successful in the social terms framed by such activities, one needed to memorize the visual vocabulary of Genji-e motifs associated with each chapter. Presumably the knowledge associated with each picture/motif included not only the chapter title but character names, plotlines, and, more than likely, poems. Although Genji-e might have been subject to deeper readings on the part of viewers, their role in women’s social education—facilitating games and other forms of play—was also significant. The need for a stable visual vocabulary— a requirement of the Genji-e-based games—was another excellent reason for the iconographic orthodoxy of most seventeenth-century Genji-e. Mitsuoki’s patrons would probably not have looked favorably on deviations from the most familiar, easily recognizable configurations of characters and their attributes. In other words: there was little incentive to be innovative and, conversely, a powerful argument for employing familiar iconographic formulas. What creative avenues remained lay more in the realm of selecting the episodes to be included in a set of Genji-e—a process that the artist’s patrons may have directed—and in making subtle adjustments to the arrangement of the figures and natural motifs in a scene. It is interesting to note in this regard that Mitsuoki seems quite deliberately to have simplified the elaborate compositions of his forebears by streamlining each scene to its essential elements. In his father’s paintings, to take one example, minor players, objects, and activities often com-

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figure 4.9. Illustration from Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women (Honch≤ teijo kagami), vol. 1, ca. 1688–1703, blockprinted book, ink on paper, 23 × 16 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

plement or compete with the main action of a scene (Figure 4.8): ladies-inwaiting crowd around, or eavesdrop behind screens, and lamps, floor mats, and other bits of furniture are placed here and there between them. By contrast, Mitsuoki typically focuses on two or three characters who are absorbed in an activity, more often than not the writing of a poem (Plate 7). The fact that Mitsuoki strips down the iconography inherited from Mitsunori, eliminating nonessential elements, may relate to the changing role of Genji-e—for example, the desire to link a picture explicitly to a particular poem.

Role Models in Genji There is one further way in which the discourse on women’s behavioral education may have affected the production of Genji-e. In her discussion of seventeenth-century illustrations of the Great Woven Cap (Taishokkan), Melanie Trede argues that the Taishokkan’s presentation of heroic female characters is

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related to an effort to promote female role models in didactic works like the Selected Lessons for Women (Jokun sh≤).40 Similarly, I believe that during the second half of the seventeenth century Genji-e may have been made with the intention of providing visual role models for women—and that the pictures would have been understood in these terms by contemporary viewers. Though not all of its characters are virtuous, Genji was still a ripe source for writers and artists seeking exemplars of personal decorum, good taste, and moral virtue. At least two sources dating to the second half of the century cite Genji characters in such a context, encouraging women to emulate heroines of the novel. In the preface to his Discursive Commentary on Genji (Genji gaiden; 1673), mentioned earlier, Kumazawa Banzan argues that the novel was a valued source of information about the manners and customs of the Heian nobility, especially the music and literature of the period.41 Moreover, he asserts that the novel has merit, especially for women, because it “depicts human feeling and the vicissitudes of life in great detail.” Banzan recommends that female readers should study the book with particular attention to its depiction of jealousy, a moral failing amply revealed in relation to Genji’s innumerable affairs.42 Thus Banzan urges readers to use Genji as a source of information about Heian customs, the native traditions of court society. This alone is an interesting point of view, for it reinforces the idea that pictures of Genji had the potential to instruct viewers on elite cultural practices. He also implies that Genji could be seen as a source of moral instruction for young women and that the characters in the tale could serve as exemplars of conduct both good and bad. In other words: it was not only the author, Murasaki Shikibu, who was a role model for women, but her fictional creations—Murasaki, the Akashi Lady, and all the others—who could offer female readers behavioral instruction. We can look to another of the didactic texts, the Genroku-era Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women, for further evidence about the designation of Genji characters as role models. A work in twelve volumes, the Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women includes stories devoted to the Confucian theme of proper filial relations as well as a volume of practical instructions for women’s handiwork and domestic affairs. It also contains tales of exemplary female conduct accompanied by pictures of women dressed in contemporary (Genroku-era) costume and engaged in refined activities like the shell-matching game. Several volumes are devoted to instructive tales about famous women of the past in the manner of the Chinese biographies. Volume eight, titled Wise Women and Virtuous Women (Kenjo teijo no han), takes its models from The Tale of Genji. Four Genji characters are discussed: Murasaki, Akashi, Hanachirusato, and

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figure 4.10. Illustration from Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women (Honch≤ teijo kagami), vol. 8, ca. 1688–1703, blockprinted book, ink on paper, 20 × 13.6 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

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Suetsumuhana. Each is represented in an illustration that looks as if it were plucked out of a Tosa album (Figure 4.10). For the passage on Murasaki the text first speaks of her initial sighting by Genji, who soon was moved to adopt her. A description follows: “Her beauty was unmatched even by the flowers of spring or the autumn leaves. Although from her face this would go without saying, her demeanor was quiet and composed.”43 The text emphasizes, at some length, the idea that Murasaki was able to master her emotions, behaving decorously even when Genji left to visit other women. Although she felt sad when separated from Genji, “she appeared to be accustomed to it and conducted herself properly. On the many occasions when he went off to secretly visit other places, she smiled pleasantly to see him off.”44 Whereas he hid his assignations from other noblewomen, including Aoi, Genji prized Murasaki’s forbearance: “When he was about to go off to a secret place, he would first take leave of Lady Murasaki and receive her blessing.”45 Leaving aside the question of who is best served by the circulation of such role models, it is clear that the Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women offers Murasaki as a woman worthy of admiration. The purpose of the anecdote is to inform readers of the subject’s virtues and encourage women to emulate her behavior. The illustration accompanying the passage provides a complementary

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visual model (Figure 4.10). It shows Murasaki, occupying herself elegantly during one of her many separations from Genji, seated before a writing table, putting brush to paper, surrounded by her attendants. In the illustration Murasaki exudes the same blend of talent, beauty, and virtue seen in other portraits of historical Heian women, such as her eponymous creator. Seated alone in one corner of the room, screened from view by a variety of devices (folding screen, standing screen, hanging blinds), she is a model of decorous behavior, as are her companions, whose tilted heads and lowered eyes nicely signal deference rather than defiance or coquetry. Both as a record of Heian-period manners and as a portrayal of a Genji character as a virtuous woman, this image conforms well with the views voiced by Banzan in his Discursive Commentary on Genji regarding The Tale of Genji’s value to female viewers. The perception that Genji characters could serve as role models for women had important consequences for both the production and the reception of Genji-e. Particularly intriguing are the implications of this notion for the presence of Genji-e in bridal trousseaux and gifts to brides. Were young women meant to emulate the characters pictured in Genji-e screens and albums in the same way that paintings of the Virtuous Chinese Emperors (Teikan-zu) or renderings of the Twenty-four Paragons of Filial Piety (Nij≥shik≤) offered visual models, or at least reminders, of exemplary conduct for Sinophile males? Did patrons commission screens and albums to reinforce approved female role models? Is there an underlying code of meaning attached to the later Genji-e of which we are still unaware? Above all, did this aspect of meaning affect what patrons wanted their commissioned works to look like? Did it influence the way artists painted this subject? Due to the difficulty of determining authorial intent in the absence of documentary evidence, one can only address these questions in a tentative manner. As noted earlier, throughout his career Mitsuoki explored the theme of female exemplars in hanging scroll and album-leaf paintings of female waka poets. His apparent interest in the portrayal of legendary women, and in portraying praiseworthy female conduct in his Genji-e, strongly suggests that Mitsuoki—and his patrons—also viewed Genji as a source of specific role models for women. This conclusion is most strongly supported by the two pairs of folding screens (by≤bu) on Genji themes painted by Mitsuoki. In their subject matter and presentation, Mitsuoki’s Genji-e screens offer viewers a consistent if multifaceted image of the qualities constituting ideal womanhood. The first pair of screens, in the Tokyo National Museum, depicts episodes from two chapters: “First Warbler” (“Hatsune,” chap. 23) and “New Herbs I” (“Wakana-j≤,” chap. 34). Although

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the iconography used to depict each scene is conventional, inasmuch as it conforms to that of earlier Tosa school albums (Figures 4.11 and 4.12), the juxtaposition of the two scenes in a pair of screens is highly unusual.46 Among the factors behind the pairing of the two episodes may be their seasonal character: both scenes are set at the beginning of the year, so it is possible to hypothesize, for instance, that the screens were made for occasional display during the New Year’s season. But the scenes also share another thematic feature making them ripe for pairing: each centers on an encounter between Genji and a woman who is a paragon of decorum and taste. Moreover, as the text for each scene makes clear, the two women in question boast another virtue in common: they are mothers devoted to their offspring. In the “Hatsune” episode, which takes place on New Year’s day, Genji is shown to the right of center walking toward the Akashi Lady’s quarters (Figure 4.11).47 A hanging curtain divides the space before him: on one side, a lacquered shelf is set next to a white damask cushion and a koto, a writing set, and scattered papers lie abandoned nearby; on the other side are arrayed several ladies in court robes. The text makes it clear that Lady Akashi has been interrupted at her “work”—she is an accomplished musician, poet, and calligrapher:

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figure 4.11. Tosa Mitsuoki, “First Warbler” (“Hatsune,” chap. 23), left screen, Tale of Genji Screens (Genji monogatarizu by≤bu), ca. 1654– 1681, pair of folding screens, ink, color, and gold on paper, each 97 × 280 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

He was greeted by the perfume from within her blinds, a delicate mixture that told of the most refined tastes. And where was the lady herself? He saw notebooks and the like disposed around an inkstone. He took one up, and another. A beautifully made koto lay against the elaborate fringe of a cushion of white Loyang damask, and in a brazier of equally fine make she had been burning courtly incenses, which mingled with the perfume burnt into all the furnishings to most wonderful effect. Little practice notes lay scattered about. The hand was a superior and most individual one, in an easy cursive style that allowed no suggestion of pretense or imposture. Pleased at having heard from her daughter, it would seem, she had been amusing herself with jotting from the anthologies.48 Akashi is one of the most talented women in Genji’s harem. Her taste is evident from the character of her hand and the choice of objects with which she surrounds herself. Her sense of propriety keeps her aloof even from Genji. In Mitsuoki’s rendering of the scene, as in the text, far from rushing forward to greet Genji, Akashi retreats behind the curtain as he approaches. Moreover, though Murasaki may rival her in beauty and artistry, it is Akashi who has

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borne him a child, the Akashi Princess, whose marriage to the reigning emperor made Genji regent. The painted scene conflates all three elements—her cultivated nature, her relationship to her daughter, and her dignified relations with Genji—culminating in the image of an exemplary woman. Illustrated on the second screen of the Tokyo National Museum pair is an episode from the “New Herbs I” chapter, set on the day of the rat, the twentythird day of the first month (Figure 4.12). Tamakazura pays a visit to Rokuj≤, bringing Genji the new herbs (wakana) that promise long life. She also has in her company the two young sons born to her after she had wed Higekuro. The screen shows Genji and Tamakazura seated facing one another with the two boys seated between them. A small wooden stand is placed before each figure. The text makes it clear that Tamakazura is another model of refined taste: Tamakazura’s touch was apparent everywhere. She was a lady of refinement and sensibility, and when she exerted herself the results were certain to be memorable—though she agreed with Genji that lavish display was in poor taste. . . . She had brought her two sons with her, very pretty boys indeed. It

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figure 4.12. Tosa Mitsuoki, “New Herbs I” (“Wakana-j≤,” chap. 34), right screen, Tale of Genji Screens (Genji monogatari-zu by≤bu), ca. 1654– 1681, pair of folding screens, ink, color, and gold on paper, each 97 × 280 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

rather embarrassed her to have had two sons in such quick succession, but Higekuro, her husband, had said that they must be introduced to Genji, and that there was not likely to be a better occasion. . . . Tamakazura was very much the matron, in an entirely pleasant way. Her congratulatory poem was most matronly: “I come to pray that the rock may long endure And I bring with me the seedling pines from the field.” Genji went through the ceremony of sampling the new herbs, which were arranged in four aloeswood boxes. He raised his cup. “Long shall be the life of the seedling pines— To add to the years of the herbs brought in from the fields?”49 Like Akashi, Tamakazura exemplifies cultivated, courteous behavior. She comes to pay her filial respects to her foster father, a dutiful mother with her own perfectly turned out progeny in tow. The screen shows her at a decorous distance from Genji, separated from him by the screen and her two sons. In this scene, at least, Tamakazura is a paragon of all feminine virtue: she is beautiful, taste-

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ful, talented, and maternal. Like Akashi, it is not only her personal cultivation that makes her noteworthy but also the fact that she has fulfilled her duty by producing offspring to perpetuate the family line and its class affiliations. A third screen by Mitsuoki, owned by the Fukuoka City Art Museum, illustrates an episode from the “Lavender” chapter (“Wakamurasaki,” chap. 5) (Plate 8).50 The Fukuoka screen shows Genji standing with a seated attendant, at center, before the brushwood fence outside a mountain villa. At the right side, beyond the fence, a woman and girl stand on the veranda of the villa while inside another girl approaches a seated woman, a nun leaning on an armrest. The scene illustrates the moment from the story when Genji first spies the ten-yearold Murasaki, who is living in the company of her grandmother, now a nun. When he first sees Murasaki, she is upset: another child has set her caged sparrows free. As her nurse goes out to see if she can recapture them, the nun calls Murasaki over to her side, admonishing her gently not to worry about insignificant things. Genji is captivated by the child and soon spirits her off to his mansion in the capital. The “Wakamurasaki” scene represents the first encounter between the ideal Japanese man—the Shining Prince—and a girl qualified to be his eventual mate. At ten Murasaki is innocent, virginal, and, it turns out, of surprisingly good birth—her father is actually a prince. From his hiding place, Genji picks her out of the crowd of attractive female companions as the one superior being destined to be his life’s companion. In his painting, Mitsuoki interprets the scene in a way that emphasizes the exemplary nature of Genji’s prospective bride. Earlier Tosa-school album leaves typically show the nurse and the two girls on the veranda; facing out, both girls watch the nurse as she tries to lure the bird back to the villa. Mitsuoki modified this conventional iconography in a subtle but significant way: by placing the girl inside, next to the nun, he chose to represent instead the next moment, when the nun calls Murasaki inside. The new configuration shifts the emphasis from a display of beauty for the hidden observer to a moment of instruction as Murasaki, turned away from Genji, is guided toward appropriate behavior. In visual terms, the relative positions of Murasaki and the nun recall the filial piety scenes that fill the contemporary didactic texts, such as the image from the Selected Lessons for Women of a woman kneeling before her seated elder (Figure 4.13). In choosing to represent the moment when Murasaki shows deference to the older woman’s authority, Mitsuoki adds another layer—a mantle of virtue—to his presentation of the girl as an ideal bride. Genji is an astute observer: he looks past the obvious fe-

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figure 4.13. Illustration from Selected Lessons for Women (Jokun sh≤), 1658, block-printed book, ink on paper, 26 × 16 cm, East Asian Library Rare Book Collection, University of California, Berkeley.

male display on the veranda to choose Murasaki, who is not only beautiful but also reserved and ready to submit to authority.

Conclusion In this essay I have tried to extend the analysis of Genji-e beyond iconographic and formalist approaches by seeking to discover why seventeenth-century Genji-e were commissioned, what they meant to contemporary viewers, and why they look as they do. First I raised the possibility that the proliferation of Genji-e is related to the seventeenth-century valorization of the classics as a component of moral and cultural education for elite women. This notion is particularly important in relation to Genji-e that were made for bridal trousseaux and as gifts. Screens, albums, and other objects adorned with images from Genji signified the bride’s cultural capital: her high level of cultivation,

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her family’s wealth, and a proper respect for precedent and moral authority. In a more general sense, the seventeenth-century Genji-e also represent a passion for complex visual vocabularies, the mastery of which enabled social success among women and enhanced the pleasure of communal play.51 In addition, I have tried to draw a connection between the role Genji-e played in women’s lives and the choices made by artists in presenting this theme. In the case of Mitsuoki, the decision to honor precedent, the orthodox use of the shintai mode, the quiet elegance of his compositions, and the decorum maintained by his figures—all are especially apt for paintings associated with reverence for tradition, exquisite courtly taste, and exemplary conduct. Moreover, the social function borne by the Genji-e necessitated a kind of iconographic correctness, which may have been one factor behind the reductionist tendency evident in Mitsuoki’s simplification of earlier iconographic models. Finally, the notion that characters from Genji could serve as role models for women has important implications for our understanding of seventeenthcentury Genji-e. Not only does it cast new light on the place of Genji-e in the bridal trousseaux, but it suggests something about the way in which female viewers might have read these pictures. Beyond their intrinsic interest in the text itself, readers of the seventeenth century perceived the characters’ lives through the filter of contemporary life and current ideals of human behavior. By the same token, the designation of certain Genji characters as role models may have affected editorial decisions governing artists making Genji-e—scene selection and choice of iconography, for example, as well as the arrangement of figures within a scene. Mitsuoki, at least, seems to have put images from the story to work providing role models for women to emulate—comparable to the way in which contemporary Kano school painters presented virtuous Chinese emperors and sages. The paradigms of ideal Japanese womanhood represented in Mitsuoki’s Genji-e are submissive: filial daughters and faithful wives. While beautiful, their physical qualities are secondary to virtue: refined in manner and exquisite in taste, their gestures and surroundings point toward cultural pursuits as their proper sphere of activity.

Notes 1. American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 4th ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2001). As Elizabeth Lillehoj points out in the Introduction, the ancient Chinese term “guadian,” later adopted by the Japanese as “koten,” has similar implications. Although I have avoided doing so, many scholars of Japanese culture routinely use the term “classical” in the same sense. To cite but one recent example, writing about late-

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eighteenth-century gardens, Timon Screech says: “Plenty of gardens recreated famous literary sites as a way of reaffirming the resilience of the classical tradition over time.” See Screech, The Shogun’s Painted Culture (London: Reaktion Books, 2000), 211. 2. The Tale of Genji was written by Murasaki Shikibu (ca. 978 – 1016), a lady-inwaiting to Empress Sh≤shi. There are now three major English translations of the novel: Arthur Waley, trans., The Tale of Genji (London: Allen & Unwin, 1925 – 1933); Edward G. Seidensticker, trans., The Tale of Genji (New York: Knopf, 1976); and Royall Tyler, trans., The Tale of Genji (New York: Viking, 2001). Pictures of Genji, or Genjie, were made by artists at court as early as the twelfth century; over the centuries since then a broad range of artists have created Genji-e in a multiplicity of styles. For information on the oldest extant Genji-e, a twelfth-century illustrated handscroll, see Komatsu Shigemi, Genji monogatari emaki, vol. 1 of Nihon emaki taisei (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1977). See also note 3. 3. Clunas questions the modern priority given to paintings over other types of pictures—particularly painted or otherwise decorated objects (“books to luxury craft objects”) that carry subject matter common to paintings. See Craig Clunas, Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 46. 4. Others scholars have done equally valuable work on the questions of style and connoisseurship. See, for example, Takeda Tsuneo, “Tosa Mitsuyoshi to saiga: Ky≤to Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan Genji monogatari gach≤ o megutte,” Kokka 996 (1976):11–40. 5. Aoyama Tadakazu, Kanaz≤shi jokun bungei no kenky≥ (Tokyo: ∑f≥sha, 1982), 5–7. Aoyama’s work is a rich source of information on the subject of women’s didactic literature. Comments on the topic in English can be found in Shigenobu ∑kuma, Fifty Years of New Japan (London: Dutton, 1909), 2:199–203; R. P. Dore, Education in Tokugawa Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965), 64 – 67; and Bettina L. Knapp, Images of Japanese Women: A Westerner’s View (Troy, N.Y.: Whitston, 1992), 122 – 125. See also Fuyuhiko Yokota’s discussion of the Greater Learning for Women (Onna daigaku) in relation to women’s work: Fuyuhiko Yokota, “Imagining Working Women in Early Modern Japan,” in Hitomi Tonomura et al., eds., Women and Class in Japanese History (Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, 1999), 99 – 118. My research on the jokun has benefited enormously from access to the Edo-period book collection of the East Asian Library at the University of California, Berkeley. I am indebted to the patient and resourceful EAL staff, especially Hisayuki Ishimatsu and Bruce Williams, for guidance in using the collection. 6. The digests were particularly useful to linked-verse (renga) poets because they contained information on the thirty-one-syllable court poems (waka) included in each chapter of the novel. For a discussion of the reception of Genji by medieval readers see Richard Bowring, Murasaki Shikibu: The Tale of Genji (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 90 – 91. See also Ii Haruki, Genji monogatari ch≥shakushi no kenky≥ (Tokyo: ∑f≥sha, 1980), and Teramoto Naohiko, Genji monogatari j≥y≤shi ronk≤ (Tokyo: Kazama Shobo, 1983). 7. Bowring, Murasaki Shikibu, 92. 8. The illustrations of the Eiri Genji monogatari will be familiar to Western readers, as they were used to illustrate Edward Seidensticker’s translation of Genji. 9. Miyeko Murase speculates that the artists were members of the Kyoto Kano atelier. Portions of the set are in the Burke Collection, New York (two segments), the Spencer Collection of the New York Public Library (three scrolls), Ishiyamadera in Shiga (one

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scroll), and other private collections. See Miyeko Murase, Jewel Rivers: Japanese Art from the Burke Collection (Richmond: Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, 1993), 146–150. 10. Translated by Lee A. Butler, “Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Regulations for the Court: A Reappraisal,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 54(2) (1994):532–533. 11. Waka poems and poetic exchanges punctuate the text of Genji at regular intervals. For example, the “Lavender” (“Wakamurasaki”) chapter, in which Genji meets the character Murasaki for the first time, includes some twenty-five poems. Although some poems predate the text, most were original works created for the novel. The body of poems found in Genji became an important source of allusion for later poets, especially those working in the renga tradition. 12. The three manuscripts by Gomizunoo relating to Genji are the Genji monogatari gokakiire (2 vols.), the Genji monogatari fuseya no chiri (1 vol.), and the Genji monogatari mojikusari (1 vol.); cited in Kumakura Isao, Gomizunoo-in (Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1982), 186–187. 13. Elizabeth Lillehoj, “Flowers of the Capital: Imperial Sponsorship of Art in 17thCentury Kyoto,” Orientations 27(8) (September 1996):68. 14. The shells and the boxes were both on display during a 1998 exhibit of art from the imperial Buddhist convents (monzeki) held at Columbia University. See Maribeth Graybill, Manabe Shunsh≤, and Sadako Ohki, Days of Discipline and Grace: Treasures from the Imperial Buddhist Convents of Kyoto (New York: Institute for Medieval Japanese Studies, 1998), cat. nos. 18, 20, 23–25. 15. The album is now in the collection of the Jing≥ Chok≤kan, Mie. See Kanagawa Kenritsu Hakubutsukan, ed., Kan’ei no Gomizunootei to T≤fukumon’in Masako (Tokyo: Kasumi Kaikan, 1996), 88. 16. For a discussion of Genji-e during the medieval period see Miyeko Murase, The Iconography of the Tale of Genji (New York: Weatherhill, 1983), 12–16. Wakita Haruko ascribes the popularity of Genji as reading matter for medieval women to the growth of N≤ drama and renga poetry, both of which drew on material—characters, phrases, or verses—from Murasaki Shikibu’s story. Moreover, Wakita argues that the source of Genji’s appeal in the medieval period lay “in its depiction of the ie,” or family system, which resonated with the contemporary practice of yometori marriage, in which new wives were brought to live in their husband’s homes. Female readers of the time would have seen Genji as an ideal man, largely because of the unusual efforts he made to shelter and care for his lovers. See Wakita Haruko, “Women and the Creation of the Ie: An Overview from the Medieval Period to the Present,” trans. David P. Phillips, Nichibei Josei Jaanaru 4 (April 1993):83–105. 17. Confucian ideals of moral conduct had certainly made their way to Japan in various forms in earlier periods. The ascendance in the seventeenth century of NeoConfucian scholarship, however, especially the teachings of the Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming schools, seems to have led writers to consider the question of proper conduct —both male and female—with new intensity. For a perspective on the growth of NeoConfucian thought during the seventeenth century see Herman Ooms, Tokugawa Ideology: Early Constructs, 1570–1680 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985). 18. See Bettine Birge, “Chu Hsi and Women’s Education,” in W. Theodore de Bary and John W. Chaffee, eds., Neo-Confucian Education: The Formative Stage (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 354–355. 19. Ibid., 348.

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20. Ibid., 353–354. 21. See Mayumi Yoshida, “The Nü hsiao-ching (A Woman’s Classic of Filial Piety)” (master’s thesis, University of California, 1991). 22. The Lienü zhuan (Biographies of eminent women) had been known in Japan since the ninth century. Two Japanese editions of the Lienü zhuan were published in Japan in 1653: an eight-volume set titled Shinkoku ko retsujoden (Biographies of exemplary women, new edition) and the three-volume Shinzuku retsujoden (Biographies of exemplary women, new series). See Shimomi Takao, Ry≥k≤ retsujoden no kenky≥ (Tokyo: T≤kai Daigaku Shuppankai, 1989), 39. See also Aoyama, Kanaz≤shi jokun, 130–203. 23. Of the other three books in the Onna shisho, book two of the Nü lunyü (Analects for women) opens with a similar illustration. 24. Aoyama, Kanaz≤shi jokun, 62. 25. For a transcription of the Honch≤ jokan text see Kurokawa Shind≤, ed., Nihon ky≤iku bunko (Tokyo: D≤bunkan, 1910), 7:226–227. 26. In the Honch≤ jokan she responds to the emperor—a variation on the original story set down in the Pillow Book. 27. For a painting of Murasaki Shikibu by Yukinobu see Patricia Fister, Japanese Women Artists, 1600–1900 (Lawrence, Kans.: Spencer Museum of Art, 1988), cat. no. 7. 28. A painting of Murasaki Shikibu attributed to Tan’y≥ is illustrated in Makoto Ueda, Literary and Art Theories in Japan (Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, 1967), pl. 2. Ry≥ho is the same artist mentioned earlier as illustrator of the J≥j≤ Genji. His painting of Murasaki is dated in accordance with 1667. For an illustration see Leon Zolbrod, Haiku Painting (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1982), pl. 1. 29. Dore, Education in Tokugawa Japan, 66. 30. The passage appears in reference to the love poems written by his teacher, Matsunaga Teitoku (1571 – 1653); “Haikai y≤i f≥tei,” in Ogata Tsutomu, ed., Kigin hairon sh≥, Koten bunko, 151:208–209; cited in Peipei Qui, “Adaptation and Transformation: A Study of Taoist Influence on Early Seventeenth-Century Haikai,” in Amy Vladeck Heinrich, ed., Currents in Japanese Culture: Translations and Transformations (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 189 and n. 14. Kigin’s comments are based on medieval commentaries in which Genji was viewed as a kind of g≥gen, meaning, in this case, a parable or tale infused with moral purpose. My thanks to Liz Lillehoj for bringing Qui’s essay to my attention. 31. Translation by Thomas J. Harper, “Motoori Norinaga’s Criticism of the Genji monogatari: A Study of the Background and Critical Content of His Genji Monogatari Tama no Ogushi” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 1971), 87. 32. Aoyama, Kanaz≤shi jokun, 11. 33. Ibid., 17. 34. For illustrations see Tokugawa Art Museum, ed., Meihin kansh≤ Tokugawa Bijutsukan (Tokyo: Tokyo Shinbun Shuppankyoku, 1982), 219, cat. no. 174; and Akiyama et al., Genji monogatari, pl. 10. 35. Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Twelve Centuries of Japanese Art from the Imperial Collections (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian, 1997), 110–111, cat. no. 34. 36. Murase, Iconography, 16. 37. Taguchi Eichi and Akiyama Ken, eds., G≤ka “Genji-e” no sekai—Genji monogatari (Tokyo: Gakush≥ Kenky≥sha, 1988), 264.

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38. For a discussion of the shintai mode in Mitsuoki’s work see Sanekata Y≤ko, “Tosa Mitsuoki no ‘iro’ to ‘sumi’—Suma Akashi-zu by≤bu o ch≥shin ni,” Bijutsushi 143(1) (October 1997):47–64. 39. This assumption is based on the idea that since the public lives of elite women in this period were fairly circumscribed, most social or educational activity involving Genji-e would have taken place in private. Again, future research on women’s day-today lives may cause us to modify this supposition. 40. Melanie Trede, “Kerun T≤y≤ Bijutsukan shoz≤ Taishokkan-e no juy≤ bigakuteki k≤satsu,” Bijutsushi 141(1) (October 1996):58. 41. Banzan’s collaborator in writing the Genji gaiden was the courtier and poet Nakanoin Michishige (1631–1710), who held the post of Gondainagon until 1670. The Genji gaiden was based in part on Michishige’s own commentary, Notes on the Genji (Genji kikigaki). 42. Quoted in Harper, “Motoori Norinaga,” 87. 43. Translation by Maiko R. Behr. 44. Translation by Maiko R. Behr. 45. Translation by Maiko R. Behr. 46. The screens are signed “Tosa sakon sh≤gen Mitsuoki,” indicating that they were painted during his years of service as edokoro azukari (1654 – 1681). They use the unusual device of showing an interior scene as if viewed through lowered sudare blinds. As recently as 1988, the screens’ subject was identified as scenes from the “Picture Contest” (“Eawase”) chapter; see Akiyama Terukazu, “Genji-e no keifu,” in Akiyama Ken, ed., Zusetsu Nihon no koten, 134. The 1986 catalog of Genji-e published by the Sakai City Museum correctly identifies these as scenes from the “Hatsune” and “Wakana-jo” chapters, however, as does Taguchi and Akiyama, G≤ka “Genji-e” (the latter illustrates only the “Hatsune” screen). See Sakai City Museum, Genji monogatari no kaiga (Sakai: Sakai City Museum, 1986), cat. no. 66; Taguchi and Akiyama, G≤ka “Genji-e,” 121, pl. 91. 47. Presumably this is the right screen of the pair, as the “Hatsune” chapter (chap. 23) precedes “Wakana-j≤” (chap. 34) in the novel. 48. Seidensticker, Tale of Genji, 412. 49. Ibid., 551–552. 50. The screen is the right half of a pair owned by the Fukuoka City Art Museum; the left screen depicts an episode from the “Suma” chapter. Signed “Tosa sakon eish≤gen Mitsuoki hitsu,” they date to the period of Mitsuoki’s service as edokoro azukari (1654– 1681). See Sakai City Museum, Genji monogatari no kaiga, 52, cat. no. 54. 51. A comparable phenomenon is found in the obsession of today’s young schoolchildren with the visual vocabulary and associated powers of over two hundred Pokémon characters.

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Chapter Five

Joshua S. Mostow

A New “Classical” Theme: The One Hundred Poets from Elite to Popular Art in the Early Edo Period

Although the One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each collection (Hyakunin isshu), edited by Fujiwara no Teika (1162–1241) in the 1230s, was esteemed as the preeminent compilation of Japanese poetry by the fourteenth century, it did not become a theme for visual art until the early seventeenth century. This fact is surprising when we remember that the genre of imaginary portraits of famous poets (kasen-e) can be traced back to at least the thirteenth century,1 and the genre of poem-pictures (uta-e) back to the tenth.2 What was it about the recently inaugurated Tokugawa period (1600–1868) and the One Hundred Poets that led to the creation of this new, yet very “classical,” theme? Visualizations of the One Hundred Poets and similar works seem to have had a brief efflorescence in the elite art of the Kano and Tosa schools in the latter half of the seventeenth century. We shall see that a number of political factors led to the sudden production of these works—factors that also have a bearing on the physical format and compositional elements of these works. The popularity of the theme in the elite arts was matched by its adoption in the plebeian genre of ukiyo-e and printing. But it was precisely in these popular arts that pictures of the One Hundred Poets were to prove the most durable, while they seem virtually to disappear from elite art by the early eighteenth century. At present there are known to be three important examples of One Hundred Poets paintings from the seventeenth century. The best known of these is the Date Family One Hundred Poets Picture Albums (Ky≥-Date-ke-bon hyakunin isshu gaj≤), named after the powerful daimyo clan to which they once belonged (Figure 5.1).3 In these two large albums with detailed paintings on silk

figure 5.1. Kano Tan’y≥, Date Family One Hundred Poets Picture Album: Teika (Ky≥Date-ke-bon hyakunin isshu gaj≤: Teika), painted album leaf, pigments on silk, two volumes, pictures 31.4 × 27.5 cm each, private collection.

(hereafter referred to as the Date album set), each poet faces an inscription of his or her poem written on decorated paper on the opposite page. The paintings are by Kano Tan’y≥ (1602–1674) and four members of his atelier: his younger brother Yasunobu (1613–1685), his disciple Tsunenobu (1636–1713), his adopted son/son-in-law Masunobu (1625 – 1694), and an unidentified fifth painter. Except for this unidentified one, the painters signed and sealed all of their respective paintings. Clearly related to the Date album set is a work in the Tokyo National Museum, Portraits of the One Hundred Poets (Hyakunin isshu gaz≤), attributed to Tan’y≥ but believed to be a close copy of a work by him (Figures 5.2, 5.3, and 5.4). This copybook is one volume on paper with signs that it was originally a scroll and later remounted in the album format.4 It has many figures in common with the Date album set, but three-quarters of the figures include landscape elements or other motifs related to the contents of their respective poems. The third work is the One Hundred Poets Calligraphy Model Book (Hyakunin isshu te-kagami), attributed to Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691), in the collection of the Hayashibara Museum of Art in Okayama (Plate 9).5 Presumably this work is the same as that mentioned by Mori T≤ru in his 1981 study of

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figure 5.2. Kano Tan’y≥ (attrib.), Portraits of the One Hundred Poets: Teika (Hyakunin isshu gaz≤: Teika), painted album leaf, light colors on paper, one volume, 30 × 20 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

Hyakunin isshu-e. Mori claims to have seen the work but says he was unaware of its location at the time of writing.6 It is a very unusual work. Its provenance is reportedly from the Ikeda family, the daimyo of Okayama. The only basis for its attribution to Tosa Mitsuoki is the inscription on its lacquered box—it is otherwise unsigned and without either seals or authentification. All the paintings are finished in a meticulous application of pigments on silk. Curiously, however, there is not a single inscription to be found in the work: the open double-page spread gives poets on either side, rather than having each poet accompanied by an inscription of his or her poem. The Mitsuoki album has no poets’ names and no poems—a singular absence for a work called a te-kagami, or calligraphy-practice model book. Nonetheless, the work appears to be very close to the Tokyo National Museum copybook. The Mitsuoki album is in the portrait-plus-landscape format as well. But while virtually identical to the Tokyo National Museum copybook in terms of composition, its portrayals of in-

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figure 5.3. Kano Tan’y≥ (attrib.), Portraits of the One Hundred Poets: The Handmaid Su≤ and Retired Emperor Sanj≤ (Hyakunin isshu gaz≤: Su≤ Naishi/Sanj≤ In), two painted album leaves, light colors on paper, one volume, 30 × 20 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

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dividual poets and its landscape elements sometimes differ in subtle but meaningful ways. The relationship between these three works is presently unclear. The Date album set can be dated with reasonable confidence between 1662 and 1669, perhaps even as precisely as 1662–1664. No one has dated the Mitsuoki album; but, assuming of course that it is by Mitsuoki, it must date before his death in 1691. Mori T≤ru suggests that the Tokyo National Museum copybook is at one or two removes from Tan’y≥’s hand, so it must be the latest of the three works. But what is it a copy of exactly? Is it a copy of a copy by Tan’y≥ of Mitsuoki’s album? Or is it a copy of an original esquisse by Tan’y≥ himself? Or is it a copy of a copy by Tan’y≥ of some sourcebook by an earlier artist of either the Kano or Tosa schools? And does the Date album set predate or postdate the iconography that the Tan’y≥ copybook and Mitsuoki album have in common? In other words: is the Date album set a modification of an earlier design, or are the other two works an elaboration of the Date iconography? Much more research must be done before we can come close to answering these questions with any certainty. In the meantime, let us explore what we do know about the sudden appearance and disappearance of this theme in early Edo-period art.

Joshua S. Mostow

The One Hundred Poets Before the Tokugawa Period The original poems of the One Hundred Poets are believed to have been inscribed on squares of ornamental paper (shikishi) by their compiler, Fujiwara no Teika, and pasted on the sliding doors of his villa at Mount Ogura. In fact, some fifty sheets—purportedly the very same shikishi—survive to the present day.7 In 1555, the last year of his life, Takeno J≤≤ (1502–1555) hung for the first time one of these One Hundred Poets shikishi in an alcove (tokonoma) for a tea ceremony.8 According to the research of María Román, J≤≤’s innovation led to the widespread use of Teika’s One Hundred Poets shikishi in tea ceremony. Román suggests that use of Teika’s shikishi declined under Sen no Riky≥ (1521 – 1591), who preferred calligraphy by Zen monks; however, their use was revived by Furuta Oribe (1544 – 1615) and furthered by his student Kobori Ensh≥ (1579–1647). Extant copies of Hyakunin isshu manuscripts from earlier in the Muromachi period (1333–1573) are mostly attributed to teachers of waka (Japanese poetry) or renga (linked verse): Asukai Masachika (1416–1490), Sanj≤nishi Sanetaka (1455 – 1537; J≤≤’s teacher), Botanka Sh≤haku (1443 – 1527), and Satomura J≤ha (1527 – 1602).9 As Román notes, the inclusion of the One Hundred Poets in the tea ceremony was part of a general trend among tea masters of adopting the terminology and discourse of renga to elevate their own

figure 5.4. Kano Tan’y≥ (attrib.), Portraits of The One Hundred Poets: Sagami and Gy≤son (Hyakunin isshu gaz≤: Sagami/ Gy≤son), two painted album leaves, light colors on paper, one vol., 30 × 20 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

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art.10 However, the use of One Hundred Poets shikishi became most closely associated with the “refined” tea ceremony (kirei sabi) of Ensh≥,11 who was, like his master Oribe, a daimyo.12 In any case, the display of One Hundred Poets shikishi in tokonoma represents a significant move from read text to visual display. No longer limited to books or scrolls, the poems were now hung out for several people to see at one time and were valued as much (or more) for their calligraphy as for their poetic sentiment. The first One Hundred Poets boom seems to have occurred in the Genna era (1615 – 1623). In the years leading up to Genna, many calligraphers produced copies. Extant examples include works attributed to Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558 – 1637), Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ (1584 – 1639), and Konoe Nobutada (1565 – 1614) —the “Three Brushes of the Kan’ei Period”—as well as Kobori Ensh≥. The Genna period also saw the first book edition of the One Hundred Poets in movable type, but without illustrations. The Genna era was dominated by the diffusion of versions of the One Hundred Poets attributed to K≤etsu. These works are both handwritten and printed, the latter including for the first time imaginary portraits of the poets (kasen-e). Sometime before his death in 1632, probably in the 1620s, Suminokura Soan (1571–1632) produced what is today known as the Soan One Hundred Poets (Soan-bon hyakunin isshu), the oldest surviving example of kasen-e of the One Hundred Poets in a printed book format (Figures 5.5 and 5.6). The calligraphy is in the style of K≤etsu, but the artist is unknown. The images clearly derive from the Narikane version of the Thirty-Six Poets, however, especially as transmitted through the kasen-e hengaku of the Kano school. At the same time, this was the period in which K≤etsu and Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?) collaborated on the exquisite One Hundred Poets Lotus Scroll (Hasu shita-e hyakunin isshu wakakan), K≤etsu contributing the calligraphy and S≤tatsu the underpainting in gold and silver.13 Finally, the oldest One Hundred Poets playing cards, or karuta, date from this period as well.14 Immediately following the Genna era, there appears to have been a decline in the popularity of the One Hundred Poets theme, at least if we judge from the number of extant works. Thirteen works survive from the nine-year Genna period; in contrast, only thirteen works survive from the following twenty-year period. The next big boom appears to have been in the Kanbun era (1661–1673), from which over twenty works survive. Patronage started at the very top: in the fifth month of the first year of Kanbun (1661), Emperor Gomizunoo (1596 – 1680; r. 1611 – 1629) conducted six lectures on the One Hundred Poets.15 Yet even before this date, in the previous year (Manji 3/1660), a Kyoto publisher produced the Ten Thousand Treasures Annotated One Hundred Poets, One

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figure 5.5. (left) Suminokura Soan (attrib.), One Hundred Poets: Teika (Hyakunin isshu: Teika), page from printed book, ?1623, one volume, 26.3 × 18.2 cm, Atomi Junior College Library. figure 5.6. (right) Suminokura Soan (attrib.), One Hundred Poets: Sagami (Hyakunin isshu: Sagami), page from printed book, ?1623, one volume, 26.3 × 18.2 cm, Atomi Junior College Library.

Poem Each Compilation (Manp≤ kashira-gaki hyakunin isshu taisei), the oldest extant edition with both kasen-e and commentary (the latter closely following the Y≥sai sh≤). As the introductory pictures make clear (Figure 5.7)—with their scenes of young women practicing calligraphy—this work was ostensibly designed for a primarily female audience who would model their handwriting on the large inscriptions of the poems. The Date album set can be dated to the Kanbun era, as well, but before considering that project in detail I would like to review its artistic antecedents.

Kasen-e Originally Teika’s shikishi may have been pasted above portraits of the poets, with or without background painting, but these pictures seem to have been lost early on. Nevertheless, the figures of Tan’y≥’s One Hundred Poets are obviously related to the Kano tradition of poetic immortals’ pictures (kasen-e) focusing on the Thirty-Six Poets. Kasen-e themselves start in the late Heian period and are known through the Satake and Agedatami versions, both of which are in the illustrated handscroll (emaki) format. The dominant model for later kasen-e, however, was a version called the Narikane-bon, dated on stylistic grounds to the latter half of the thirteenth century.16 The great majority of surviving Kano

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figure 5.7. Anonymous, Ten Thousand Treasures Annotated One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Compilation (Manp≤ kashira-gaki hyakunin isshu taisei) (Kyoto: Yamada Sabur≤, Manji 3/1660; postscript dated to 1653), page from printed book, one volume, 26.8 × 18.2 cm, Atomi Junior College Library.

kasen-e produced before Tan’y≥’s time is in the format of hengaku, or votive plaques. Hengaku kasen-e, in turn, were developed from ema, or paintings of horses, usually on a wooden board, made as offerings at shrines in lieu of real horses. Some scholars assume that ema developed in the medieval period,17 but Iwai Hiromi traces their development back to at least the mid-Heian period when “shikishi ema” (literally, painted horses on decorative paper) offered to Kitano Tenjin Shrine are listed in a document dated to 1012 and “ita ni kak-

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itaru ema” (ema painted on boards) are mentioned in the Konjaku monogatari sh≥, a late-Heian-period collection of Buddhist didactic tales.18 Therefore it was not, as one scholar writes, “only a matter of time before their [ema’s] subject matter came to include kasen-e.”19 In fact, this process took a great deal of time. Conceptually it was something of a leap to go from offering painted horses to offering painted aristocrat-poets at a shrine. Kasen-e can be traced back to Pictures of the Poetry Contest of Thirty-Six Poets of the Jish≤ Era (Jish≤ sanj≥rokunin uta-awase-e) of 1170. Around the same time Shinto shrines apparently began holding poetry contests, as evidenced by the Kamo Wake-Ikazuchi Shrine Poetry Contest (Kamo wake-ikazuchi no yashiro no uta-awase) of 1178.20 With this we can see the genesis of offering at the shrine what was, in essence, a picture of a poetry contest. Nonetheless, such pictures represented a one-time event: the contest. It was a further step, then, to imagine a Poetry Contest Between Different Eras (Jidai fud≤ uta-awase), a “contest on paper” designed by the exiled Emperor Gotoba (1180–1239) around 1236 and illustrated in a handscroll shortly thereafter. It takes yet another step for such a scroll to be offered to a deity—and a fairly large step to go from such dedicated scrolls to the permanent display of thirty-six poets on wooden boards. Here the deification of certain of the Thirty-Six Poets no doubt played a role: not only had Kakinomoto no Hitomaro been made a god; Sugawara no Michizane (845 – 903) had been transformed into Kitano Tenjin long ago; Ariwara no Narihira (825 – 880) had been declared a manifestation of Bat≤ Kannon in the Kamakura period (1185–1333); and tales of Ono no Takamura’s (802– 852) miraculous journeys to the underworld had appeared in the late-twelfthcentury Konjaku and G≤dansh≤, the latter attributed to ∑e no Masafusa (1041– 1111).21 Nonetheless, the great majority of the Thirty-Six Poets had no religious hagiography whatsoever. Hengaku kasen-e, then, seem to be an innovation of the war-torn Muromachi period, and the oldest extant examples, dated to 1436, are found at Hakusan Shrine. Although these early hengaku kasen-e are by a Tosa artist (his personal name is not recorded) and were commissioned by aristocrats,22 the Kano school had adopted the form by the early sixteenth century—as seen in the hengaku kasen-e painted by Kano Motonobu (1476 – 1559) preserved at Itsukushima, with inscriptions dated 1505 by Yamazaki S≤kan (d. ca. 1540), the comic linked-verse (haikai no renga) master.23 The offering of kasen-e hengaku to shrines was obviously related to the general belief in the magical efficacy of native poetry in pleasing and propitiating the gods, as well as the perceived unity between the practice of poetry and

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Buddhist practice. This latter belief is summed up in the statement by the famous renga master Shinkei (1406 – 1475) in his Whisperings (Sasamegoto) of 1463: “Since the beginning, the way of poetry has been our county’s magic spell (dh≠ran∫).”24 No doubt the motives for the donation of hengaku varied from donor to donor over the years. We get some idea of their broad efficacy in the inscription written on the back of one plaque dedicated in 1503 (Bunki 3) to the Komura Shrine, in the village of Kusaka, in Takaoka, K≤chi province. It prays for “heaven and earth to stay at peace, and the people happy; for both the law of the Buddhas and the law of the emperors to advance and prosper; for abundant harvests of the five grains, the elimination of fires, thieves, and illness; long life of a thousand autumns and ten thousand years; and that our house will meet with prosperity.”25 A set extant at Taga Taisha in Shiga, by contrast, was donated by End≤ Naotsune (d. 1570) in 1569, just months before the battle of Anegawa—it seems likely that these hengaku were a prayer for victory for himself and his lord, Asai Nagamasa (1545–1573).26 Another distinct use of hengaku seems to be among the Toyotomi and the nobility in the fifteen years between the death of Hideyoshi (1536 – 1598) and the fall of Osaka Castle. Kasen-e hengaku by Kano S≤sh≥ (1551–1601), with calligraphy attributed to Emperor Goy≤zei (1570–1617; r. 1586–1611), are still extant at the Toyokuni (H≤koku) Shrine built for the deceased Hideyoshi in 1599.27 Hideyoshi’s young heir, Hideyori (1593–1615), dedicated another set to the Kong≤ji of Osaka with paintings by Kano Sanraku (1559–1635) and calligraphy by D≤ch≤ (1544–1608), an uncle of Konoe Nobutada. Nobutada was regent (kanpaku) at the time.28 Nobutada himself did the calligraphy for a set painted by Tosa Mitsuyoshi (1539 – 1613) dedicated to the Eikand≤ of Zenrinji in Kyoto, as well as for a screen of the Thirty-Six Poets attributable to Kano Takanobu (1571 – 1618) or his atelier.29 These projects may well have represented a banding together of the Toyotomi and the aristocracy against the perceived threat of Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616). Keiko Nakamachi, however, sees Nobutada’s Thirty-Six Poets screen—as distinct from hengaku—as part of a different trajectory. She believes that this was one of a group of screens produced in the first quarter of the seventeenth century around Nobutada and his friends, deriving chiefly from their classical taste (koten shumi). For Nakamachi the screens are a significant departure from the hengaku format in that by seeming less portraitlike, and bringing the figures closer, they created a sense of unity between viewer and depicted poet.30 Nakamachi dates the six-panel Thirty-Six Poets screen to the Keich≤ era (1596 – 1614). Although several of its elements call to mind sixteenth-century

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works by the Tosa school, stylistically it shows the influence of Chinese painting (kanga), leading Nakamachi to conclude that it is probably a product of Kano Takanobu or his atelier. In fact, a copy of a nearly identical work exists among Tan’y≥’s shukuzu (Figure 5.8). Tan’y≥’s sketch presents the poets in their traditional order, however, whereas the images in the screen are out of order and do not always correspond to the calligraphed poems above—suggesting, as Nakamachi notes, that the screen was based on either a copybook (genpon) or a preexisting work. Nakamachi argues that screens of the Thirty-Six Poets were in general use by the Genna era (1615 – 1623). She bases this claim on the diary of Nakanoin Michimura (1588 – 1653), where, in an entry dated Genna 2 (1616), he notes that screens based on scrolls of shokunin uta-awase, an imaginary poetry contest between different occupations, were made by the Kano workshop and offered to the shogunal family. Nakamachi suggests that kasen-e by≤bu must have been relatively common for this innovative theme to have been acceptable.31

figure 5.8. Kano Tan’y≥, Pictures of Thirty-Six Immortal Poets (Sanj≥rokkasen-zu), from Sketches by Tan’y≥ from the ∑kura Bunka Zaidan (Tan’y≥ shukuzu ∑kura Bunka Zaidan), ink on paper (photo from Nihon by≤bu-e sh≥sei, vol. 5).

Finally, a kind of Hundred Poets screen does exist (Plate 10).32 The Osaka Castle Collection (∑sakaj≤ Tenshukaku) owns a pair of eight-panel screens depicting sixteen poets, all of them from among those included in the Hyakunin isshu, though only one of the poems inscribed on the screen is from that collection. Nakamachi argues that the proportions of this work are closer to Kano hengaku produced in the early seventeenth century, such as those by S≤sh≥ for Toyokuni (1599), by Sanraku for Kong≤ji, by Shigenobu for Atsuta (1621), and by Shigenobu for Danzan (1621). Nakamachi dates this work to the Genna era.33 The poems for both the Thirty-Six Poets and the Osaka Castle screens are written directly on the screens themselves, rather than on decorated poetry squares (shikishi) and then pasted on. Both screens are in the Sanmyaku’in style of calligraphy, and both have been attributed to Nobutada.34 As a scholar of Rimpa, Nakamachi is of course more interested in the six-panel screens, as their less hieratic presentation of the poets is a clear precursor to Ogata K≤rin’s

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(1658–1716) famous composition of the Thirty-Six Poets. Yet both sets of screens present an interesting contrast. The focus of the Osaka Castle screens is clearly the women, who are grouped together where the screens meet. Four of the five are contemporaries from the eleventh-century court of Emperor Ichij≤ (r. 986– 1011): Murasaki Shikibu (?970–?1014); her daughter Daini no Sanmi (dates uncertain); Sei Sh≤nagon (?964–?1024–1027); and Akazome Emon (dates uncertain). With the exclusion of Izumi Shikibu (b. ca. 976 – 979), these women were clearly the most famous female writers of their day. Chronologically, the next grouping is Fujiwara no Mototoshi (1060 – 1142) and Minamoto no Toshiyori (Shunrai; 1055–1129), the two leading poets of the Insei period. These two poets are placed next to each other on the left screen, with a slightly later poet, Fujiwara no Kiyosuke (1104–1177), following Mototoshi. Kiyosuke, like many of the other figures on the screens, is counted among the Late Classical Thirty-Six Poets (Ch≥ko sanj≥rokunin) and was also the head of the poetic Rokuj≤ family in his day. The great majority of the poets, however, are from the Shinkokinsh≥ period and the era of Emperor Gotoba. These poets include Asukai no Masatsune (1170 – 1221), founder of the Asukai poetic tradition; Saigy≤ (1118–1190); Fujiwara no Yoshitsune (1169–1206); Fujiwara no Ietaka (1158–1237); Imperial Princess Shokushi (d. 1201); Jakuren (d. 1202); Jien (1155–1225); Shunzei (1114–1204); and, of course, his son Teika. In other words, nine of the sixteen figures are associated in some way with Teika. The distribution of the figures, too, is of interest. As mentioned earlier, the women are clustered as if meeting in the center. They are also set slightly farther back, as if in an interior space. Farthest back, of course, is Imperial Princess Shokushi, because of her rank, hidden mostly by her curtain of state. Also placed farther back are Yoshitsune and Jien, again probably for reasons of rank: Yoshitsune was regent (sessh≤) and chancellor (daij≤ daijin), and Jien was chief abbot of the important Mount Hiei temple complex. The remaining poets are placed in a row closer to the viewer. While the male poets prior to the Shinkokinsh≥ period are grouped together on the left screen, some formal symmetry is provided by the ecclesiastical figures on both screens. The Osaka Castle screens are in every sense more formal than the six-panel Thirty-Six Poets screens: all the poets are equipped with court fans (ch≥kei); none wears hunting robes (kariginu). The Osaka Castle screens also include some poems written in man’y≤-gana. The disposition of the writing, too, differs: the Thirty-Six Poets screens have the writing almost touching the figures, even coming between them, while the eight-panel screens keep significant space between the poets and their poems. Finally, the Thirty-Six Poets screens are

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more androcentric; the female figures are scattered in the background, rendered marginal. Clearly these two sets of screens must have been made for very different purposes: a kind of intimacy is implied by the Thirty-Six Poets screens and a far more formal setting for the Osaka Castle screens. Nobutada’s Thirty-Six Poets screens may have suggested an easy camaraderie between Nobutada’s colleagues and the great poets of the past, and kasen-e hengaku may have been an important part of the Toyotomi’s spiritual campaign against the Tokugawa. But once the Tokugawa bakufu was victorious after the fall of Osaka Castle, evidence strongly suggests that the new government appropriated the conspicuous display of kasen-e. Certainly it was a significant genre for Tan’y≥, who made no fewer than four sets of kasen-e hengaku between 1633 and 1650.35 More research is needed to establish the context for each of these sets—to ascertain who commissioned them and whether the specific occasion can be determined—but I think it is safe to assume that their most common function was as prayers for, or thanks for, peace. Support for this idea comes from a theatrical farce (ky≤gen), titled Kasen, in which a daimyo offers “kasen no ema” to Tamazushima My≤jin in thanks for the country being at peace.36 After all, one of the most famous lines from the Kana Preface to the first imperial anthology, the Kokinsh≥ (ca. 905), states: “It is poetry which, without effort, moves heaven and earth, stirs the feelings of the invisible gods and spirits, smooths the relations of men and women, and calms the hearts of fierce warriors.”37 In fact, hengaku of the Thirty-Six Poets became a regular feature of shrines built for the deified Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616), and examples survive at the T≤sh≤g≥ of Nikk≤ (by Tan’y≥), that of Edo (Tokyo), and that of Kawagoe (by Iwasa Matabei; 1578–1650).38 This is one context in which to consider the reference to “screens of One Hundred Poets paintings” (Hyakunin isshu-zu by≤bu) by Tan’y≥, which is recorded in a governmental record, the Ry≥’ei hinami ki. The screens are mentioned in an entry dated Manji 2 (1659)—the earliest record of a One Hundred Poets painting project. This work must represent the acme of the practice of displaying poet images, and its context in the shogunal records calls for further analysis. In any event, due to this documentary evidence the scholar Yasumura Toshinobu concludes that Tan’y≥ must have created a sourcebook (genpon) of images of the One Hundred Poets by 1659.39 Yet it is difficult to imagine what the One Hundred Poets screens by Tan’y≥ looked like. The Osaka Castle screens have one poet per panel, with two of their poems inscribed above them. A complete rendering of the One Hundred Poets would in this format require one hundred panels—an inconceivable number.

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Nobutada’s Thirty-Six Poets screens have from one to as many as four poets in each panel, with most panels containing three. This format would still require twenty-five to thirty-three panels, though presumably this could be accomplished in a set of four to six screens. There are also examples from the period of the Thirty-Six Poets clustered together and without either their names or poems included. Nakamachi draws attention to a fan-shaped hengaku—dated 1625 and donated to Itsukushima Shrine—where the poets are ranged four layers deep and presented from a rather high point of view. Nakamachi appears to think, however, that with its absence of names and poems, and its massing together of the poets, this is an unusual example for such a public format as a hengaku.40 Finally, there is a screen in the Matabei style, belonging to Enry≥ji, which Nakamachi dates to sometime from the latter half of the Kan’ei era (1624 – 1644). In this screen the poets are placed on tatami and at varying diagonals from the picture plane, going all the way up the panel and resulting in six poets per panel in a single screen of six panels.41 It is difficult, however, to imagine such a jaunty composition in an official bakufu context. Presumably Tan’y≥’s screens would have featured a group of one hundred shikishi pasted onto several screens; portraits of the poets may have appeared on the shikishi as well. Although there are examples from the period depicting the Thirty-Six Poets without their poems,42 we could more easily imagine that, in typical hengaku kasen-e fashion, Tan’y≥ included on his screens the poem of each of the One Hundred Poets inscribed in the space above the poet’s head. In this case there would have been little room for landscape background. It seems unlikely that the poems could have been written between the landscape background and the portrait. Certainly there is no such example in the entire Tokyo National Museum copybook—all the poems are inscribed running down the side of the image, an arrangement that is arguably practical rather than aesthetic. Although a Kano sourcebook of the One Hundred Poets, perhaps created by Tan’y≥, must have existed at this point, it seems unlikely, due to its inclusion of landscape elements, that the Tokyo National Museum copybook reflects it.

Albums and Copybooks The three works under consideration, however, are neither screens nor votive plaques but albums. Although surprising, it appears that paintings designed specifically for albums were new; this format came into existence only in Tan’y≥’s time.43 Yasumura notes that there are no original painted albums surviving

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from the Muromachi or Momoyama (1573–1600) periods, nor are there references to any. He suggests that the roots of the format can be found in model books (te-kagami) of calligraphy (kohitsu). According to Yasumura, it was in the late Momoyama and early Edo periods that the specialty of appraising ancient calligraphy came into being. In fact, Toyotomi Hidetsugu (1568–1595) gave the surname “Kohitsu” (Ancient Brush) to Hirasawa K≤shir≤ (1572–1662), who as Kohitsu Ry≤sa became the founder of the house of calligraphy appraisers. Yasumura speculates that appraisers consulted model books as they worked and says that such references had an influence on the world of paintings as well. In fact, the appraisal of paintings bloomed around Tan’y≥’s time concurrent with the development of the album format. Among other impetuses for the development of albums, Yasumura mentions kasen-e and cites as documentary evidence three entries from the True Records of the Tokugawa (Tokugawa jikki; compiled in the early nineteenth century) that refer to paintings: 1. An entry dated 1654 recording a gift of pictures of Chinese Warrior Poets (T≤ busen) in thirty-six leaves to Sakai Tadakatsu (1587–1662), governor of Sanuki, daimyo of Obama (103,500 koku). Yasumura suggests that it would be natural to imagine these leaves arranged in an album. 2. An entry dated 1660 noting an “e-Hyakunin Isshu” album by Kano-school artist Katsuta Chiku≤ (fl. mid-seventeenth century)—the first unequivocal appearance of a kasen-e album and, in fact, of a One Hundred Poets album. 3. An entry dated to 1705 mentioning a Thirty-Six Poets album, a One Hundred Poets album, and an album of birds-and-flowers of the twelve months.44 In any event, the oldest work that Yasumura judges, without a doubt, to have been designed at its inception as an album is Tan’y≥’s Picture Albums of the New Thirty-Six Poetic Immortals (Shin sanj≥rokkasen zuj≤) (hereafter referred to as Tan’y≥’s New Thirty-Six Poets Albums). All the kasen-e were executed by Tan’y≥, each signed “H≤in Tan’y≥-hitsu” (Brush of Dharma Seal Tan’y≥), thus indicating that they were executed after 1662. Thirty-six different calligraphers inscribed the poems facing each poet. (See Appendix I at the end of this chapter.) Based on the death date of one of the calligraphers, we know that the two albums were made between 1662 and 1669. Matsubara Shigeru has suggested that they may have been made as a trousseau object for the marriage between Regent and Minister of the Left Takatsukasa Fusasuke’s daughter Nobuko (1658 – 1709), then aged seven (later styled Midaidokoro), and the future sho-

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gun Tsunayoshi (1646 – 1709; r. 1680 – 1709), then aged nineteen, which took place on the eighteenth day of the ninth month of 1664.45 The Date One Hundred Poets album set is a comparable work. Nineteen Kyoto aristocrats served as calligraphers for the one hundred poems in the set: they included Fusasuke, who copied five poems; Minister of the Right Kuj≤ Kaneharu (d. 1677), who copied five poems; and Former Major Counselor Karasumaru Sukeyoshi (1622 – 1669), who copied ten poems. (See Appendix II.) Around the same time all three calligraphers also contributed to the New Thirty-Six Poets. In other words, the Date album set is arguably every bit as high-status a work as Tan’y≥’s New Thirty-Six, if not indeed higher. Interestingly, the names of the calligraphers appear on a list that presumably accompanied the Date album set; at the time this list was composed, however, apparently not all the poems had been assigned to specific calligraphers (or at least received from them). The names of Hamuro Yoritaka, Niwata Shige’eda, and Kazahaya Sanetane do not appear on the list but only on the specific pages they contributed. Thus the album set may have been presented in an unfinished state or perhaps was delayed so long that it could not be presented where and when intended. It is possible, for instance, that the set was originally commissioned for the wedding of Nobuko and Tsunayoshi in 1664 and, because it was not finished in time, was replaced by Tan’y≥’s New Thirty-Six Poets Albums. In this case, the One Hundred Poets album set may have been presented at a later Date wedding or given to the Date family, not necessarily as part of a bridal trousseau. Although Matsubara considers it unlikely that the Date album set was also produced for Nobuko’s marriage,46 some of his arguments establishing the occasion for the production of the New Thirty-Six Poets albums apply equally to the Date album set. In both cases Fusasuke and Kaneharu have the honored positions, despite their youth, of first calligrapher on the left and right, respectively. According to Matsubara, the prominent placement of Fusasuke and Kaneharu among the calligraphers of the New Thirty-Six Poets owes to the family connections between these two calligraphers and the bride. But in this case, would not their position in the Date album set carry the same meaning? In any event, clearly the Date album set was designed for the very highest levels of both aristocratic (kuge) and warrior (buke) society, and the contribution of calligraphy by such grandiose figures as the regent, the ministers of the left and right, and a number of priestly imperial princes would have served as impressive credentials for the bride. Considering the association between kasen-e hengaku and prayers for peace in the country—as well as the use of women in

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marriage for forging alliances between feuding groups—the incorporation of objects illustrating the Thirty-Six Poets and One Hundred Poets in high-level trousseaux is quite fitting. Albums, and to a lesser extent folding screens, seem to have been an important medium between the old aristocracy and their new warrior overlords: a means for the aristocrats literally to sign on to the new regime while reinscribing their own authority in the cultural realm. This explains the frequency with which liaison officers between the imperial court and the military government (buke tens≤) participated in these projects—four of the nineteen calligraphers in the Date album set were buke tens≤ (see Appendix II). Moreover, four of the calligraphers were recipients of the treasured Kokin denju, the secret poetic lore associated with the first imperial anthology of Japanese poetry, the Kokinsh≥, the transmission of which was restricted along class lines. Clearly the aristocrats were displaying their considerable cultural capital in these projects. Nonetheless, as I have argued elsewhere,47 there are significant differences between the Tokyo National Museum album and the finished Date album set. We have discovered that a One Hundred Poets screen set by Tan’y≥ is documented in 1659, and an “e-hyakunin isshu” album by the Kano-school artist Katsuta Chiku≤ is documented in the following year. One possibility is that Tan’y≥’s 1659 screens are, in fact, faithfully represented by the Tokyo National Museum copybook and did include the background landscape elements. In this case, we would imagine that Chiku≤’s 1660 album represented a simple transfer from one medium to another (from screen to album); that the Date album set was a version in which the background elements had been removed (and other changes made); and that the Mitsuoki album was a Tosa appropriation of the Kano-school model. One problem with this scenario is that the album format itself could have allowed for (or at least encouraged) the kind of uta-e backgrounds we see in the Tokyo National Museum copybook. In other words: perhaps it was only after they had removed the inscription above the poet’s portrait that the artists realized the possibility of putting something else there. This consideration suggests that Tan’y≥ had not yet come up with the innovation when he painted the One Hundred Poets screens recorded in the Ry≥’ei hinami ki. The Date album set, I have argued, represents a simplification and modification of an earlier version represented by the Tokyo National Museum copybook. This conclusion is suggested by the few cases in which the inclusion of the background elements helps explain the poses of some of the poets in the Date album set. The clearest example is the Tokyo National Museum version

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of Teika, who is shown gazing out at the Bay of Matsuho (Figure 5.2). The Date album set (Figure 5.1) has Teika in the same pose but without the background elements—and thus the reason for his pose is unclear, especially since artists typically showed poets in kasen-e as if they were in a poetry match, that is, facing their opponent sitting to the right or left of them. The direction that Teika faces in these two works—the Tokyo National Museum copybook and the Date album set—is also entirely different than in the Soan-bon (Figure 5.5). I have argued, too, that one can discern gender differences in the execution of the two versions: the Tokyo National Museum copybook exhibits a more sinified and political orientation to suit a male audience; in the Date album set, several figures are prettified and made bland to be more appropriate for a female audience. Evidence for such an interpretation is reinforced by features in the Mitsuoki album. In his representations of Gy≤son and the Handmaid Su≤ (Plate 9), it is clear that Mitsuoki based his Su≤ on the same model followed by the artist of the Tokyo National Museum album (Figure 5.3). Yet there are two significant differences. First, the face of Mitsuoki’s figure is younger and cuter whereas the Tokyo National Museum version is clearly derived from a model closer to that of the Soan-bon rendering of Sagami (Figure 5.6)—both depict an older woman with a prominent nose. Second, Mitsuoki seems to have borrowed the moon that hovers over Retired Emperor Sanj≤ in the Tokyo National Museum version and put it above Su≤; Su≤’s poem has no reference to the moon, however, and Sanj≤ In’s does—making its inclusion with Su≤ seem strange. Yet Mitsuoki clearly conceived the double-page spread as a continuous landscape, the moon shining on Gy≤son’s, as well as on Su≤’s, hills. Most startling, however, is Mitsuoki’s rendering of female poets in the latter quarter of the collection, where several of them, such as Princess Shokushi and the Steward of K≤kamon’in, are rendered as decidedly middle-aged. This modification presumably responded to some need of the original patron or recipient of the album. Further differences in the Mitsuoki album become apparent if we compare Mitsuoki’s Gy≤son leaf with the Gy≤son leaf in the Tokyo National Museum album (Plate 9 and Figure 5.4). Although the two figures are virtually identical, Mitsuoki’s mountains are steeper and more sinified while the Tokyo National Museum copybook leaf exhibits the rounded hills of Yamato, ironically enough for a Kano-school rather than Tosa-school product. Based on this difference, some might argue against the idea that the Tokyo National Museum version represents a Kano copy of an earlier Tosa model—for in this case we

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would expect Mitsuoki to have preserved the hills in their yamato-e style. In fact, there is another explanation for this difference.

Uta-e Gy≤son’s poem reads: mototomo ni ahare to omohe yama-zakura hana yori hoka ni shiru hito mo nashi

Let us think of each other fondly, O mountain cherries! for, outside of your blossoms, there’s no one who knows my feelings.

The headnote to this poem, as given in the Kin’y≤sh≥, reads: “Composed when he [Gy≤son] saw cherry blossoms unexpectedly at ∑mine.”48 Literary scholars are divided over the meaning of “unexpectedly” (omohi-kakezu) here. Although the poem is classified simply in the “Miscellaneous” category in the Kin’y≤sh≥, commentators had long assumed that the poem is set in early summer and that the poet was surprised to see cherry trees, which blossom in early spring, still blooming in the mountains. In his Kaikan sh≤ of 1688, however, the early national-learning (kokugaku) scholar Keich≥ (1640 – 1701) argued that the poet was surprised to see cherry blossoms amid the evergreens of ∑mine.49 Mitsuoki bases his image on the latter interpretation, as evergreens rise conspicuously around the cherry blossoms. While this observation strongly suggests that Mitsuoki’s work postdates the appearance of Keich≥’s Kaikan sh≤ of 1688, it also reveals that differences between Mitsuoki’s rendition and that of the Tokyo National Museum copybook are due to interpretive, rather than simply stylistic, choices—which in turn leaves the chronological priority of the two versions in doubt. Let us turn our attention, then, to these background elements. As we have seen, the background elements in the Tokyo National Museum and Mitsuoki versions are not limited simply to famous places (meisho) such as Mount Fuji but also attempt to relate meaningfully to the content of the poem. The background to Sanj≤ In’s poem, too, can be understood to indicate a specifically political interpretation of his poem with the palace roof alluding to his abdication in 1016.50 Clearly there was some sort of interest in uta-e among the aristocracy and high-ranking warriors in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Yasumura claims that the popularity of such motifs and the Eight Views

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of Xiao and Xiang (J: Sh≤sh≤ hakkei) may have contributed to the popularity of the album format. Of course, it was not only Xiao and Xiang but also their Japanese versions, such as the Eight Views of ∑mi (∑mi hakkei) and views of Fuji, that were popular. All these were inscribed landscapes, that is, landscapes associated with specific poems. Another motif that makes its appearance in the early Edo period is Teika’s Birds and Flowers of the Twelve Months; a number of paintings illustrating this theme survive from the second half of the seventeenth century.51 But interest in this theme was part of a larger interest in uta-e generally. Comparing paintings of Teika’s Birds and Flowers by Mitsuoki and Tan’y≥, Takeno Megumi finds the painting by Mitsuoki—an emaki in the Tokyo National Museum dated between 1651 and 1681—distinctive in its inclusion of human figures and their seasonal activities. Takeno characterizes Tosa renderings of the theme as being faithful to the content of the poems. Quite different is a set of two screens attributed to Tan’y≥, now in the University of Michigan Museum of Art, which Takeno dates between 1662 and 1675. Here all human activity has been eliminated and there is an extreme simplification of design in keeping with traditional Kano bird-and-flower painting. The poems, too, have been eliminated.52 It is not difficult to imagine these images functioning equally well in an album format. In fact, there is a screen, dated between 1690 and 1692, featuring shikishi with the poems. This screen, in the Yale University Collection, is by the Kano artist Yamamoto Soken (fl. 1683 – 1706), who may have studied with Tan’y≥.53 (See Appendix III.) The contrast in Tosa and Kano styles noted here is evident too in the treatment of another poetic theme: Teika’s Ten Styles. This theme is based on a collection of 285 poems by Teika, generally called Teika’s Ten Styles [of Poetry] (Teika jittei), which includes at least ten poems in each of the ten categories.54 One painted version is by Mitsuoki: the Illustrated Scroll of Ten Styles of Japanese Poetry (Jittei waka emaki), dated between 1654 and 1681, now in the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco (Figure 5.9).55 It presents a variety of vistas, both near and far, with some human habitation, in a continuous composition, the poems inscribed by ten aristocrats directly on the landscape. In contrast, there is Tsunenobu’s Picture Album of the Ten Styles of Japanese Poetry (Waka jittei gaj≤), in which each scene is isolated in its album format and the poems are inscribed separately on the facing page (Plate 11). Yet the stylistic differences between Tosa and Kano uta-e are more apparent than real. Comparing the different products of the two schools, we find that Mitsuoki’s Waka jittei emaki is not entirely dissimilar from Tan’y≥’s Pictures of

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figure 5.9. Tosa Mitsuoki, The Style of Deep Feeling (ushin) (detail), from a painted handscroll, pigment on silk, one scroll, 32.1 × 25.5 cm, Asian Art Museum of San Francisco.

Ten Famous Poetic Place-Names (Meisho jikkei-zu) of 1667, now in the Kyoto National Museum. Closer yet is the pair of Illustrated Scrolls of Retired Emperor Juntoku’s Twenty Japanese Poems on Famous Places (Juntoku-in gyosei meisho waka nijisshu emaki) by Kano Tanshin (1653–1710), produced between Genroku 14 and 16 (1701–1703).56 Indeed, several motifs in Mitsuoki’s and Tsunenobu’s renditions of Teika’s Ten Styles are very similar even though they have only two out of ten poems in common.57 One example is Mitsuoki’s rendition of the ushin style (the style of deep feeling; Figure 5.9),58 for an anonymous poem from the Senzaish≥: yama-dera no iri-ahi no kane no kowe no goto ni kefu mo kurenu to kiku zo kanashiki59

Every time the voice of the evening bell of the mountain temple announces that today too has passed— it’s hearing it that makes me sad.

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Both the poem and its visual counterpart are similar to Tsunenobu’s visualization of the y≥gen style (the style of mystery and depth) based on the following Shinkokinsh≥ poem by N≤in H≤shi (Plate 11): yama-dera no haru no yufu-gure kite mireba iri-ahi no kane ni hana zo chirikeru60

When I come and look upon the spring twilight of the mountain temple I see the blossoms scattering to the sound of the evening bell.

Interestingly, the inscription of the poem starts with the phrase “yama-dera” (mountain temple), although the Shinkokinsh≥ and Waka jittei have it as “yamazato” (mountain village), thus bringing the two poems and their visualizations even closer together. Both poems also include the phrase “iri-ahi no kane” (the bell of evening), and both paintings show a main grouping of two roofs plus a separate bell tower above and to the side. Trees surround the buildings, above which the artists have rendered low mountains—although the two poems represent antithetical seasons (N≤in’s poem is spring, and the Senzaish≥ poem is presumably autumn), the artists’ compositions are basically the same. Such similarities make the close resemblance between Mitsuoki’s and Tan’y≥’s versions of the One Hundred Poets less surprising. One scholar describes Miitsuoki’s depiction of the landscapes in the upper register as detailed, gorgeous, and in its vivid appearance typical of the Tosa-school painting. He notes, however, that this style was actually born out of Mitsuoki’s appropriation of Chinese and Kano painting styles.61 Referring to Tan’y≥’s New Thirty-Six Poetic Immortals Album, by contrast, Yasumura writes: “Here Tan’y≥ has completely taken and assimilated into his own technique the detailed manner of depiction that is the strong point of the Tosa school. . . . Having assimilated the techniques of yamato-e, [a patron’s] need to commission yamato-e works exclusively from the Tosa school of Kyoto disappears.”62 Thus there is a convergence of the Tosa and Kano schools, particularly in the genres of kasen-e and uta-e. This convergence can be considered a kind of classicism—that is, a widely accepted orthodoxy that transcends or severely constrains stylistic diversity. Copies of Tan’y≥’s One Hundred Poets model book with background paintings became extremely widespread throughout the Edo period. Indeed copies can still be found for sale in Jinboch≤ secondhand bookshops and in museum collections as far from Japan as Stuttgart, stocked by the buying sprees of nineteenth-century European travelers (Figure 5.10). Clearly this model book became part of the Kano-school curriculum. Yet curiously the Date album set

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figure 5.10. Kano school, The Handmaid KoShikibu (KoShikibu no Naishi), 19th century, painting with light colors and ink on paper, Baelz Collection, Linden Museum, Stuttgart.

and Mitsuoki’s album are the only known apparently finished albums still extant. Moreover, the very format of kasen-e–plus–(uta-e) background seems to have all but disappeared very rapidly. To my knowledge, the only other extant work to use this format is a Shin rokkasen gaj≤ by Kano Masunobu in the Tokyo National Museum (Figure 5.11). The work is signed simply “T≤un-hitsu,” suggesting it predates his elevation to h≤gen in 1691. This album also appears to have been a trousseau object, as the cover has the crests of the Tokugawa and Wakisaka clans.63 Not only is there a landscape in the background of the portraits, but the same landscape is reproduced as an underdrawing design for the facing text page (Figure 5.12).64 Perhaps this detail was meant to compensate for the relatively few number of paintings in the album. In the same way, the inscription of all six poems seems to be by the same hand.65 Analogously, the Clark Collection holds a Genji screen by Mitsuoki featuring inscriptions by aristocratic calligraphers, but here it was not all fifty-four chapters that were chosen but only twelve, one for each of the twelve months. Clearly this would seem to be a decrescendo from a work like the Date album set. Although the format of kasen-e with background seems to have died out

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figure 5.11. Kano Masunobu, Album of New Thirty-Six Immortal Poets: Yoshitsune (Shin rokkasen gaj≤: Yoshitsune), painted album leaf, pigment on silk, one volume, 44.2 × 27.4 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

fairly quickly in elite art, it was to flourish in ukiyo-e. The appearance of a parody testifies to the diffusion of Tan’y≥’s One Hundred Poets model; the parody —by Hishikawa Moronobu (d. 1694)—was published as early as 1695 (issued posthumously by his son). Figure 5.13 shows Moronobu’s rendition of Gy≤son’s poem. Its background hills with cherry blossoms are reminiscent of Tan’y≥’s model (Figure 5.4), as is the mountain ascetic (yamabushi) garb of the poet. But Moronobu has the poet confronted by an attractive youth (yamabushi were reputed to have a particular weakness for young men) in a parody of the famous scene from the N≤ play The Subscription List (Kanjinch≤). Actually, it was the common format of printed books—with multiple registers or zones— that proved congenial to the inclusion of both poet-portrait and uta-e, as seen in Moronobu’s Commentary on the One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each, with

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figure 5.12. Kano Masunobu, Album of New Thirty-Six Immortal Poets: Yoshitsune (poem) (Shin rokkasen gaj≤: Yoshitsune), with underpainting, album leaf with calligraphy, colors and ink on decorated paper, one volume, 44.2 × 27.4 cm, Tokyo National Museum.

Portraits and Inscriptions (Hyakunin isshu z≤sansh≤) of 1678, but also in his Warrior Hyakunin isshu (Buke hyakunin isshu) of 1672. In fact, we can recognize as the ultimate descendants of this lineage some poetic images of beautiful women (bijinga), such as the Twelve Views of Beautiful Women of Today (Imay≤ bijin j≥nikei), a series by Keisai Eisen (1790 – 1848) that is dated between 1825 and 1826) (Figure 5.14).

Conclusion The newly conceived “classical” theme of the One Hundred Poets finds itself, then, at a nexus of a fascinating variety of concerns and developments. It seems related to a visual program of the military government, which was bent on pre-

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figure 5.13. Hishikawa Moronobu, Images of Elegant Figures of One Hundred Poets: Gy≤son (F≥ry≥ sugata-e hyakunin isshu: Gy≤son), page from printed book, one volume, 22.6 × 15.8 cm, Atomi Junior College Library.

serving the peace of the country. This theme makes its appearance just as a new format for painting emerged—the album format—which was to become strongly associated with the authority of the Kano school vis-à-vis the appraisal of the art of others and the transmission of the school’s style through learning by rote copying (funpon-shugi). Through their inscription of court poetry onto albums and screens designed for the new military rulers, the old aristocracy affixed its signature to the new social contract—one largely in line with the role of the aristocracy dictated by Ieyasu in his regulations for the court.66 Finally, the One Hundred Poets theme stands very near the beginning of a general explosion in uta-e and growing interest in the pictorial representation of poetry. This interest cuts across class lines and is apparent in both elite culture, such as the sphere serviced by Tan’y≥ and Mitsuoki, and more popular levels supplied by ukiyo-e artists. And it may have been this last factor that led to, or at least contributed to, the disappearance in elite art of uta-e generally and the kasen-e–plus–uta-e in particular. Certainly the format seems to have been tailor-made for parody. And it could be that as parody pictures (mitate-e) developed their popularity in the ukiyo-e genre, such compositional methods were seen to be less and less appropriate to the upper echelons of a social system increasingly invested in the maintenance of rigid stratification between the classes. Poet-portraits re-

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figure 5.14. Keisai Eisen, Twelve Views of Beautiful Women of Today (Imay≤ bijin j≥nikei): The Untamable and Benten Shrine near Susaki in Fukagawa (Otenbas≤ —Fukagawa Suzaki Benzaiten), color woodblock print, ca. 1825–1826, Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden.

turn to the kasen-e format—one virtually identical to the mode of portraying important personages as in the portrait of the shogun Yoshimune (1677–1751) (Figure 5.15) by an unknown Kano artist—imposing in their isolation but not daring to risk being caught in either limiting physical contexts or entangled by words whose slippery signification could not be controlled. Classicism, then, can mean a number of things. For there to be classicism, of course, it is necessary to have established “the classics.” It seems clear that the One Hundred Poets collection was widely regarded to embody values associated with the court and with Japanese poetry. Japanese poetry, in turn, was believed to have a unique relationship with the gods. Since the Kamakura period, emerging classes had attempted to appropriate court culture—and with it political legitimacy. In this sense, a return to “the classics” was always a political move, even among the aristocracy itself. The One Hundred Poets collec-

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figure 5.15. Anonymous Kano school artist, Portrait of Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune (photo from Shiraezaru goy≤ eshi no sekai, Asahi Shinbun-sa, 1998).

tion became eminently suited to the classicizing tendencies of both the new military governing class and the emerging bourgeoisie while at the same time allowing a certain freedom due to the fact that it was not, in reality, a traditional visual subject. Its classical nature, then, allowed for both the attempt at rigid orthodoxizing and an inherently challenging appropriation.

Appendix I: Calligraphers of Tan’y≥’s New Thirty-Six Poets Albums 67 1. Takatsukasa Kampaku Sadaijin Fusasuke 2. Kajii no Miya Nihon Jiin H≤shinn≤

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3. My≤h≤in Gy≤nen Ny≥d≤ Shinn≤ 4. Manshuin no Miya Nihon Ry≤sh≤ H≤shinn≤ 5. Konoe Naidaijin Motohiro 6. ∑imikado Sadaijin Tsunetaka 7. Koga Saki no Udaijin Hiromichi 8. Aburank≤ji Dainagon Takasada 9. Kazanin Dainagon Sadanobu 10. Asukai Saki no Dainagon Masa’aki 11. Chikusa Dainagon Ariyoshi 12. Tokudaiji Sadaijin Kinnobu 13. Higashizono Dainagon Motokata 14. Sono Jun-Daijin Motoyoshi 15. Ji’my≤in Dainagon Mototoki 16. Hino Saki no Dainagon Hirosuke 17. Atago Dainagon Michitomi 18. Sh≤k≤in no Miya Nihon D≤k≤ H≤shinn≤ 19. Kuj≤ Udaijin Kaneharu 20. My≤h≤in no Miya Muhon Gy≤jo 21. Imadegawa Udaijin Kinnari 22. Marinok≤ji Dainagon Masafusa 23. Hiramatsu Sangi Tokikazu 24. Sanj≤ Kintomi 25. ∑imikado Tsunemitsu 26. Nakanoin Dainagon Michishige 27. Karasumaru Saki no Dainagon Sukeyoshi 28. Hino Ch≥nagon Sukemochi 29. Karasuma Dainagon Mitsuo 30. Seikanji Dainagon Hirofusa 31. Yanagihara Dainagon Sukeyuki 32. Shirakawa Ni’i Masataka 33. Kageyunok≤ji Saish≤ Suketada 34. Nanba Ch≥nagon Munekazu 35. Nonomiya Ch≥nagon Sadabuchi 36. Higuchi Ch≥nagon Nobuyasu

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Appendix II: Calligraphers of the Date Album Set 68 1. Takatsukasa Fusasuke (1637–1700).* Regent; minister of the left. 2. Sh≤k≤in Miya H≤shinn≤ D≤k≤.* Son of Goy≤zei, chief abbot of Sh≤k≤in; recipient of Ise and Kokin denju; also skilled in painting. 3. Asukai Masa’aki (d. 1679).* Former major counselor; poet; court liaison officer (buke tens≤); received Kokin denju from Gomizunoo; skilled calligrapher; several waka texts extant. 4. Nakanoin Michishige (d. 1710).* Major counselor; waka student of his father and of Gomizunoo; recipient of Kokin denju; nikki and shikash≥ extant. 5. Kuj≤ Kaneharu (d. 1677).* Minister of the right. 6. My≤h≤in no Miya H≤shinn≤ Gy≤jo (d. 1695). Son of Gomizunoo; 181st Tendai chief abbot. 7. Koga Hiromichi (d. 1674).* Former minister of the right. 8. Sh≤goin no Miya H≤shinn≤ D≤kan (d. 1676). Son of Gomizunoo, chief abbot of Sh≤k≤-in. 9. Kazanin Sadanobu (d. 1692).* Major counselor; court liaison officer. 10. Sh≤renin no Miya H≤shinn≤ Sonsh≤ (d. 1694). Son of Gomizunoo; founder of calligraphic style. 11. Konoe Naidaijin Motohiro (d. 1722).* Chancellor; grandson of Gomizunoo, with whom he studied waka; involved in renga and painting; received Kokin denju; nikki extant. 12. ∑gimachi Sanetoyo (d. 1703). Former major counselor. 13. Manshuin no Miya H≤shinn≤ Ry≤sh≤ (1622–1693).* Studied painting with Kano Naonobu, specializing in suibokuga; calligrapher; Chinese; flower arranging; tea. 14. Hino Hirosuke (d. 1687).* Former major counselor; poetry family; court liaison officer. 15. Karasumaru Sukeyoshi (1622–1669).* Former major counselor; poet. 16. Hiramatsu Tokikazu (d. 1697).* Counselor. 17. Hamuro Yoritaka. Nikki extant. 18. Niwata Shige’eda.* Former major counselor; court liaison officer. 19. Kazahaya Dainagon Sanetane. Major counselor; chad≤-ka.

*Also in New Thirty-Six Poets Albums.

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Appendix III: Calligraphers of the Soken Screen 69 1. Takatsukasa Kanehiro. Minister of the left; son of Fusasuke. 2. Koga Michitomo. Major counselor; son of Hiromichi. 3. Daigo Fuyumoto. Major counselor. 4. Imadegawa Koresue. Former major counselor. 5. Kazan’in Mochishige. Middle counselor; son of Sadanobu. 6. Nakanoin Michimi. Son of Michishige. 7. Arisugawa no Miya Yukihito. Imperial prince. 8. Kuj≤ Sukezane. Son of Sukeharu. 9. Shimizudani Sanenari. Major counselor. 10. Jimy≤in Mototoki. Former middle counselor. 11. Niwata Shige’eda. Former middle counselor. 12. Asukai Masatoyo. Third rank; son of Masa’aki.

Notes I would like to thank Yoko Woodson, Matsubara Shigeru, Ron Toby, Sakamoto Kurara, Doris Croissant, Maiko Behr, Christina Laffin, and Akemi Takizawa for their help in this study. Any errors remain my sole responsibility. 1. See Maribeth Graybill, “Kasen-e: An Investigation into the Origins of the Tradition of Poet Pictures in Japan” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 1983). 2. See Joshua S. Mostow, “Uta-e and Interrelations Between Poetry and Painting in the Heian Era” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 1988). 3. Currently privately owned, approximately one-quarter of the set has been reproduced in (Bessatsu) Taiy≤ 1(Winter 1972). 4. Mori T≤ru, Kasen-e, Hyakunin isshu-e (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1981), 78. 5. Dimensions given as 41.7 × 26.9 cm in one volume; see Saitama Prefectural Museum, Kasen-e no sekai (1992), 57. Mori gives the dimensions of the Date albums as 31.4 × 27.5 cm, but these are for the pictures alone; the albums themselves are closer to the Mitsuoki album in size. The Tokyo National Museum copybook measures 30 × 20 cm. 6. Mori, Kasen-e, Hyakunin isshu-e, 79–80. Mori also mentions works by Ikoma T≤ju (fl. ca. 1688 – 1703) and cites two in the possession of the Shimonaka family and an anonymous collector. He provides one illustration of this last work and suggests that it derives stylistically from the Soan-bon. Both it and the Shimonaka family work are now preserved as screens, but Mori conjectures that they were originally albums. The whereabouts of the T≤ju album, listed as an important artistic property (j≥y≤ bijutsuhin), are unknown. 7. For a listing of the extant shikishi from this set, their history (especially in tea), and present whereabouts, as well as an assessment of their authenticity, see Watanabe Kiyoshi, “Ogura shikishi no seiritsu to sono bi,” in Sumi supesharu 02 Hyakunin isshu (Tokyo: Geijutsu Shinbunsha, 1990), 153–159.

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8. Sen S≤shitsu, ed., Chad≤ koten zensh≥ (Kyoto: Tank≤sha, 1956), 10:6. The poem was Nakamaro’s. Some of my information on the use of Teika’s shikishi in tea comes from an unpublished seminar paper by a former student, María Román, of Heidelberg University. 9. Yoshikai Naoto, Hyakunin isshu nenpy≤, Nihon shoshigaku taikei 75 (Musashimura: Seish≤d≤, 1997), 5 – 6. Several of these objects are in the collection of Atomi Women’s Junior College; see Atomi Gakuen Tanki Daigaku Toshokan, ed., (Atomi Gakuen Tanki Daigaku Toshokan-z≤) Hyakunin isshu kankei shiry≤ mokuroku (Tokyo: Karinsha, 1995). 10. See also Toda Katsuhisa, “Chanoyu to renga,” in his Takeno J≤’≤ kenky≥ (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1969), 83–124. 11. Ibid., 108; cited by Román. 12. See Kumakura Isao, “Kan’ei Culture and Chanoyu,” in Paul Varley and Kumakura Isao, eds., Tea in Japan: Essays on the History of Chanoyu (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1989), 135–160. 13. See Felice Fischer, The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master (Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000). 14. D≤sh≤ h≤shinn≤-hitsu hyakunin isshu karuta. From the same period come the Kat≤-ke ky≥z≤ hyakunin isshu karuta. See Yoshikai, Hyakunin isshu nenpy≤, 10–11. 15. Ibid., 13. 16. Graybill, “Kasen-e,” 157–161. 17. Ibid., 176. 18. Iwai Hiromi, Ema (Tokyo: H≤sei Daigaku Shuppankai), 23–23. 19. Graybill, “Kasen-e,” 176. 20. Ibid., 57–58. 21. See Ishihara Sh≤hei et al., Takamura monogatari shink≤ (Tokyo: Musashino Shoin, 1977). 22. Graybill, “Kasen-e,” 189; Mori T≤ru, Uta-awase-e no kenky≥: Kasen-e (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1970), 127. 23. Iwai, Ema, 42. 24. “Moto yori kad≤ ha waga kuni no darani nari”; quoted by Kond≤ Yoshihiro, “Sanj≥rokkasen hengaku no imi to sono genry≥,” Bijutsu Kenky≥ 3(148) (1948):124. 25. Quoted by Kond≤, “Sanj≥rokkasen,” 121 – 122. See also Mori, Kasen-e, Hyakunin isshu-e, 160. 26. Lee Bruschke-Johnson, “The Calligrapher Konoe Nobutada: Reassessing the Influence of Aristocrats on the Art and Politics of Early Seventeenth-Century Japan” (Ph.D. dissertation, Leiden University, 2002), 108–109. 27. Two examples are illustrated in Takeda Tsuneo, Kan≤ Eitoku, Japanese Arts Library, vol. 3 (Tokyo: Kodansha International and Shibund≤, 1977), pls. 56 and 60. 28. See H. Minamoto, “Kan≤ Sanraku no Sanj≥rokkasen-e,” Bukky≤ Bijutsu 19 (October 1933):112–121; cited by Bruschke-Johnson, “Nobutada,” 109. 29. Bruschke-Johnson, “Nobutada,” 109–112. 30. Nakamachi Keiko, “Kasen-e by≤bu ni tsuite,” in Takeda Tsuneo, Yamane Y≥z≤, and Yoshizawa Ch≥, eds., Nihon by≤bu-e sh≥sei 5 Jinbutsu-ga—Yamato-e-kei jinbutsu (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1982). The screens, in a private collection, are reproduced as pls. 65–66. 31. Ibid., 148. 32. Reproduced in color as pls. 62–63 in Nihon by≤bu-e sh≥sei. A black-and-white re-

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production is included in Kasen-e no sekai (fig. 82) along with complete transcriptions of the poems. 33. Nakamachi, “Kasen-e by≤bu,” 147. 34. See Bruscke-Johnson, “Nobutada,” 107–114 and 208–214. 35. Yasumura Toshinobu, ed., Edo meisaku gaj≤ zensh≥ 4 Kan≤-ha—Tan’y≥, Morikage, Itch≤ (Tokyo: Shinshind≤, 1994), 30. 36. Iwai, Ema, 43. The play is collected in Nonomura Kaiz≤ and And≤ Tsunejir≤, eds., Ky≤gen sh≥sei (Tokyo: Shun’y≤d≤, 1931), 88–91. 37. Laurel Rasplica Rodd and Mary Catherine Henkenins, trans., Kokinsh≥: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), 35. 38. On Matabei in English see Sandy Kita, The Last Tosa: Iwasa Katsumochi Matabei, Bridge to Ukiyo-e (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999). 39. Yasumura, Tan’y≥, Morikage, Itch≤, 170. For more information on the use of copybooks in the Kano school see Brenda G. Jordan and Victoria Weston, eds., Copying the Master and Stealing His Secrets: Talent and Training in Japanese Painting (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2003). 40. Nakamachi, “Kasen-e by≤bu,” fig. 7. 41. Ibid., fig. 8; see also Kasen-e no sekai, fig. 53. 42. See, for example, a screen attributed to Matabei in the possession of Enry≥ji, Fukui; photo in Kasen-e no sekai. 43. See “Kan≤-ha to Gaj≤,” in Yasumura, Tan’y≥, Morikage, Itch≤, 166–173. In fact, as noted, the Tokyo National Museum work appears to have originally been a scroll and was only subsequently mounted as an album. Nonetheless, I believe the original work was conceived of as an album. 44. Literally, “sanj≥rokkasen te-kagami, hyakunin isshu te-kagami, j≥nigatsu kach≤ te-kagami.” 45. Matsubara Shigeru, “Kano Tan’y≥ hitsu Shin Sanj≥rokkasen zuj≤ no seisaku jij≤,” Mizuguki 2 (1987):47. The Tokugawa shoke keifu indicates that Nobuko may have been Takafusa’s younger sister; see Saiki Kazuma and Iwasawa Yoshihiko, eds., Tokugawa shoke keifu (Tokyo: Zoku-Gunsho Ruij≥ Kansei-kai, 1970), 1:50. Donald Shively, in a major article on Tsunayoshi in English, writes that Nobuko was the daughter of a former minister of the left, Takatsukasa Norihira, and younger sister of Fusasuke; see Donald Shively, “Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the Genroku Shogun,” in Albert M. Craig and Donald H. Shively, eds., Personality in Japanese History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970), 91. Those who refer to Papinot concerning Tsunayoshi will be alarmed to discover that Nobuko is credited there with having assassinated the shogun and then committing suicide. Shively writes that this story was circulated as early as the Sann≤ gaiki (Unofficial history of three rulers), an account of Tsunayoshi and his two successors attributed to Dazai Shundai (1680–1747). But Shively (p. 101) notes: “There is no reliable evidence for these accounts.” See E. Papinot, Historical and Geographical Dictionary of Japan (Tokyo: Tuttle, 1972); originally published in 1910. 46. Pers. comm. 47. Joshua S. Mostow, “Picturing Love Among the One Hundred Poets,” in Love in Asian Art and Culture (Washington, D.C.: Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, 1998), 30–47. 48. Kin’y≤sh≥ 9 (Misc. 1):880; in Yamagishi Tokuhei, ed., Hachidai zench≥ (Tokyo: Y≥seid≤, 1960).

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49. Joshua S. Mostow, Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1996), 337. 50. For more on this point see Mostow, Pictures of the Heart, 343–345. 51. Again, much work has already been done on this topic and need not be repeated here. See Carolyn Wheelwright, ed., Word in Flower: The Visualization of Classical Literature in Seventeenth-Century Japan (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1989). Kendall Brown writes that among the “roughly twenty known paintings of Teika’s Poems [on the Birds and Flowers of the Twelve Months], nearly three-quarters were produced between 1650 and 1710.” See Kendall Brown, “Re-Presenting Teika’s Flowers and Birds,” in Wheelwright, Word in Flower, 33. 52. Takeno Megumi, “Kinsei ni okeru Teikaei Tsukinami Kach≤ Utae no tenkai: Yoshimura K≤kei sakuhin o ch≥shin ni,” Museum 414 (September 1985):4–17. This article includes a complete reproduction of the screens. Two panels are included in Wheelwright, Word in Flower, fig. 13. 53. Reproduced in Wheelwright, Word in Flower, fig. 16. Of some interest here is the identity of the various calligraphers (Appendix III): one—Shige’eda—had participated, apparently belatedly, in the Date album set as well and fully six of the other participants in the S≤ken screen were relatives of calligraphers for the Date album set. 54. Contained in Sasaki Nobutsuna, ed., Nihon kagaku taikei (Tokyo: Kazama Shob≤, 1962), 4:362–379. 55. The work is signed at the end “Tosa Ukon no J≤gen Mitsuoki hitsu,” indicating that it was produced between 1654, when Mitsuoki received the post of ukon’e no sh≤gen (vice-general of the Inner Palace Guards, Right Division), and 1681 when he was elevated to hokky≤ (Bridge of the Law). Although a certificate of attribution for the calligraphy has been added, it lists the first calligrapher as My≤h≤in no Miya Gy≤en Shinn≤ (1676–1718), who in 1681 (the last possible date for the work) would have been only five years old. While not reliable, it is interesting to note that this certificate attributes some of the hands to names we also see in the Soken screen: Niwata Shige’eda, Nakanoin Michimi, and Asukai Masatoyo. 56. Both these works are included in Izumi-shi Kubos≤ Kinen Bijutsukan, ed., Uta-e (1995). 57. Both use the same poems to illustrate the kotoshikarubeki style (the style of appropriate statement) and the omoshiroki style (the style of clever treatment), although the poems appear in a different order. Surprisingly, given the difference between a handscroll and an album, it is Mitsuoki who follows the standard order and Tsunenobu whose order is nonstandard. 58. Translations of style names are from Robert H. Brower, “Teika’s Maigetsush≤,” Monumenta Nipponica 40(4) (Winter 1985):399–425. 59. Bk. 20, “Grief,” 1329; in Yamagishi, Hachidai zench≥. 60. Bk. 2, “Spring,” 116; in Yamagishi, Hachidai zench≥. 61. Hayashibara Museum of Art, ed., Hayashibara bijutsukan meihin-sen (Okayama: Hayashibara Museum of Art, 1996), 202. 62. Yasumura Toshinobu, Kan≤ Tan’y≥, Shinch≤ Nihon bijutsu bunko 7 (Tokyo: Shinch≤sha, 1998). 63. The Wakisaka crest is the two interlocking rings of the “wa-chigai” pattern. In Kanbun 12 (1672) the clan was transferred to the Takino fief (53,000 koku in size) of Harima province; in Tenna 3 (1683) the clan moved from the status of tozama daimy≤

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to gan-fudai daimy≤. Perhaps this move was cemented through marriage and the album was produced for it. See Chikano Shigeru, ed. Nihon kamon s≤kan (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1993), 1188; Higuchi Hiyoyuki and Niwa Motoji, eds., Kamon daizukan (Tokyo: Akita Shoten, 1971), 628; Kokushi daijiten (Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1993), 14:876. 64. Interestingly, however, the New Six Poetic Immortals are all men: Yoshitsune, Jien, Shunzei, Saigy≤, Teika, and Ietaka. 65. A certificate in the box by Kohitsu Ry≤etsu, a Meiji-period descendant and twelfth head of the Kohitsu school, attributes the calligraphy to “Sono Dainagon Motoka” (reading uncertain). 66. See Lee Butler, “Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Regulations for the Court: A Reappraisal,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 54(2) (December 1994):509–551. 67. From Matsubara, “Kano Tan’y≥ hitsu.” 68. From Mori, Kasen-e, Hyakunin isshu-e, 76–77. Biographical information is from the Kokushi daijiten. 69. From Brown, “Re-Presenting Teika’s Flowers and Birds,” 33.

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Chapter Six

Karen M. Gerhart

Classical Imagery and Tokugawa Patronage: A Redefinition in the Seventeenth Century

“Classical” is an adjective that has multiple and often superimposed meanings. In art, however, “classical” most commonly refers to a work of the highest rank or importance that becomes a model. For at least five centuries, Western art history has located such a model in the perfected human image and pure forms of Greek art and architecture.1 But in Japanese painting, themes and styles were not consistently revived from a single time period, nor did they comprise a single aesthetic canon. In fact, prudently selected pasts were employed by various groups to reaffirm or refute the present. In seventeenth-century Japan, the Tokugawa shoguns commissioned paintings that reflected their military and Chinese-derived past and altered subjects once associated with the golden age of the court to suit their unique needs. This chapter examines paintings in the emperor’s Visitation Palace and the Ninomaru Palace of Nij≤ Castle and looks at how the Tokugawa referenced antiquity at this site in portraying themselves vis-à-vis the emperor. The process of reusing the past is a tradition with deep roots in Asia. The art historian Martin J. Powers places the first “classical revival” in China around the fall of the Early (Western) Han dynasty (206 b.c. –a.d. 8) when first Wang Mang (r. 9 – 23) and then Guangwu (r. 25 – 58) tried to cast themselves in the roles of sage-kings, relying mainly on the imagery and learning of classical (Confucian) painting and literature.2 In the early Han, therefore, the past was used as an antidote for what was perceived as the decadence of the present. But this was not its only use. Different “pasts” were recalled time and time again for varying purposes in China. Centuries after the Han, the Southern

Song emperor Gaozong (r. 1127 – 1162) commissioned paintings that used the past to comment on or influence the present as a means of resuscitating his dynasty.3 Likewise, during the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368) members of the literati contrived a revival of archaic painting styles as both a visual rejection of late Song landscape painting and a subtle criticism of effete Song politics that had led to the Mongol invasion.4 Notably, the past that was revived in China was not always the same time period, nor the same subject, nor was it even represented in the same style. The Han rulers sought to envision the golden age of the Zhou-period (1027 – 256 b.c.) sage-kings in their art. Gaozong employed stories from the Zhou, but he also made political reference to poetry of the Northern Song (960 – 1127) and to events in his own life. The Yuan painter Zhao Mengfu looked to the styles of the Tang period (618 – 907) and to landscape painters such as Dong Yuan (d. ca. 960) to refute the influence of Song political agendas. It is apparent, then, that in China dynastic leaders favored images of the specific ideals, beliefs, and actions of the past that could best legitimate the type of power to which they currently aspired. The same process of looking to the past to create or support a political present was a component of artistic practice in Japan as well. As early as the Heian period (794–1185), court literature functioned as a form of protest, often utilizing select characteristics of its own or China’s past for these purposes. Michele Marra has recontextualized a number of Heian-period manuscripts to demonstrate that literature such as Tale of the Bamboo Cutter (Taketori monogatari), generally viewed as a native folktale, was a sophisticated construction based on Chinese Daoist stories, interpreted from a Buddhist perspective, and presented to mock the political center in Japan. Likewise Marra claims that the paragon of Heian culture, Tales of Ise (Ise monogatari), was compiled to express profound dissatisfaction with the dictatorial government of the Fujiwara.5 Just as the authors and compilers of these volumes created their own ideological discourses by drawing upon ancient and current sources to denounce or support the centers of political production, many artists and patrons in the seventeenth century reinterpreted ancient painting themes in an effort to maintain political power or challenge the dominant ideology.

The “Class” in Classical In any discussion of artistic revivals, personal forces largely determine what themes or styles are regenerated, as well as the reasons behind their resurrection. As with classical and specifically Greco-Roman revivals in West Euro-

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pean art, renewed interest in ancient painting subjects and styles in seventeenthcentury Japan was class-specific: each group responded to its own interests and purposes, and each utilized different sources to reflect its special needs. The artistic and political requirements of the warrior class in seventeenthcentury Japan were distinct from those of the court or wealthy merchants. After its initial influence on the Japanese court in the ninth through eleventh centuries, ancient Chinese learning appeared most conspicuously in the arts of the warrior class, which throughout its history preferred continental culture over the traditional arts that attracted the court. Because history really only began for warriors as a distinct social class around the twelfth century,6 the golden age of the samurai developed later than that of the court. The “classical period” for warriors paralleled a rise in their status and political power that developed in the fourteenth century with the founding of the Muromachi military government. Chinese learning was pursued vigorously throughout the two centuries of the Muromachi period (1333 – 1573), and its influence permeated literature as well as painting. Since the Kamakura period (1185–1333), the warrior class had closely affiliated itself with Zen, a sect of Buddhism adopted from China, absorbing through its study the cultural values and intellectual concerns of China’s educated elite. A long-standing affinity of Japan’s warrior class for Chinesestyle painting can also be perceived. A perusal of the painting section of the exhibition catalog Japan: The Shaping of Daimyo Culture: 1185–1868 reveals more than twice as many works of Chinese themes and styles as those associated solely with Japan.7 As the title suggests, this catalog represents seven centuries of daimyo culture. Even allowing for personal bias in the choice of objects for this exhibition, the catalog displays a clear warrior-class predilection for and attachment to Chinese culture—demonstrating that a strong fascination with China was part of warrior culture well before the Tokugawa shoguns appeared on the scene in the seventeenth century. Therefore, we may conclude that both familiarity and tradition were significant underlying factors in the Tokugawa shoguns’ affinity for ancient Chinese paintings. In effect, Chinese themes represented the classical past for the warrior class in Japan. Accordingly, the term “classical revival” in reference to seventeenth-century painting is viewed here as a development that resurrected different pasts in support of dissimilar political agendas for distinct social groups. In the early decades of the 1600s, Chinese ideas were revisited, revitalized, and reconstituted by the Tokugawa government to play integral roles in many aspects of Japanese culture. Chinese learning was valued by the warrior elite because it

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helped establish a justification for power and an ideology of domination; it also represented this elite as learned and lent a mark of cultural distinction. The Tokugawa were in need of a legitimating rhetoric that was both learned and respectable yet removed from associations with the Japanese court. For numerous reasons, Chinese learning fit the bill. While familiar to both warriors and courtiers, post-Heian Chinese studies became most closely associated with the former. In particular, Confucianism (Neo-Confucianism) as one main thrust of Chinese learning became an important source drawn upon by those who fashioned the early Tokugawa political and economic order. Not surprisingly, the general education of samurai in the seventeenth century consisted of reading from copybooks of the Chinese classics and commentaries.8 Thus even the choice of reading material was influenced by a conscious determination on the part of the early shoguns to frame Chinese culture as unique and superior to cultural elements native to Japan. In other words: the shoguns prescribed Chinese culture, long identified with military culture, as qualitatively equal (in some cases even superior) to the culture of the Japanese aristocracy.9 The public art commissioned by the Tokugawa shogunate in the early decades of the seventeenth century consisted of monumental structures decorated with symbolic and complex images, many of them Chinese. Although the facades of such monuments, in cases like castles, were visible to everyone, it was the elite of the seventeenth century—the courtiers and powerful daimyo— who were meant to be impressed by the decorated interiors. Indeed, the Tokugawa placed paramount importance on edifying those very individuals who still possessed vestiges of power and were capable of disrupting or challenging Tokugawa authority. While many architectural projects demonstrate the cultural authority of the Tokugawa,10 this essay focuses on the paintings in two specific compounds at Nij≤ Castle—the Visitation Palace constructed for the emperor’s visit and the Ninomaru Palace that housed the Tokugawa shogun when he was in Kyoto. The special nature of these structures demanded a unique interstice, between court and warrior elite, functioning as a space for the Tokugawa to broadcast specific messages to the emperor and his court through art.

Different Subjects for Different Audiences Still a landmark in Kyoto today, Nij≤ Castle underwent major renovations between 1624 and 1626 when its Ninomaru Palace was totally reconstructed and its interiors were repainted under the orders of retired shogun Hidetada and

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figure 6.1. Instructions Regarding the Paintings of the Emperor’s Visitation Palace of Nij≤ Castle (Nij≤ oshiro gy≤k≤ no goten on-e tsuke osashi-zu), Ky≤to Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan.

newly appointed shogun Iemitsu.11 Moreover, a separate compound was constructed within the castle’s walls to house reigning Emperor Gomizunoo, the empress, and their entourage for a rare and brief five-day visit to this castleresidence in the ninth month of 1626.12 These magnificent buildings for the emperor’s use were dismantled after the visit and moved to the grounds of other imperial residences around 1628, but ultimately all were lost in fires.13 Nonetheless, we know a good deal about the iconography of the paintings in these special buildings from a contemporary record, Instructions Regarding the Paintings of the Emperor’s Visitation Palace of Nij≤ Castle (Nij≤ oshiro gy≤k≤ no goten on-e tsuke osashi-zu; Ky≤to Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan; Figure 6.1), which documents the subjects of the paintings and the artists who worked in each room.

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The Emperor’s Suite The 1626 compound for the emperor’s visit comprised three main buildings connected by wooden corridors to Iemitsu’s Ninomaru Palace: Gy≤k≤ Goten, a large suite of rooms for Emperor Gomizunoo and his attendants; Ch≥g≥ Goten, a smaller adjoining suite for Empress Masako,14 her young daughter Ichinomiya Okiko,15 and their attendants; and Ny≤in Goten, a separate suite to house the emperor’s mother, Ch≥kamon’in. Additional rooms served as waiting rooms (goky≥soku no ma) and bathing and relaxing areas (oyudono).16 (See Figure 6.2.) Although the entire complex of buildings is sometimes referred to as the Gy≤k≤ Goten, the appellation properly designates only the emperor’s quarters. Because this suite was designed explicitly for the emperor, one might expect it to be decorated with “classical” Japanese subjects. All of the paintings in the eleven rooms of the emperor’s suite represent Chinese subjects, however. Table 6.1, based on Instructions Regarding the Paintings of the Emperor’s Visitation Palace of Nij≤ Castle, relays information about the artists and types of paintings in each room of the emperor’s quarters. Four rooms contained scenes from the Mirror for Instructing the Emperor (J: Teikan zusetsu; C: Dijian tushuo), a text first written and published in China as an illustrated woodblock book in 1573. Two other rooms had paintings of dattanjin, or Mongols (alter-

figure 6.2. Diagram of Ninomaru Palace and the Visitation Palace (after fig. 113 in Nishi Kazuo, Himejij≤ to Nij≤j≤; Tokyo: Shogakkan, 1991).

Ninomaru Palace: 93 Tozamurai, 90 Shikidai, 100 Ohiroma, 98 Kuroshoin, 105 Shiroshoin Visitation Palace: 209 Gy≤k≤ Goten, 195 Ch≥g≥ Goten, 128 Ny≤in Goten

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table 6.1. Artists and Paintings in the Visitation Palace Room Name

Artist

Subject

Southern upper chamber

Uneme (Tan’y≥)

Teikan (Chinese exemplars)

Middle upper chamber

Ky≥haku (Naganobu)

Teikan (Chinese exemplars)

Northern upper chamber

Jinnoj≤ (Shinsetsu)

Dattanjin (Mongols)

Southern second chamber

Shume (Naonobu)

Teikan (Chinese exemplars)

Ch≤dai bedchamber

Genshir≤ (Yasunobu)

Teikan (Chinese exemplars)

Northern second chamber

Shin’emon

Dattanjin (Mongols)

Middle third chamber

Sahei

Illegible

Northern third chamber

Hayato (Genshun)

Kinkishoga (four accomplishments)

Southern waiting room

Sanraku

T≤ Enmei (Tao Yuanming)

Middle waiting room

K≤i

Illegible

Northern fourth chamber

Nobumasa (Geki)

Illegible

natively identified as Tatars), on their walls and sliding doors, and one room was decorated with scenes of kinkishoga, the four accomplishments of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting traditionally practiced by cultured Chinese gentlemen-scholars. A final room contained renditions of Tao Yuanming (Tao Qian; J: T≤ Enmei; 365–427), a famous recluse poet of China. Notations on the diagram for the remaining three rooms are illegible. There are good reasons why Chinese rather than Japanese themes were appropriate for the emperor’s residence at Nij≤ Castle. Throughout Japanese history, both were used in the imperial palace, with Chinese themes favored for public and ceremonial halls and Japanese for private living areas. As early as the ninth century, images of thirty-two Chinese Confucian sages (kenj≤ no s≤ji) were painted on silk-covered panels and placed behind the emperor’s throne in the Ceremonial Hall (Shishinden) for state ceremonies. The subject was believed to set the correct tone for imperial rule in the ninth century by creating the illusion that the Japanese emperor, as he sat on his throne surrounded by virtuous Confucian men, was an active participant in the historical progression of venerable sages.17 Confucian sages still flanked the imperial throne in the early seventeenth century, now accompanied by other Chinese figures: Tang-period Emperor Xuanzong and his consort Yang Guifei18 and Chinese immortals (Sennin) in the upper chamber (j≤dan no ma).19 Because it was traditional for public audience halls at the imperial palace to be decorated with

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ancient Chinese themes, it was likewise appropriate for rooms with this same function in the emperor’s Visitation Palace at Nij≤ Castle.20 Indeed, that all of the identifiable subjects for the emperor’s suite at Nij≤ Castle were Chinese underlines the public and ceremonial nature of Gomizunoo’s short visit. The paintings at Nij≤, however, were unlike any in the Ceremonial Hall of the imperial palace. Some, particularly those based on the Teikan zusetsu, which had been introduced into Japan only a few years earlier, lacked a venerable pedigree. Others, like the themes of Mongols, four accomplishments, and Tao Yuanming, had enjoyed a long history in Japan, having been introduced as art themes during the Muromachi period. But their specific associations were with warrior-class patronage; they did not comprise part of the emperor’s cultural heritage. The paintings of Mongols playing polo or hunting likely had their roots in late-thirteenth-century Yuan-dynasty models of similar subjects such as Liu Guandao’s (fl. 1270 – 1300) painting Khubilai Khan Hunting (dated 1280). Extant examples of this genre in Japan date to the late fifteenth century and later. Most, such as one attributed to Kano Motonobu (1476–1559), are the products of Kano workshops for members of the warrior elite (Plate 12).21 It is unlikely that paintings of Mongols ever decorated the Kyoto imperial palace. The message intended at Nij≤ Castle is unclear. The main problem centers on whether the paintings depict Mongols or Tatars. Japan’s primary contacts with the Mongols were two attempted invasions—one in 1274 and the other in 1281—whereas there seems to have been virtually no contact with Tatars. Painted handscrolls of the Mongol invasion, M≤ko sh≥rai ekotoba, commemorate the successful Japanese defense against the Mongol attacks in the late thirteenth century.22 The title recognizes Mongols as “m≤ko.” The Nij≤ archive, however, denotes the paintings in the emperor’s suite as renditions of “dattanjin.” (“Dattanjin” is written in hiragana on the document.) Do the words “m≤ko” and “dattanjin” refer to the same people—and who are they? Modern historians and art historians seem to use the two terms almost interchangeably. The Chinese characters for dattan (C: dada), however, refer specifically to Tatars. Today the two are regarded as separate ethnic groups: the Tatars living in Xinjiang and speaking Turkic and the Mongols living in Inner Mongolia and speaking Mongolian.23 In the twelfth century, however, the two tribes apparently lived in closer proximity, located on opposite sides of the Kerulen River, and their names became conflated in histories.24 To confuse matters further, Engelbert Kaempfer (1651 – 1716), who lived in parts of Asia (including Japan between 1683 and 1693), offers yet another interpretation. In his

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History of Japan (1727), Kaempfer refers to the Manchus as “Tartars” (that is, Tatars) and the general area of Manchuria as “Datsu” or “Tartary.”25 So perhaps the Tatars at Nij≤ refer to the Manchus, who by the 1590s had already begun to encroach upon the Ming-held southern portion of Manchuria. Japanese scholars writing on this topic, however, often use “dattanjin” with “Mongol” appended in katakana to clarify their meaning. None of the sources I have examined suggest that the Japanese interpret “dattanjin” as “Manchus.” Thus the identity of the dattanjin figures at Nij≤ Castle must remain ambiguous because none of the interpretations appear viable. The Japanese already had a word for Mongols, so they would not have needed to create a new one, and it is unlikely that either the Tokugawa or their artists had enough knowledge of Chinese Tatars in Xinjiang to make them a popular painting subject. They probably never saw any images of real Tatars, because none in China purport to depict them, although from the mid-seventeenth century and later there are countless images of the Manchus who came to rule China during the Qing period (1644 – 1912). It is equally doubtful that the figures in the emperor’s suite at Nij≤ represent the Manchus, because that group was still on the cusp of becoming an international power in 1626. It is more reasonable to assume that this nomenclature resulted from a need to avoid any stigma attached to the Mongols (m≤ko), who had at one time threatened the Japanese nation, and that the term “dattanjin” in the early seventeenth century very broadly referenced powerful horseback-riding nomads living north of China’s Great Wall. Using the term “dattanjin” would have enabled warrior patrons to memorialize and admire a certain militaristic lifestyle without admitting to admiration for any specific ethnic group. It is likely, then, that the paintings in the emperor’s suite at Nij≤ Castle served simply as generalized celebrations of warrior spirit. The image of the Mongols as usurpers was blurred, and the memory of a disciplined, horsebackriding clan was reinforced and even romanticized.26 Indeed, in most extant paintings of this genre, the fierce horseback-riding nomads are depicted playing polo or hunting, not fighting battles, as if that aspect of their history had been purged from memory. Nonetheless, although clearly a Chinese theme, this visual celebration of horseback riding and hunting at Nij≤ was different from anything the emperor would have seen in his own Kyoto palace. The four accomplishments—painting, calligraphy, music, and Chinese chess—reflect Northern Song literati ideals regarding the proper pastimes of Confucian scholars. The earliest examples in Japan of paintings of this theme date to the mid-fifteenth century, and at least two of these early works are at-

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tributed to Josetsu (fl. 1386?– 1428?),27 a Zen priest and ink painter known to have produced art for shogun Ashikaga Yoshimochi (1386–1428; r. 1394–1423).28 Later in the sixteenth century, painters in Kano Motonobu’s studio popularized the theme, probably for warrior patrons who wanted to emphasize their cultural sophistication, and it continued to be fashionable for such patrons in the seventeenth century.29 This subject, therefore, was another one appropriated from China and appreciated from its inception by the warrior class. Paintings of the Chinese poet-recluse Tao Yuanming became popular in Japan around the same time as the other subjects, that is, in the mid-fifteenth century. The earliest extant renditions were produced by ink painters such as Bunsei (fl. mid-fifteenth century) and T≤shun (fl. early sixteenth century), who worked with Sessh≥. Later, Kano artists such as Tan’y≥ (1602 – 1674) painted images of Tao Yuanming for important temples. The popularity of paintings of Tao Yuanming, like those of Mongols/Tatars and the four accomplishments, emerged from a political context. In China, Tao Yuanming dutifully became a government official—only to tire of official life after eighty-three days. He retired to write poetry in poverty and live on his farm rather than subjugate his spirit for pay. Thus Tao Yuanming was a subject with reference to eremitism and government protest. Carolyn Wheelwright has suggested one reason why Chinese images such as Tao Yuanming were so eagerly appropriated by the military class in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries: Ancient Chinese stories were becoming more and more popular among the military class of Japan. As the generals of war-torn provinces strove to extend their control over a unified Japan, they increasingly attempted to equate their actions with those of virtuous figures in China’s past. Thus, they commissioned pictorializations of politically approved stories as visual support from ancient Chinese tradition.30 By far the most numerous scenes in the emperor’s suite at Nij≤ Castle, however, are based on the Mirror for Instructing the Emperor (Teikan zusetsu), a new subject introduced from China in the waning years of the sixteenth century (Figure 6.3).31 The walls and sliding doors of four rooms were illustrated from that text. This subject seems to have become the exclusive property of the Tokugawa shogunate and was produced by the Kano workshop throughout the first two decades of the seventeenth century.32 The historically based tales include stories of exemplary conduct of eighty-one Chinese emperors, as well as thirty-six passages in which officials display a singular lack of virtue in their governing with disastrous consequences—all in keeping with basic Confucian

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figure 6.3. Scene from woodblock print of Mirror for Instructing the Emperor (Teikan zusetsu), T≤ky≤ Daigaku Bijutsushi Kenky≥shitsu.

precepts.33 The tales were intended as moral lessons to guide the young Ming emperor Wanli (r. 1573–1620) toward virtuous rule.34 In China, this emphasis on expounding both desirable and unacceptable qualities of government had long fulfilled a remonstrative function that addressed problems of political legitimacy and transference of authority.35 Although we cannot know which stories from the text were represented in the emperor’s suite—and therefore cannot speculate on the specific messages that may have been intended—there is little doubt that the stories had a political purpose.36 Their depiction in the Visitation Palace signifies the special importance the Tokugawa attached to them and, on the surface, they were intended there to edify Emperor Gomizunoo just as the original illustrations had guided the emperor in China. The stories may also suggest something more. The paintings selected from the Teikan zusetsu, as well as those of Mongols/Tatars, four accomplishments, and Tao Yuanming, gave the appearance that the Tokugawa were honoring the emperor and imperial tradition through a painted display of august Chinese subjects. Yet closer examination of the iconography shows that these subjects were not traditionally associated with the emperor, nor did they represent him at the imperial palace. Rather, all were themes long connected with warriorclass patronage and all had been imported to Japan during eras of military

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dominance. Thus while the Tokugawa appropriately chose Chinese-based images for the Visitation Palace, these particular images venerated a classical era of military glory. Renovation of Ninomaru Palace: 1624 – 1626 What of the Tokugawa themselves? In decorating their own quarters, what did the Tokugawa borrow from the past to create or reflect their image? The paintings in the Ninomaru Palace at Nij≤ Castle suggest that the Tokugawa were equally adept at appropriating and manipulating the classical past of the court and adapting its forms for their own purposes.37 The buildings that comprise the Ninomaru Palace served as the residence of the third shogun Iemitsu when he was in Kyoto and as a reminder of shogunal presence in the city when he was away.38 The buildings remain largely intact today, and the paintings are currently in situ (Plate 13). Here we will examine only those in the rooms of the Grand Audience Hall (∑hiroma). As the site of public audiences and ceremonies, the Grand Audience Hall represents the shogun’s locus of power—functioning, in a sense, as the shogunal equivalent of the emperor’s Ceremonial Hall at the imperial palace. Furthermore, the Grand Audience Hall was where the shogun entertained the emperor and his entourage during their Nij≤ visit, so the emperor would have seen these rooms. Indeed, it was because of this portentous event, the emperor’s visit, that the rooms received their special decorations. As evidenced from the original paintings still in place and as further verified from a contemporary diagram, Instructions on Nij≤ Castle (Nij≤ oshiro osashizu; Ky≤to Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan, Kyoto),39 paintings of pine trees and birds cover the walls and sliding doors throughout all four rooms of the Grand Audience Hall.40 Table 6.2 clarifies the layout of the rooms, the subjects of the paintings, and the artist. What messages did the Tokugawa intend through the ubiquitous pine-tree motif? Obviously they were attempting to impress the emperor—and what better way to do this than by using an image borrowed from court tradition that had personal meaning for him? Although the most conventional symbolism of the pine tree, longevity, is of Chinese origin, native layers were added soon after it was imported to Japan. Early in Japan’s prehistory, trees of all types were viewed as abodes of deities (kami) and pine trees came to be associated with sacred sites and protective powers; later, classical poetic allusions to pine trees in Japan describe them as emblems of timelessness and symbols of imperial glory.41 Many of the meanings were transmitted from literature to painting, and early illustrated handscroll fragments suggest that pine trees were popular mo-

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table 6.2. Artists and Paintings in Ninomaru Palace Building/Room Name

Artist

Subject

Upper chamber (J≤dan-no-ma)

Kano Tan’y≥

Pines and golden pheasants

Lower chamber (Gedan-no-ma)

Kano Tan’y≥

Pines and peacocks

Third chamber (San-no-ma)

Kano Tan’y≥

Pines and peacocks

Fourth chamber (Yon-no-ma)

Kano Tan’y≥

Pines and eagles

Bedchamber (Ch≤dai-no-ma)

Kano Tan’y≥

(Not Kan’ei period)

Unnamed room

Kano Tan’y≥

Undecorated

Grand Audience Hall (∑hiroma):

tifs for large-scale paintings on folding screens and walls at imperial residences during the Heian period. Thus the pine tree was an image replete with classic associations for the court. In decorating the Grand Audience Hall with pine trees, the Tokugawa were illustrating their own cultural sophistication, their extensive knowledge of traditional court culture, and, most important, their right to access that culture—a right authoritatively affirmed by the marriage of Iemitsu’s sister Masako to the emperor himself. It might also be said that Tokugawa intentions were not so one-dimensional, however, nor so benign. For all their varied associations with a courtly classical past, the pine trees in the Ninomaru Palace are an anomaly depicted in a style that denies their noble heritage with every fiber of the brush: these pine trees are enormous in size and clearly not rendered in the typical “classical” yamato-e style. Rather, as Takeda Tsuneo has affirmed, all the pine-tree paintings in the Grand Audience Hall are drawn in a Chinese style (kangateki).42 The trees are massive with powerful assertive limbs and textured bark (although the latter is difficult to determine with the excessive repainting that has been done at Nij≤). Attendant to the Chinese style of painting are the deep Confucian overtones that have long been attributed to the pine in major Chinese painting treatises. An early tenth-century text, Note on the Art of the Brush (Bifaji) by Jing Hao (ca. 870–930), for example, describes the true nature of the pine tree as expressing lofty Confucian values, with the horizontal layers of its branches appearing “like the breeze of the virtuous [which passes over the bowed heads of the humbly respectful].” Later, Han Zhuo (fl. 1095 – 1125) equated pine trees with Confucian virtue: “Their reception of inferiors with reverence is like the virtue

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of the gentleman.”43 Thus while the pine trees painted in the Ninomaru Palace had close associations with the court’s classical past in Japan, their style was Chinese, evoking lofty values and Confucian virtue—qualities the Tokugawa government desired to emphasize in its program to gain political acceptance.

Conclusion The traditional definition of “classical” in Japanese art history must be altered significantly in reference to seventeenth-century Japanese painting. Indeed it should be expanded to reflect not one time period but a number of bygone eras that served different patrons. For the Nij≤ Castle project, the Tokugawa not only employed themes from their own past—a distinctly military and Chinesederived past—but also borrowed and altered subjects from the court’s past. It is intriguing that pine trees, with their strong traditional associations with the court in Japan, were painted in buildings inhabited by the Tokugawa while Chinese subjects associated with past military eras decorated the emperor’s residence at Nij≤. What does this conscious reversal of traditions signify? Classical court culture clearly held few charms for the Tokugawa, as such culture was only tangential to their own history. When the Tokugawa did appropriate images associated with court culture, like the pine trees in the Ninomaru Palace, they made certain that the meaning was altered through stylistic changes, thereby broadening the symbolism to suit current requirements. At Nij≤, therefore, the powerful yet venerable old pines in the Grand Audience Hall carried simultaneous good wishes for the emperor’s visit, strong messages of Confucian propriety affirming the right of the Tokugawa to govern, and fervent yet subtle hopes for the longevity of the union between the Tokugawa and the imperial family. The pine trees in this hall also conveyed the message that the Tokugawa were able to access and manipulate traditional imperial symbols. For the emperor’s Visitation Palace, however, the Tokugawa used Chinese visual symbols associated with warrior-class taste to display their heritage to the emperor-in-residence and to elevate their own history. The paintings were designed to follow the proper form—Chinese subjects for the public function of the emperor’s visit—but not the proper intent, which should have been to recall for the emperor his venerable past and ancient traditions. Indeed the creation of a new visual history at Nij≤ Castle closely parallels concurrent Tokugawa efforts to write new dynastic histories that were likewise steeped in Chinese traditions. It is significant that while wealthy merchants in the seventeenth century depended almost exclusively on the resurrection of courtly taste to in-

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crease their cultural cachet, the Tokugawa more often sought to heighten their own status by drawing upon the cultural past of China and their warrior heritage. “Tokugawa classicism”—if it can be termed thus—was fashioned as a wholly different, Chinese-based set of artistic ideals distinct from the delicate, rarefied atmosphere of courtly tradition. Steeped in Chinese learning, dignified, and sophisticated, the art of the Tokugawa was its own grand classical tradition, a tradition which had come to rival that of the emperor and the court. This point was made crystal clear in the decoration of the emperor’s Visitation Palace at Nij≤.

Notes 1. Intellectual development in Germany in the mid-eighteenth century contributed greatly to the notion of a pure, classical Greece. See Walter Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution: Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age, trans. Margaret E. Pinder and Walter Burkert (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1992), 1–2. 2. An issue of Art Journal, 47(1) (Spring 1988), was dedicated to “The Problems of Classicism.” In this issue, Chinese art-history specialists discussed the special problems of using “classical” and “classic” in relation to Chinese art. See also Martin J. Powers, Art and Political Expression in Early China (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991), 156–160. 3. See Julia K. Murray, “Sung Kao-Tsung as Artist and Patron: The Theme of Dynastic Revival,” in Chu-tsing Li, ed., Artists and Patrons: Some Social and Economic Aspects of Chinese Painting (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1989), 27–33. 4. See Chu-tsing Li, “The Autumn Colors on the Ch’iao and Hua Mountains: A Landscape by Chao Meng-fu,” Artibus Asiae Supplementum 21 (1965). 5. Michele Marra, The Aesthetics of Discontent: Politics and Reclusion in Medieval Japanese Literature (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1991), 14–34 and 35–69. 6. Eiko Ikegama, The Taming of the Samurai: Honorific Individualism and the Making of Modern Japan (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 72. 7. Yoshiaki Shimizu, ed., Japan: The Shaping of Daimyo Culture: 1185–1868 (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery, 1988). 8. For background on education under the Tokugawa shoguns see R. P. Dore, Education in Tokugawa Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965), and Richard Rubinger, Private Academies of Tokugawa Japan (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1982), 41–48. 9. See Donald H. Shively, “Popular Culture,” in John Whitney Hall, ed., The Cambridge History of Japan, vol. 4: Early Modern Japan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 717. 10. The 1624 – 1626 renovated Nij≤ Castle and the 1636 shogun’s visitation palace (J≤rakuden) of Nagoya Castle still exist today, as does Nikk≤ T≤sh≤g≥, the shrinemausoleum constructed for Tokugawa Ieyasu in 1617. The monument was totally refurbished in 1636 and was of great significance to the Tokugawa. Moreover, there are rec-

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ords of the types of paintings that once existed at three additional Tokugawa-sponsored sites: Ny≤g≤ Gosho (1619), Osaka Castle (1620 – 1629), and Nij≤ Castle’s Visitation Palace (Gy≤k≤ Goten; 1626). Furthermore, the paintings for Edo Castle’s Honmaru, Nishinomaru, Ninomaru, and Sannomaru were completed in the 1640s but then destroyed in the Meireki fire of 1657. The buildings were reconstructed and repainted in 1659 and survived for over 180 years. The Record of Tokugawa Ceremonies (Tokugawa reitenroku) mentions the room names, painting subjects, and artists’ names. However, they were painted after 1650. The document is reproduced in Tokugawa Art Museum, ed., Sh≤gun no goten: Edoj≤ sh≤hekiga no shita-e (Nagoya: Tokugawa Bijutsukan, 1988), 126–128. 11. Among the many surviving documents on these renovations are Nij≤ oshiro osakuji shosho ozaimoku takaharai ch≤ (Ky≤to Furitsu S≤g≤ Shiry≤kan); Nij≤j≤ gy≤k≤ki and Nij≤ no shiro no gy≤k≤ no den no sashi-zu (Y≤mei Bunko); Nij≤ oshiro gy≤k≤ no goten on-e tsuke osashi-zu (Ky≤to Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan); Meiji 18 – 20 Nij≤riky≥ sh≥zenk≤ji roku (Kunaich≤ Shory≤bu); and Edo Nij≤ oshiro goten (held by descendants of the Nakai family of carpenters who worked on the project). 12. The visit began on the sixth day of the ninth month of Kan’ei 3 (1626) and is described in official Tokugawa records. See Tokugawa jikki, comp. Narushima Motonao, vols. 38 – 52 of Shintei z≤ho kokushi taikei, ed. Kuroita Katsumi (Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1964–1966), 39:377–391. 13. The Gy≤k≤ Goten (emperor’s Visitation Palace) was moved to Gomizunoo’s Sent≤ Gosho, which the bakufu began building in 1627 in anticipation of his retirement. The Ch≥g≥ Goten (empress’ Visitation Palace) was transferred to the Onna Sannomiya Iwakura Gosho. See Nij≤ riky≥ riyaku ki in Nishi Kazuo, Himejij≤ to Nij≤ (Shinpen meih≤ Nihon no bijutsu 19) (Tokyo: Sh≤gakkan, 1991), 129–130. 14. In 1619 (Genna 5), shogun Hidetada’s daughter Masako (alternately Kazuko; T≤fukumon’in; 1607–1678) entered the court as the wife of Emperor Gomizunoo (1596– 1680; r. 1611 – 1629). Masako was made empress (ch≥g≥) in 1624, the year following the birth of her first child. 15. Okiko (a.k.a. Onna Ichinomiya, later Empress Meish≤) was born in 1623. After Gomizunoo’s abdication, she received special investiture ceremonies and was pronounced empress in the eleventh month of 1629. 16. The oyudono was traditionally a room in the Seiry≤den of the Kyoto imperial palace where water was heated for bathing. A small building of this same name at Nagoya Castle’s J≤rakuden included a Turkish steam bath and resting areas for the shogun. See K≤no Motoaki, “Tan’y≥ to Nagoyaj≤ Kan’eid≤ z≤ei goten,” in Bijutsushi Rons≤ 6 (1990):105. 17. Kendall H. Brown, The Politics of Reclusion: Painting and Power in Momoyama Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1997), 75. 18. This subject was based on vignettes from the Song of Enduring Remorse (J: Ch≤gonka; C: Changhenge; a Tang-period epic poem by Bo Juyi [772–846]). Paintings of Xuanzong were popular in Japan throughout the Heian period. See Takeda Tsuneo, “Gens≤ k≤tei,” Kokka 1049 (1982):13 – 25, and Suzuki Hiroyuki, “Ch≤gonka by≤bu,” Kokka 1052 (1982):23–29. 19. In the middle chamber (ch≥dan no ma) were figures (ningy≤), probably Japanese genre scenes, and in the lower chamber (gedan no ma) were flowers-and-birds (kach≤). This information refers to the first palace reconstruction undertaken by the Tokugawa

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in the early seventeenth century, a project overseen by Tan’y≥’s father, Kano Takanobu (1571–1618). See Fujioka Michio, “Keich≤do goz≤ei no dairi,” in Shinch≤: Ky≤to gosho (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1987), 79–88. 20. For a detailed discussion of the arrangement of public and private rooms and buildings and the program for determining how to paint them, see Karen M. Gerhart, “Honch≤ Gashi and Painting Programs: Case Studies of Nij≤ Castle’s Ninomaru Palace and Nagoya Castle’s Honmaru Palace,” Ars Orientalis 28 (1999):67–97. 21. For a discussion of this genre see Suzuki Hiroyuki, “Kisha to kari: Dattanjin kari shury≤-zu o megutte,” Kokka 1077 (1984):13–30. 22. These handscrolls were created at the request of one of the generals, Takezaki Suenaga, who fought against the Mongols. Today the two scrolls are preserved in the Imperial Collection, Tokyo. 23. Today Xinjiang is the largest and northwesternmost autonomous region in China. The region was conquered by the Mongols in the thirteenth century, however, and by the Manchus in the seventeenth century. 24. Charles Hucker has suggested that “both names [Tartars/Tatars and Mongols] were eventually generalized to encompass all the Mongolian speakers and other northerners as well.” See Charles Hucker, China’s Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1975), 283. 25. Beatrice M. Bodart-Bailey, ed., Kaempfer’s Japan: Tokugawa Culture Observed (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999), 42–45. 26. Yoshiko Kakudo has suggested that Tatars hunting and playing polo are part of a general subject heading—“Northern Barbarians” (hokuteki)—that was as popular for paintings in Japan as “Southern Barbarians” (nanban). See Yoshiko Kakudo, “The Tartar Screens and Kan≤ S≤sh≥,” Archives of Asian Art 25 (1971–1972):88–90. 27. Some scholars attribute these paintings to Minch≤ (1352–1431). See Brown, Politics of Reclusion, 89. 28. One of the paintings is in a private collection. It is reproduced as entry 12 in Watanabe Akiyoshi, Kanazawa Hiroshi, and Paul Varley, Of Water and Ink: Muromachi Period Paintings from Japan 1392–1568 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1986). The other belongs to Ry≤k≤in of Daitokuji and is reproduced as entry 133 in Ky≤to Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, ed. and comp., Daitokuji no meih≤ (Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shinbunsha, 1985). 29. Famous paintings of the four accomplishments include the sliding doors at Reiun’in, My≤shinji; a pair of six-paneled screens by Motonobu in the New York Metropolitan Museum; Kano Eitoku’s fusuma at Juk≤in dated to 1566; and four fusuma panels by Kano Takanobu (1571–1618) in the Seattle Art Museum. 30. Carolyn Wheelwright, “Kano Shoei” (Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 1980), 127–128. 31. For reproductions of the 1573 Chinese version see Kinsei Nihon kaiga to gafu: Edehon ten (Tokyo: Machida Shiritsu Kokusai Hanga Bijutsukan, 1990), 2:35–44. 32. It is believed that this illustrated text was brought to Japan in the late sixteenth century by Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536 – 1598) during his Korean campaigns of 1592 – 1598 and then passed on to his son and heir, Hideyori (1593–1615). Japanese carvers cut new blocks and the books were republished in 1606. Soon after this date, paintings based on the printed illustrations in the text became popular for decorating imperial and shogunal residences.

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33. For further examination of this genre in Japan see Karen M. Gerhart, “Tokugawa Authority and Chinese Exemplars: The Teikan Zusetsu Murals of Nagoya Castle,” Monumenta Nipponica 52(1) (Spring 1997):1–34; Karen M. Gerhart, The Eyes of Power: Art and Early Tokugawa Authority (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999); and Kobayashi Hiromitsu, “Ky≥raku-zu by≤bu ni miru Teikan zusetsu no tensei,” Kokka 1131 (1990):11 – 31. Julia K. Murray discusses the text, its contents, and divergent paths in China and Japan in “From Textbook to Testimonial: The Emperor’s Mirror, an Illustrated Discussion (Dijian tushuo/Teikan zusetsu) in China and Japan,” Ars Orientalis 31 (2001):65–101. 34. Although Zhang Juzheng (1525 – 1582) is generally listed as author, the text was jointly produced with Lü Tiaoyang (1516–1580). See L. Carrington Goodrich and Chaoying Fan, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), 1:60. 35. In early-seventeenth-century Japan, similar problems of political legitimacy arose, and between 1640 and 1720 the Japanese began to compile histories based on the tradition of Chinese historiography. See Kate Wildman Nakai, “Tokugawa Confucian Historiography: The Hayashi, Early Mito School, and Arai Hakuseki,” in Peter Nosco, ed., Confucianism and Tokugawa Culture (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 62–91. 36. See Gerhart, “Tokugawa Authority and Chinese Exemplars.” 37. See Gerhart, The Eyes of Power, 1–33. 38. In the seventeenth century, Nij≤ Castle included a castle keep, was surrounded by walls and moats, and even housed a military garrison early on. Its primary purpose, however, was not military fortification. Rather, after the 1626 renovation the buildings of the Ninomaru Palace became exclusively residential and administrative. 39. The diagram, believed to have been created at the time of the Ninomaru Palace’s renovation, is one of the oldest extant sources on the paintings and the artists who worked at the palace. It is photographically reproduced in Sahashima Eitar≤ and Yoshinaga Yoshinobu, Nij≤j≤ (Kenchiku shinsho 4) (Tokyo: S≤b≤ Shobo, 1942), pls. 12 and 20. 40. This area should have been decorated with figures (jinbutsu) according to established traditions for shogunal residences. For more on these traditions and how they developed see Gerhart, “Honch≤ Gashi.” 41. For an extensive treatment of the symbolic meaning of pine trees at the Ninomaru Palace see Gerhart, The Eyes of Power, 25–31. 42. Takeda Tsuneo in Kawakami Mitsugu, ed., Moto riky≥ Nij≤j≤ (Tokyo: Shogakkan, 1974), 354. 43. Susan Bush and Hsio-yen Shih, eds., Early Chinese Texts on Painting (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985), 147 and 149.

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Chapter Seven

Elizabeth Lillehoj

Uses of the Past: Gion Float Paintings as Instruments of Classicism A close study of one set of artworks—the Gion Festival Floats (Gion sairei boko), door paintings once installed in palace halls of Empress T≤fukumon’in (1607–1678)—offers a unique perspective on the imperial family and its role in the so-called classical revival in art of the early Edo period (1600–1868).1 (See Plates 14–15.) Born into the ruling Tokugawa clan seven years after their decisive victory over the Toyotomi and their allies in the Battle of Sekigahara, T≤fukumon’in was to become an important person in seventeenth-century Japan. In 1620, the fourteen-year-old T≤fukumon’in followed an escort to Kyoto, where she was married to Emperor Gomizunoo (1596 – 1680; r. 1611 – 1629). Over the next six decades, she proved herself a significant supporter of the arts and a leading figure in the cultural matrix of Kyoto, ancient capital and home of the imperial court. She sponsored architectural projects, collected artworks, and engaged in other patronage practices.2 Many of the paintings owned by T≤fukumon’in follow a traditional Japanese style of painting (yamato-e), portraying themes from narratives and verse of the Heian period (794–1185). These works fit the received definition of classical revivalism as described in the Introduction to this volume. Gion Floats is clearly different. Even though we might categorize the work stylistically as a type of late yamato-e, its theme is a contemporary commoner celebration managed by Kyoto merchant guilds, not a tale from Heian courtly literature. Nevertheless, in its content Gion Floats responds to the same social and political conflicts that produced other examples of early Edo classical painting. Classicism is an ambiguous, mutable, and ideologically loaded concept, and classical art— broadly defined here as art belonging to a modern canon and referring to a golden age of the past—is an analytic category that embraces a wide range of

iconographic and stylistic choices. Gion Floats exemplifies a historically specific, strategic, populist classicism that reinforced imperial prestige in the seventeenth century. By questioning and expanding the standard classical canon, I am arguing here for new ways of thinking about Edo art as an expression of authority—as opposed to the aestheticizing, dehistoricizing tendency that prevails in discussions of classical art. Thus even though Gion Floats has not previously been identified as a work of classical art—in fact, if discussed at all in histories of Japanese art, it has been described as a conventional genre painting—it relates to a little-studied aspect of classicism: its utilization by the imperial family to promote a social and cultural agenda.3

The Gion Floats and Classicism By the early Edo period, the centuries-old Gion Festival had come to symbolize the ancient imperial capital, and two constituencies in Kyoto claimed an interest in its current manifestation: courtiers and townspeople. On the one hand, it was an emperor who centuries earlier had initiated the Gion Festival; on the other hand, it was merchants and artisans who controlled the festivities in the seventeenth century. While the festival may have expressed the vitality of Kyoto commoners, this vitality was said to depend on imperial sustenance. Gion Float paintings allude to these two constituencies but completely ignore the role of military overlords—especially the Tokugawa, who were currently preoccupied with establishing political dominance in the land—and thus the paintings deliberately point toward a social order closer to that of the past, when the imperial family held preeminent authority and governed with little interference from warrior interlopers. By displaying paintings of the Gion Festival in one of her palace halls, T≤fukumon’in could indicate her approval and even her benevolent guidance of commoner culture like an empress of old, supposedly ensuring that the prosperity of a halcyon, bygone era would continue into the future. Gion Floats tells us a great deal about the social circumstances of early Edo Japan and about T≤fukumon’in’s sponsorship of art as it relates to issues of class, status, and politics. Furthermore, these scenes indicate that the referential and allusionistic strategies central to classicism could be extended to incorporate a greater range of content than has been acknowledged and that these strategies could instrumentalize art for aristocratic interests. Admittedly, T≤fukumon’in’s Gion Floats is not markedly different in appearance from paintings of the same festivities owned by other individuals, includ-

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ing warriors. Yet, following the methodology of reception theory, we can argue that individuals of different class, status, and political affiliation will receive or interpret two works differently—even if they feature exactly the same imagery.4 Reception becomes particularly valuable when we are able to consider a specific site for display and a specific audience for a work. The decorator who selected Gion Floats for T≤fukumon’in’s hall, possibly under her supervision, certainly understood that this subject had political implications linking T≤fukumon’in with commoners as a benevolent benefactor. Those with access to her palace halls in the 1670s—high-ranking individuals who held some stake in imperial/commoner relations—would have recognized the recently installed Gion Floats as portrayals of a public celebration of town culture that formerly was patronized by the imperial family. They also would have known of the current circumstances faced by these Kyoto commoners—the nonruling, nonwarrior, urban classes—who were increasingly hurt by restrictions on trade and the imposition of social stratification by the Tokugawa. The presence of the Gion Float paintings in T≤fukumon’in’s quarters not only suggests her interest in the Kyoto populace but also indicates her sense of being positioned in the middle of a triangle between her natal Tokugawa family, the imperial court, and the Kyoto townspeople. In many respects, this was a privileged position; depending on her needs at the moment, she could call either on the Tokugawa, the emperor, or commoner supporters. Having been born into one type of restricted space, the shogunal household, and having moved into another, the imperial court, T≤fukumon’in probably knew little about the daily lives of commoners. Her interest in commoners, then, was essentially a trope. Yet she and others at court had specific, sometimes political, reasons for employing such a trope. In its classicizing content and strategy of display, therefore, Gion Floats refers obliquely to imperial efforts to maintain links with commoners and, simultaneously, asserts the court’s superiority over commoners and ultimately over Japan itself.

Gion Float Paintings in T≤fukumon’in’s Palace Gion Floats appears on two sliding cedar partitions with painting on the front and back sides. In stylistic terms, Gion Floats follows the manner of current genre painting, which itself was based in part on traditional yamato-e, so central to later definitions of artistic classicism.5 Earlier, in the sixteenth century, genre painting had received an impetus from the new folding-screen composi-

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tions of Scenes In and Around Kyoto (rakuch≥ rakugai-zu), which depict city streets in minute detail arranged in a panoramic, maplike composition.6 Some of the earliest known illustrations of Gion Festival floats appear as tiny vignettes within sixteenth-century rakuch≥ rakugai-zu screens; screens featuring larger views of floats parading past shops and row houses in downtown Kyoto appeared by the early seventeenth century. An early pair of screens that highlights the Gion procession, dated between 1596 and 1615, is found today in the Idemitsu Museum of Arts (Plate 16). The Gion Float doors under consideration here present the floats as primary elements, enlarged and isolated against a neutral ground, thus following a general trend in seventeenth-century painting of setting a few motifs prominently in the foreground against a nonrepresentational background field. Certain artists presumably intended their Gion Festival scenes for provincial warrior lords as mementos of the ancient capital.7 Other artists targeted a moneyed commoner clientele as the audience for genre painting shifted to newly affluent townspeople. The Suminokura, for instance, a wealthy Kyoto merchant family, are said to have owned a Gion Festival screen painted by Gembei Katsushige (d. 1673), son of Iwasa Matabei (1578–1650).8 But T≤fukumon’in’s Gion Float doors were seen by a very different audience that was centered on the famous former empress. Large-scale genre scenes—like Gion Floats—were apparently not common in the early-seventeenth-century palace; however, they became more numerous later in the century, when they were often painted alongside Heian court tales. At the beginning of the century, there were a few paintings in women’s quarters at the palace that featured historical or legendary women; in 1601, for example, artists were commissioned to paint genre scenes depicting Chinese court ladies and children in the rooms of Shinj≤t≤mon’in, the grandmother of Emperor Gomizunoo.9 Two decades later, Kano artists painted a rare scene of New Year’s festivities in Japan in quarters for the empress’ attendants (Otsubone).10 But in palace buildings reconstructed between 1662 and 1709, we see a new abundance of genre and literary painting. According to Fujioka Michio, this tendency owes to a classical revival in Japanese literature.11 In the refurbished palace of the 1670s, artists painted scenes of Gion Festival floats (no longer extant) on sliding doors and panels (fusuma) installed in the residence of the wife of Emperor Reigen (1654–1732; r. 1663–1687), son of Gomizunoo. Thus T≤fukumon’in’s Gion Float doors follow a trend.12 The Gion Floats from T≤fukumon’in’s palace may have belonged to a larger group of cedar door paintings. Supporting such a possibility is another set of

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cedar doors with Gion Festival floats found in a building that has long served as the Shinden (imperial apartments) of the Kyoto temple of Sh≤renin.13 Originally this building was constructed as a Tsunegoten (ordinary living quarters) for T≤fukumon’in’s retirement palace. A third group of four cedar doors with Gion Float paintings are found in the British Museum (Figures 7.1–7.3).14 Inscriptions under the frames of the British Museum doors indicate that they came from the retirement palace of T≤fukumon’in.15 Although these three groups of painted doors are located in separate collections today and have not been published as a set, they share many similarities in format, materials, and style. A cursory examination suggests that they may have been painted at the same time, for the same compound, by the same unknown artist. Two centuries after T≤fukumon’in’s time, Sumiyoshi Hirotsura (1793–1863), who served as an official artist for the Tokugawa, saw the Gion Floats at Shugakuin and asked if an artist from the atelier of Kano Tan’y≥ (1602 – 1674) had painted them, indicating that people had lost track of who had decorated the doors.16 Although scholars have cited Kano Hidenobu (1588–1672) and Sumiyoshi Gukei (1631–1705) as possibilities, the most likely artist is Kano Atsunobu (1640 – 1718).17 At Shugakuin, the Gion Float paintings were displayed along a veranda in a building that was constructed around 1676 and decorated around 1677; this building originally stood in the Ny≤in Gosho, the empress’ retirement compound, located next to the Sent≤ Gosho of Gomizunoo. The structure was moved to its present site at Shugakuin in the hills of northeastern Kyoto a few years after T≤fukumon’in’s death (Figure 7.4).18 Most art historians identify this as T≤fukumon’in’s former Inner Reception Hall (Okutaimensho), a formal public space, but some refer to it as her dressing chambers (okesh≤den), an informal private space. Designated simply the Shugakuin Reception Hall in this chapter, the building has several decorated chambers. The largest and most frequently illustrated chamber is the First Room, which is twelve mats in size (Figure 7.5). Several smaller chambers—including the Second Room, or “Room of the Four Seasons”; the Third Room; and the Altar Room—are ornamented, but not as gorgeously as the First Room. An assortment of themes and styles appears in the decoration of the Shugakuin Reception Hall with its harmonious intermingling of traditional and contemporary forms. Certain aspects of the decorative scheme indicate that the building was designed specifically for T≤fukumon’in: most noticeably, finger pulls on doors and panels bear the Tokugawa trefoil crest; some pulls also incorporate the imperial symbol of the chrysanthemum. References to recent

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figure 7.1. (Top left) Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Chrysanthemum Dew Float (Kikusuihoko) from the Gion Festival Floats (Gion sairei boko), 17th century, painting in ink, polychrome, and gold on cedar doors, each approximately 173.5 × 94.5 cm, British Museum, London (#1958.10-11-020-023). figure 7.2. (Top right) Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Prince Sh≤toku Float (Taishiyama) from the Gion Festival Floats (Gion sairei boko), 17th century, painting in ink, polychrome, and gold on cedar doors, each approximately 173.5 × 94.5 cm, British Museum, London (#1958.10-11-020-023). figure 7.3. (Bottom right) Kano Atsunobu (attrib.), Decorated Parasol Float (Aya-gasahoko) from the Gion Festival Floats (Gion sairei boko), 17th century, painting in ink, polychrome, and gold on cedar doors, each approximately 173.5 × 94.5 cm, British Museum, London (#1958.10-11-020-023).

figure 7.4. Shugakuin Reception Hall in middle garden of the Shugakuin Imperial Villa, Kyoto, 17th century.

currents in Kyoto can also be found here. In the First Room, for example, painted on short sliding panels under shelves next to the alcove is a landscape scene with expanses of uncut textiles hanging out to dry, stretched between a pine tree and poles, and the designs on these textiles are characteristic of seventeenth-century Kyoto dyers. If this space did, in fact, function as T≤fukumon’in’s dressing chambers, scenes of drying textiles would have been quite appropriate for the setting. Moreover, there are colorful paintings on two pairs of doors positioned at opposite sides of the First Room, along the veranda leading to adjoining rooms. The doors at the southeastern corner feature Carp in Golden Nets; those at the northwestern corner bear the Gion Floats.

The Gion Festival, Politics, and Class In the Shugakuin Gion Floats, we see three peak-roofed Shinto floats (hoko) that festival participants carried or pulled in a parade through the downtown streets of Kyoto. Atop one float is a long pole or halberd—an elaboration on the halberds carried in the first festival. Emperor Seiwa (850–880; r. 858–876) ordered the first procession, during which sixty-six men carried halberds from Gion Shrine (known today as the Yasaka Shrine) to the Shinsenen imperial gardens. This procession was meant to placate Gozu Tenn≤ (Skt: Gavagriva; king of the devas), a deity of Indian origin who served as patron of the Jetavana

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figure 7.5. Floor plan, Shugakuin Reception Hall.

monastery (J: Gion Sh≤ja).19 In Kyoto, Gozu Tenn≤ was worshiped at Gion Shrine; later, when he came to be identified with the Japanese deity Susanoo no Mikoto, Gion Shrine was seen as a source of protection for warriors. Within a century of its founding, the Gion Festival had become an annual event; as the festival grew increasingly complex and its sponsorship changed, the political messages invested in and conveyed by the procession transformed. In the early Muromachi period (1333 – 1573), representatives of the shogunate took responsibility for overseeing the festival, each year ordering townspeople to make the necessary preparations. The first Muromachi-period shogun, Ashikaga Takauji (1305–1358), appeared in public to watch the float parade in 1355, and his successors frequently attended the event over the next few decades. In the fifteenth century, shoguns usually watched the parade from a reviewing stand erected by a retainer.20 Apparently the Ashikaga shoguns recognized that an elaborate Gion procession in downtown Kyoto, amid the thriv-

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ing merchant and artisan establishments, conveyed strategic messages. It signaled that divine forces of Gion Shrine protected the Ashikaga as military petitioners and suggested that the social order sustained by the Ashikaga regime ensured townspeople’s prosperity. Around this time, parade organizers began to drape the floats with multicolored tapestries imported from Persia, Belgium, and other countries, indicating that Kyoto was a flourishing trade center. Yet this trade, like the Gion Festival itself, depended on military sanction. Ashikaga lords were interested in the Gion Festival as a public relations event; indeed, symbols on several floats of the Muromachi period referred to warrior might—or, more precisely, to the power of the Ashikaga shoguns. At the end of the fifteenth century, the Muromachi shogunate canceled the Gion procession for more than thirty years when social upheaval overwhelmed Kyoto. The festival was later reinstated by Ashikaga decree, but difficulties in organizing the activities led to conflicts between military overlords and commoner citizens. As Mary Elizabeth Berry explains, the Gion float parade of the early sixteenth century “provoked commoner protest as well as rowdyism against (even the murder of) official participants.”21 This was the very time in which the oldest extant illustrations of the float parade were painted, and scholars have noted political commentary embedded in these early images. The earliest known pair of screens of Scenes In and Around Kyoto, the Sanj≤/Machida screens in the National Museum of Japanese History, contains a scene of the Gion procession (Figure 7.6). Matthew McKelway dates these screens to the second quarter of the sixteenth century, and he interprets the Gion vignette as an intended visual signal of the political and economic strength of the Ashikaga shoguns who had reestablished and sanctioned the festival.22 Similarly, Kamei Wakana posits that the Screens of the Hie Sann≤ and Gion Festivals in the Suntory Museum of Art were meant to celebrate Ashikaga strength in the mid-sixteenth century, even though internal strife threatened the shogunate’s survival at this time.23 Kamei speculates that Tosa Mitsumochi (fl. ca. 1520 – 1560) painted the screens for Ashikaga Yoshiharu (1511–1550), the twelfth Muromachi shogun, while Yoshiharu was living in refuge at Kuwanomidera in ∑mi province (present-day Shiga prefecture).24 Eventually, probably in the second half of the sixteenth century, the merchant and artisan community of central Kyoto took control of festival sponsorship, with each block (machi) hosting its own float. Some sources say that the warlord Oda Nobunaga (1534 – 1582) revived the float parade after he invaded Kyoto in 1568 and then established his supremacy over the last Ashikaga shogun; however, the cultural historian Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤ says that wealthy

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figure 7.6. Anonymous, Scenes In and Around Kyoto Screens (Rakuch≥ rakugaizu by≤bu) (detail), 16th century, painting in ink and polychrome on a pair of sixfold screens, 183.2 × 342.8 cm, National Museum of Japanese History.

townspeople claimed ownership of the Gion Festival from 1500 on.25 Merchants and artisans, many of whom experienced economic success in the sixteenth century, invested considerable money and labor in the floats, seeing them not only as a means to placate divine forces but also as a form of commoner entertainment as blocks competed with each other in sponsoring the most sumptuous displays. In the Edo period, each block association—composed of the residents of a two-sided block (ry≤gawa ch≤)—levied an assessment on its members to fund a float display, an arrangement known as “contributing blocks” (yorimachi).26 Block residents prepared their float, transported it in the Gion parade, and safeguarded it until the next summer. With a transition from warrior to commoner sponsorship, messages conveyed by Gion float parades changed; nevertheless, these messages were potentially just as political as in earlier years. The Shugakuin Gion Floats illustrates three large mountain-shaped floats (yamaboko), each with its own political implications. On one side of the doors is a ship float (funeboko; Plate 14); on the other side is a “showering down” float (h≤kaboko; Plate 15, right) and a mountain grotto float (iwatoyama; Plate 15, left).27 The ship float takes the form of a boat with textiles bearing wave designs

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draped across the lower third of the hull. The first ship float debuted in 1422, and a second type made its appearance later—both dedicated to Empress Jing≥, a legendary heroine of the second to third century. (See the glossary.) One of these floats shows Jing≥ departing for battle and was presented by residents of Shij≤machi, a block along Shinmachi street between Shij≤ and Ayak≤ji streets; the other, which shows her return, was presented by residents of Funebokomachi in the next block south on Shinmachi street between Ayak≤ji and Bukk≤ji streets. The float seen on the Shugakuin doors, referred to specifically as “the float of the ship in triumphant return” (gaisen funeboko), represents the vessel that supposedly transported Jing≥ home from her victory over the Korean kingdom of Silla (J: Shiragi). Jing≥ and her purported son—Emperor ∑jin (270– 310), whose spirit is enshrined as Hachiman, the god of archery and warfare— were worshiped as protective deities by warriors. Members of the Ashikaga clan had paid respects to Jing≥ and Hachiman, and the ship float was originally created as an expression of Ashikaga power.28 The showering down float is tallest of the many types of floats; its soaring halberd points to the heavens and indicates the light of celestial bodies—sun, moon, and stars—shining down into the netherworld. The mountain grotto float is dedicated to three divine beings: the god of the grotto, Tajikarao no Mikoto, who is enshrined inside a moundlike structure atop the float; the sun goddess, Amaterasu ∑mikami, who is beside Tajikarao; and the god Izanagi no Mikoto, who stands on a roof above them. People living near the Shij≤-Karasuma intersection—residents of three blocks situated close to each other along Shinmachid≤ri, a north-south street —sponsored the three floats featured in Gion Floats. T≤fukumon’in was certainly familiar with shops on Shinmachid≤ri, home to a great variety of merchant enterprises including shops selling furniture (kaguya), paulownia boxes (kirinohakoya), folding screens (by≤bu), noodles (s≤menya), kitchenwares (aramonoya), jewelry (kazariya), and paper lanterns (ch≤chinya). The founder of the prominent Chaya merchant house, which conducted foreign trade and supplied fine textiles to the wealthy, settled in Mukadeyamachi, a block on Shinmachid≤ri whose residents also sponsored a float in the Gion Festival.29 The “float of the ship in triumphant return” was managed by residents of Shij≤machi, a block on Shinmachid≤ri between Shij≤ and Ayak≤ji streets. Here many members of Gion shrine guilds produced ancient ceremonial robes (hitatare) and a cotton fabric. It is intriguing to consider whether the painting of the float of the ship in triumphant return—an image of townspeople celebrating Empress Jing≥’s victorious return from Korea—was chosen specifically be-

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cause it provided a striking historic parallel to T≤fukumon’in. Like Jing≥, T≤fukumon’in was an empress; furthermore, her natal family had established as one of its prerogatives the sole right to conduct foreign diplomacy, and in the early Edo period this consisted mainly of diplomacy with Korea. On another level, this float resembles a trading ship and may convey the pride of Kyoto townspeople in the commercial ventures that had fueled the city’s prosperity. Some of the beams used to construct ship floats were actually recycled masts from boats conducting foreign trade. Such a message of civic pride would have had a bittersweet, even critical, edge, however, because by the middle of the seventeenth century the Tokugawa had radically restricted foreign trade, limiting it mainly to Nagasaki. Many merchant families of Kyoto suffered as a result of Tokugawa regulations. The Suminokura, for example, found the termination of foreign trade devastating to their business; by the end of the eighteenth century the family had lost its fortune. Chaya enterprises were hard hit, too, especially when the Tokugawa began buying fabric goods from Edo shops instead of the Chaya establishment in Kyoto. T≤fukumon’in supported several mercantile concerns in Kyoto, as mentioned earlier, and her contacts with wealthy merchants are documented in surviving artifacts and written records. Although her most extensive purchases appear to have been from a dry-goods shop, the Kariganeya, run by the Ogata family, she also maintained contacts with other merchant families.30 A pair of screens of Poetry Slips Attached to Cherry and Maple Trees by Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691), either painted for the retired empress or given to her later, testifies to contacts between T≤fukumon’in and the Chaya—one of many cases of art being used to promote alliances and exchanges between various groups in early Edo Japan.31 The various regulations imposed by military overlords—Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537 – 1598) in the late sixteenth century and then the Tokugawa shoguns in the seventeenth century—must have caused Kyoto townspeople to bristle. As Mizuo Hiroshi explains, for prominent commoner families this was “a time of inexorable delivery into the hands of a repressive government” during which these townspeople undertook a “silent clash with authority on an artistic battlefield with which the opponent was scarcely acquainted.”32 That is to say, wealthy citizens found opportunities to resist governmental incursions by means of cultural practices. Commoners could break through class barriers by participating in pilgrimages and festivals, where they might mingle with individuals from a variety of backgrounds, or by forming poetic, artistic, and musical associations in imitation of courtiers.

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In the early Edo period, courtiers played an important role in disseminating classical culture in the form of elegant pastimes (y≥gei) such as poetry composition, dance performance, and incense identification. Many courtiers taught secret arts to cultural aspirants, both commoners and warriors, and while members of the imperial family did not go so far as to pawn off the sacred rituals that supposedly sustained the land, they were often swept up in this heady crossclass cultural mix. Even the emperor fraternized with lowly commoners. A number of records tell of Gomizunoo hosting parties at the palace attended by people from various classes and backgrounds, especially in the early decades of the seventeenth century.33 It is possible that Gomizunoo was trying to build bridges by encouraging the participation of commoners in palace events— conceivably in order to resist Tokugawa restrictions—which would lend political implications to these social interactions. Relations between the court and the shogunate were fraught with difficulties. During the course of the early seventeenth century, the imperial household lost political ground until it was hamstrung and forced to play a peripheral role in state affairs. Although members of the court belonged to one of several contingents left out of the four-class system imposed by the Tokugawa regime—warriors (shi), peasants (n≤), artisans (k≤), and merchants (sh≤)—they were still understood to hold a privileged place in society. The court may not have exerted as much practical political power as the shogunate, but in one key way it was crucial: the emperor was the only person who could bestow the exalted title of shogun upon the heir who assumed leadership of the Tokugawa clan. Moreover, people across the land still apparently believed that an emperor alone could ministrate to divine imperial ancestors in seeking beneficial results for the nation. Even under a nonimperial government, the emperor possessed an age-old authority and the court held a sacred ritual continuity as “a kind of state church.”34 Although Gomizunoo and T≤fukumon’in were by no means the first emperor and empress stymied by warrior governments, they managed to operate within a politically difficult environment and establish themselves as leaders of Kyoto culture. Presumably it was no easy thing for Gomizunoo and T≤fukumon’in to cooperate with one another, especially in the early years of their marriage. Not only was Gomizunoo’s reign marked by a series of frustrations as the Edo overlords limited his functions, but T≤fukumon’in’s position at court was precarious and many considered her a Tokugawa spy. Once she gave birth to Princess Okiko (later Empress Meish≤; 1623 – 1696; r. 1629 – 1643), T≤fukumon’in’s lot apparently improved, and in 1624 she rose to the rank of ch≥g≥.

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Soon her status was to change again, however, when Gomizunoo abdicated with bitter feelings in 1629. After this, T≤fukumon’in repositioned herself as retired empress (k≤taig≤). She came to act less as a bridge between the Kyoto court and Edo regime and more as a representative of the imperial family, although she still received gifts from the Tokugawa and they still saw her as their “woman at court.” T≤fukumon’in—who gave birth to eight of the thirty-some children fathered by Gomizunoo—devoted much of the sizable endowment she had received from her natal family to sustaining the imperial family, using the money to bolster court prestige, to promote Kyoto culture, and to make a safe haven for herself in the palace. As a major consumer of art and fine wares, T≤fukumon’in helped ensure the financial success of many artisan and merchant enterprises in the ancient capital. Moreover, her backing of temple and shrine reconstruction projects in the 1630s and 1640s contributed to the revival of Kyoto as a religious center. T≤fukumon’in thus played a key role in preserving Kyoto’s vitality and sustaining traditional culture in the ancient capital. For their part, the Tokugawa too contributed to Kyoto’s prosperity as a cultural and religious center; for instance, they undertook construction at Nij≤ Castle, the shogun’s administrative seat in Kyoto, and Chionin, designated ancestral temple of Ieyasu in 1603. A number of scholars have heralded commoner/courtier ties as a catalyst for seventeenth-century classicism, but contacts between aristocrats and commoners were not entirely new. For more than a century, members of the artisan, merchant, and aristocratic communities in Kyoto had formed alliances. In the end, however, aristocrats were the elite and tended to retain this status. This leaves us wondering how T≤fukumon’in herself conceived of classicism. Although there is little documentary evidence to inform us of her thoughts, we know that T≤fukumon’in was an influential woman operating in a dynamic social environment. Certainly patronage of art was one of many tools she might use to her advantage in struggles for authority and prestige.35 For an empress, art that referred to a classical past would be particularly attractive because it promoted a historical image of the imperial family as sovereign authorities. Furthermore, artworks like Gion Floats that showed a vital, prospering populace and were displayed in an important palace setting conveyed the notion of an imperial presence serving the common good. Although the seventeenth-century court was not directly involved in sponsoring the Gion float parade, members of the court were clearly interested in the colorful spectacle. A number of aristocrats regularly attended the Gion parade, as we learn from diary entries of the day, and they certainly remembered

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that an emperor had long ago initiated the festival to protect the health of Kyoto’s populace.36 More broadly, the festival aided cultural cohesion and renewed social order by making the old continuous with the new. As Herbert Plutschow explains: “As much as it merges present and past, the festival [in Japan] is a timeless event. Reality, as we ordinarily experience it, dissolves. People come face to face with their gods; natural and supernatural merge into a divine totality. Then communal life returns to its original source and vigor.”37 For the imperial circle around T≤fukumon’in, scenes of Gion Floats spoke of a timeless moment under an ideal social order: a classical moment. Because Japanese artistic classicism is today defined in such narrow terms—in fact, it still generally adheres to the definition set a century ago as part of a modern polemic in support of native Japanese art—the scenes have not previously been described as classical. Yet Gion Floats does serve a classicizing function.

Conclusion Despite challenges to their dominance, the Tokugawa managed to establish their legitimacy as rulers through the course of the seventeenth century. While this situation left the imperial household with little practical power, the court did retain cultural capital. In 1677, when the doors of Gion Floats were installed in the newly decorated building that we know today as the Shugakuin Reception Hall, T≤fukumon’in was seventy years old. By this point, just a year before her death, she had seen three men from the Tokugawa family named shogun. She had experienced numerous intrigues at court and ongoing vicissitudes in her own position. From her childhood years as the daughter of the shogun, she had advanced into adulthood as the wife of the emperor, then as retired empress and cultural arbiter. T≤fukumon’in and Gomizunoo must have realized that the imperial family could not regain the authority it had enjoyed earlier in the century. Yet they could cherish the prestige that had long adhered to them as designated protectors of classical culture and honorary promoters of the common people. Thus even though memory of opposition to Tokugawa hegemony was fading across the land, the retired empress had access to markers of distinction—indicating that authority was not maintained simply through military or governmental regulation but also through access to age-old systems of prestige concentrated at the court. Once we consider the tensions that animated court/shogunate relations in the seventeenth century and once we admit that Gion Float paintings could serve functions beyond the decorative, we begin to recognize broad social im-

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plications in these scenes. In fact, if we treat the Gion Float paintings solely as conventionalized genre scenes, we miss both their inherent political content and their classicizing function. Thus it is important to ask why modern scholars did not bring these paintings into the canon of classical art. Modern scholars who invented the concept of Heian classicism intended to shape an idealized notion of a timeless treasury of Japanese art, following Western notions of canon formation, and to that end they ignored or erased the historically contingent meanings in premodern art. In their estimation, only art that transcends the political and social context in which it was created can serve a useful agenda —that is, only such forms can prove that Japanese artistic heritage is as rich and valuable as that of the West. Now, however, Western art historians have deflated the modern myth of the canon, freeing Japanese art historians to acknowledge the many and varied operations of classicism in Japanese art. By recognizing the classical elements in Gion Floats and bringing works of this sort into the discourse on seventeenth-century classicism, we can affirm the historically and political contingent nature of imagery from Japan’s past.

Notes My thanks to Laura Allen, Douglas Howland, Paul Jaskot, and Melanie Trede for reading this chapter and offering valuable suggestions. 1. T≤fukumon’in was the daughter of Tokugawa Hidetada (1579–1632; r. 1605–1623), second shogun of the Edo military regime, and Asai Tokuko (Ok≤, S≥gen’in; 1571 [1573?]– 1626). At the time of her marriage, T≤fukumon’in was known by the name Masako, also read Kazuko. To avoid confusion, I refer to her throughout this chapter as T≤fukumon’in, the name she took when her husband retired from the throne. 2. For more on T≤fukumon’in see Takeda Tsuneo, Nihon o tsukutta hitobito 17 T≤fukumon’in (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1980), and Kanagawa Kenritsu Hakubutsukan (KKH), ed., Kan’ei no hana: Gomizunootei to T≤fukumon’in Masako (Tokyo: Kasumi Kaikan, 1996). In English see my “T≤fukumon’in: Empress, Patron, and Artist,” Woman’s Art Journal 17(1) (Spring/Summer 1996):28–34. 3. The Gion Float paintings are mentioned in a number of publications, but only in a cursory fashion. See, for example, Kyoto Bunka Hakubutsukan, ed., Miyako no miyabi: Kinsei no ky≥tei bunkaten (Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1988), figs. 17–18. 4. According to reception theory, which emerged from literary studies, the reader’s aesthetic response is as important as the author’s intent—and, because meaning is created by the reader, it is specific to each act of reading. For more on reception theory and art history see Wolfgang Kemp, “The Work of Art and Its Beholder: The Methodology and Aesthetics of Reception,” in Mark A. Cheetham, Michael Ann Holly, and Keith Moxey, eds., The Subjects of Art History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 180–196. I thank Paul Jaskot for this reference.

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5. See, for example, Takeda Tsuneo, Kinsei shoki f≥zokuga 12 Nihon no bijutsu (Tokyo: Shibund≤), 20–21. 6. For more see Matthew McKelway, “Capitalscapes: Painting and Politics in 16 – 17th Century Japan” (Ph.D. dissertation: Columbia University, 1999), 59–87. 7. For more see Berry, The Culture of Civil War in Kyoto (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 302 and 345, n. 8. 8. For more see Sandy Kita, The Last Tosa: Iwasa Katsumochi Matabei, Bridge to Ukiyo-e (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999), 175. 9. See Chino Kaori, “Tenn≤-no-haha no tame no kaiga—Nanzenji ∑h≤j≤ no sh≤hekiga o megutte,” in Chino Kaori, Suzuki Tokiko, and Mabuchi Akiko, eds., Biijutsu to jend≠—Hitaish≤ no shisen (Tokyo: Bruecke, 1997), 85–128. 10. Some of these scenes supposedly were incorporated into the palace of Empress Meish≤, who later donated them to the Emmanin of Onj≤ji in Shiga. See Kyoto National Museum, ed., Masterpieces of Kyoto National Museum (Kyoto: Kyoto Kokuritsu Hakubutuskan, 1990), 79, pl. 60. 11. See Fujioka Michio, Shinch≤: Ky≤to gosho (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1987), 11. 12. Ibid., 212. The Gion Festival fusuma-e, which stood next to scenes of other Kyotoarea sites like Uji and Kiyomizudera, are assigned to the painter Y≥setsu. 13. Sh≤renin has four doors with Gion Floats similar to the Shugakuin door paintings discussed here. For an illustration of one Sh≤renin door see Yamane Y≥z≤, Momoyama Genre Painting, trans. John M. Shields (New York: Weatherhill/Heibonsha, 1973), 176. 14. I thank Timothy Clark, Rosina Buckland, and Melanie Trede for bringing the British Museum doors to my attention: the four painted doors (#1958.10-11-020-023; Japanese painting ADD 367A)—each with a single festival float per side—are quite similar to the Shugakuin painted doors. 15. Timothy Clark, curator in the Department of Japanese Antiquities at the British Museum, informs me that inscriptions under the door frames indicate that the doors come from T≤fukumon’in’s retirement palace. 16. See Hirotsura’s Records of the Detached Villa at Shugakuin (Shugakuin riky≥ shi), cited in Moriya Sakur≤, ed., Miyako no riky≥ (Tokyo: Kyodo News Service, 1983), 189. 17. See also Timothy Clark in Nicole Coolidge Rousmaniere, Kazari: Decoration and Display in Japan, 15th–19th Centuries (London: British Museum Press, 2002), 285. Among other scholars who attribute the paintings to Atsunobu is Yamane, Momoyama Genre Painting, 164. Among those who attribute them to Gukei is Ishikawa Tadashi, Ky≤to no riky≥ (Tokyo: H≤shob≤, 1966), 115. The door paintings of Gion Floats from Sh≤renin are also attributed to Atsunobu or Gukei, as are scenes of Pine Beach on sliding doors and panels (fusuma) from Sh≤renin. See Kagotani Machiko, Josei no chanoyu (Kyoto: Tank≤sha, 1985), 93–94. 18. The building was moved with other buildings to its present location by 1682; Moriya, Miyako no riky≥, 186. It then served as a building in a princess’ compound and later, after she took the tonsure, as the reception hall (kyakuden) of her nunnery, Rinky≥ji. Much later the building was incorporated into the middle garden of the Shugakuin villa-and-garden complex. The Gion Float door paintings were removed from the building in the twentieth century and are kept by the Imperial Household Agency, Kyoto. Copies of the doors now stand in their place.

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19. For more on festival origins see Yoneyama Toshinao, Gionsai (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1974), and Neil McMullin, “On Placating the Gods and Pacifying the Populace: The Case of the Gion Gory≤ Cult,” History of Religions 27(3) (February 1988):270 – 293. Some scholars interpret the Gion Festival differently; Takahara Yoshitada maintains that the festival was dedicated to gods of childbirth (ubukami); see Takahara, Yasaka jinja (Tokyo: Gakugeisha, 1987), 30–35 and 174–202. 20. Kamei Wakana, “Suntory bijutsukanz≤ Hie sann≤-Gion sairei-zu by≤bu no seisaku ito: Ky≤to to ∑mi o miru manazashi,” Kokka 1238 (December 1998):10. 21. Berry, The Culture of Civil War, 217. 22. McKelway, “Capitalscapes,” 70–71. 23. Kamei, “Suntory bijutsukanz≤ Hie sann≤-Gion sairei-zu by≤bu,” 3–16. 24. Although the Suntory screens are not signed or dated, Kamei bases her attribution on similarities between these screens and the Illustrated Handscroll of the Origin of the Kuwanomi Temple (Kuwanomidera engi emaki) painted by Mitsumochi in 1532. See Kamei, “Suntory bijutsukanz≤ Hie sann≤-Gion sairei-zu by≤bu,” 3–16. 25. Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤, Machish≥: Ky≤to ni okeru “shimin” keiseishi 59 Ch≥≤ shinsho (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1964), 130. 26. Berry, The Culture of Civil War, 210–241. 27. For mid-eighteenth-century illustrations of these floats see “Ky≤to Gion-e—Kodai yamaboko zufu,” in Tanaka Yasuhiko, ed., Miyako meisho zue to Gion yamaboko (Tokyo: Iwazaki Bijutsusha, 1990), 77–112. 28. Futaki Ken, “Gione onari,” in Ch≥sei buke no girei kenky≥ (Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1985). 29. Residents on the Chaya’s block, between Nishikikoji and Takoyakushi streets, sponsored the minami kannonyama float, a type not illustrated on Gion Floats. See E. S. Crawcour, “Changes in Japanese Commerce in the Tokugawa Period,” in John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen, eds., Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968), 192–193. 30. For more on T≤fukumon’in and the Kariganeya see Yamane Y≥z≤, Konishike ky≥zo: K≤rin kankei shiry≤ to sono kenky≥ (Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1962). 31. A lost document composed in 1698 once accompanied the screens (which are today in the Art Institute of Chicago) and related that T≤fukumon’in gave this work to Chaya Shir≤jir≤ (dates unknown). See Narazaki Muneshige, “Tosa Mitsuoki hitsu ∑ka F≥ju-zu by≤bu,” Kokka (December 1957):393–396. For an illustration see Carolyn Wheelwright, ed., Word in Flower (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1989), fig. 59. 32. Mizuo, Edo Painting, 55 and 66. 33. See, for example, records of palace floral exhibitions held in 1629; Yamane Y≥z≤, ed., Ikebana bijutsu zensh≥ 10 Senk≤ no rikka (Tokyo: Sh≥eisha, 1982). 34. Herschel Webb, The Japanese Imperial Institution in the Tokugawa Period (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), 136. 35. Only a few surviving documents report directly on T≤fukumon’in’s thoughts. Perhaps most revealing are nine letters assigned to her hand, although T≤fukumon’in makes no mention of art or classicism in these letters. 36. No known diary entries specify whether the imperial couple joined the festival audience. One nobleman who mentions the Gion Festival is H≤rin J≤sh≤ (1593–1668), abbot of Rokuonji and uncle of Gomizunoo. Entries in his diary, the Kakumeiki, indicate that he went to view the festival often, watching the procession from homes along

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the parade route among people from a variety of backgrounds. See “Kakumeiki,” in Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤, ed., Shiry≤ taikei: Nihon no rekishi 4 Kinsei (Osaka: ∑saka Shoseki, 1979), 105, 238, and 385. For more see Iwama Kaori, “Gion-e to Kaih≤ Y≥setsu,” in Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku (Ky≤to: Shibunkaku, 1988), 149–156. 37. Herbert Plutschow, Matsuri: The Festivals of Japan (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1996), 30–31.

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Afterword

Quitman Eugene Phillips

The essays in this volume reveal both the advantages and the disadvantages inherent in the topic “Classicism in Japanese Art of the Early Edo Period.” The notion of a classical revival in the seventeenth century has a venerable academic pedigree and considerable support from visual evidence. A great many seventeenth-century paintings and works of craft decoration contain images derived from famous works of Japanese literature broadly labeled as classical. Scenes from The Tale of Genji and flowering plants celebrated in imperial poetry anthologies, for example, make frequent appearances. Most of the works of visual art in question also share stylistic features with related works from the Heian period (794 – 1185), which has long been considered the golden age of classical literature. Nonetheless, scholarly pedigree and visual evidence may deflect us from important questions. Why focus so intently on one sort of art in a period of great diversity? What distinguishes the art of the seventeenth century so dramatically from that of the sixteenth? Do standard explanations of contexts and causes stand up to close scrutiny? It is not surprising, then, that a questioning, revisionist spirit has guided the writing of many of these chapters. In its classic formulation by Hayashi Tatsusabur≤ and others, the notion of a classical revival in the seventeenth century is founded on three premises. The first is that the classical in Japan can be identified with the art and taste of the imperial court, especially in the Heian period. In painting, “Heianistic” art is identified with yamato-e, paintings that are distinguished not only by their Japanese themes but also by stylistic features that can be thought of as particularly Japanese; relative flatness and bright mineral pigments are two of the more important. The second premise is that the arts served the ideological needs of Kyoto machish≥—an affiliation of courtiers, merchants, and elite craftsmen in Kyoto who rebelled (culturally) against the authority of the Tokugawa. Promoting classicism was a way for the cultural leaders in Kyoto to claim distinction, and the works of K≤etsu and S≤tatsu, in particular, served their ideological needs. The third premise is that the classical had languished through much

of the medieval period and been taken up once more as a vital element of culture. The term “classicism” implies a revival, and equivalents of “classical revival” appear in the early writings on early Edo classicism (see the Introduction). The strength of the three-premise formulation is that it meets even the most stringent criteria for designating a period of classicism or classical revival: a height of achievement was reached and lost; a revival occurred in a later period; that revival occurred ostensibly as a corrective to recent ills and as a means of claiming virtue and authority. The great weakness of the formulation is the shaky ground upon which these three premises rest. In her Introduction, Elizabeth Lillehoj points out to what degree both a Japanese classical period and later revivals are constructs and preoccupations of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, in which they have served contemporary ideological needs. She also notes that the Heian period and its literature and art have not always been defined as classical. In Chapter 1, Melanie Trede directly confronts the relationships among canon formation, classicism, and relations of power. Satoko Tamamushi touches on these matters as well in Chapter 2. Other chapters offer particular challenges to one or more of the three premises underlying the work of Hayashi and others. Karen Gerhart (Chapter 6) and Elizabeth Lillehoj (Chapter 7) clearly challenge the first premise—that the Japanese classical can be identified unproblematically with “Heianism.” Gerhart reminds us that Japan has long had two deeply admired pasts (real or imagined). Throughout most of its history, Japanese culture clearly depended on an easy acceptance of the Chinese past as a legitimate part of its heritage. The Kano paintings for Tokugawa buildings that Gerhart discusses are, in many ways, almost ideal examples of the sort of classicism emphasized by Trede: the forms and iconography associated with a golden past were taken up by those in power (the Tokugawa) as a demonstration of cultural authority. In her study of Gion Festival pictures, Lillehoj offers a more subtle challenge by questioning the boundaries even of yamato-e. In the seventeenth century, the imperial court in Japan was not simply a piece of ancient history, as in the cases of Greece and Rome in Western classicism, but part of the living present. Likewise the Gion Festival was born from ancient imperial sponsorship but had evolved under merchant patronage. Were paintings of its contemporary manifestation, if commissioned by a current empress, an example of classicism? The many ways one can answer this question complicates the entire issue of Japanese classicism. The second premise—that a classical revival served the ideological needs of the Kyoto machish≥, a group out of power—receives both direct and indirect

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challenges in several chapters. In Chapter 1, Trede emphasizes, on a theoretical basis, that classicism frequently serves the interests of those in power; in Chapter 6, Gerhart provides examples of a classicism that operates in exactly this fashion. Even in the case of “Heianistic” works, Keiko Nakamachi (Chapter 3) and Joshua Mostow (Chapter 5) investigate examples of elite warrior, even Tokugawa, patronage and thereby reveal the machish≥-only notion to be a great oversimplification. Of course, classicism need not be identified solely as a tool of cultural oppression wielded by those in power (Trede’s etymological arguments notwithstanding). Classical forms can be taken up in a spirit of reform or resistance to the cultural norms of the ruling group, as the second premise suggests. Moreover, as Lillehoj notes, the same works can be put to different ideological uses. A revival that began in Kyoto in response to the machish≥’s underlying sense of unease over its powerlessness could easily have led to the production of objects that appealed to their “oppressors” for quite different reasons. Moreover, the involvement of the nobility in cultural production, whatever its deeper implications, meant that members of the court were doing exactly what the Tokugawa wanted them to be doing: operating in the cultural rather than political field. Obviously the authors have broken new ground for a potentially rich and complex field of investigation. At least one of the authors addresses the otherwise ignored third premise— that the classical had languished before the seventeenth century. If treated as a rigorous historical proposition, the topic of the conference implies that classical motifs and aesthetics played an especially large and ideologically critical role in the art and culture of the early Edo period, especially in comparison to what came just before in the sixteenth century. In her conclusion, Tamamushi indicates that such may very well not have been the case at all. She directs attention to the yamato-e of the Muromachi period, the study of which has flourished over the last two decades and more. What, then, makes the early Edo period in particular a time of classicism? To answer this question one must begin by taking to heart an important point of historical methodology raised by Elizabeth Berry at the Sanwa Symposium: only systematic research in a comparative vein can determine whether or not an observed cultural phenomenon has historical significance. Without question, colorful screens, portraits of classical poets, illustrations of The Tale of Genji, and so forth survive in much greater numbers from the seventeenth century, but so too do pictures of every other sort. The “Pax Tokugawa,” instituted in the Edo period, ended the civil strife that had regularly reduced buildings and the objects they contained to ashes. If most of the authors of this volume have ignored one aspect of classicism,

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they have certainly given their full attention to others. They have shown that the “classical” in Japan cannot be so easily limited to “Heianistic” forms and motifs. They have also shown that no one social group supplied the patrons for such works. It is perhaps up to medievalists such as myself to carry their work forward and conduct comparative research between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In the meantime, I would like to change directions and reflect more directly on the fundamental question of how viable “classicism” is as a concept in the study of Japanese culture. Most of the chapters in this volume quite reasonably treat “classicism” as a sort of thematic umbrella for valuable studies of specific topics. They investigate topics as diverse as the paintings of S≤tatsu and printed images of the Hundred Poets, One Poem Each. Three authors make important contributions to our understanding of the role of gender. Laura Allen relates her material to the education of women. Joshua Mostow suggests that poet-pictures served as prayers for peace and that their production was often connected to the forging of alliances through giving women in marriage. Finally, Elizabeth Lillehoj shows how one such woman could reshape her circumstances to suit her own agenda, especially through her patronage activities. These are extremely valuable contributions to our field. But in looking to the future, I would like to argue for a more rigorous definition of “classicism.” Lillehoj and others note that the idea of a Japanese classical past and periods of classical revival emerged only in the late nineteenth century with the likes of Fenollosa and Okakura. The goal of these Meiji figures was clearly to provide the equivalent of Western-style cultural authority to an emerging modern nation-state, and they identified the classical in Japan with Buddhist art of the late seventh and eighth centuries. Those paintings, buildings, and statues placed Japan within a Pan-Asian context and made Japan the most recent heir to the past glories of the Asian continent. The Gupta period in India, the Tang dynasty in China, and the Nara period in Japan provided defensible equivalents to “the grandeur that was Rome,” and the works themselves approximated the proportional harmony and sense of restraint associated with the best works of ancient Greece and Rome. As we have seen, scholars of Japanese art history later turned to a more distinctively nativist construction of the classical in Japan as parallel to that in literature: one centered on the art of the imperial court of the Heian period. Although this change liberated the Japanese classical from a Eurocentric construction of value, it left it in a theoretically debilitated state as the connections between aesthetics and ideology largely dissolved. It is telling that the essayists in this volume have not placed much empha-

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sis on formal elements as criteria for identifying classicizing works. Instead themes and motifs dominate. Without question, Western classicism generally entails iconographic references to the classical past. The stately columns of the classical architectural orders and narratives from classical mythology have their place as overt signs of a classicist orientation. But the visual foundation of classicism in the West also contains a set of fairly well defined aesthetic principles. A work of classical art, whether a statue, such as the Doryphoros, or a building, such as the Parthenon, or even a piece of literature, is thought to share the rational properties of classical aesthetics: logic, clarity, and restraint. These visual ideals of classicism separate it from the general deployment of classical forms and figures, which abound as regular visual currency in the history of Western art, at least since the beginning of the Renaissance. Rubens (1577 – 1640) may have painted innumerable figures from Greek mythology, but he did so in his own, decidedly unclassicizing, manner, while Poussin (1594 – 1665) reveals his classicism even in his landscapes. In Western contexts, it is the adoption of classical aesthetics, not the casual or selective deployment of classical motifs, that represents an act of classicism because it connotes a serious ideological commitment, not just simple nostalgia. Ideologies emerge and develop in opposition to one another. Specifically, Western classicism presents a case for timeless principles of order generally in opposition to the novel and the eccentric. Does some similar link between aesthetics and ideology justify continued use of the term “classicism” in the Japanese context? Ironically, the most direct parallel appears in the painting projects discussed by Gerhart. Such Kano “non-Heianistic” works are noted for their restraint and clarity of composition and were painted for a regime intent on establishing principles of stability and order after a long period of upheaval. The aesthetic/ideological links in Japanese classicism need not correspond in such a straightforward way to those in the West, however. It is only important that links exist. One could suggest links that are very distinctive of Japanese culture. One could propose, for example, that “sensitivity to transience in nature and life” or even “keen aesthetic discernment” are age-old marks of the superior person in Japanese culture and that their expression was brought to a certain pinnacle in the Heian period. One could then point to all sorts of motifs and bits of narrative content that express these ideals. With greater effort, one might even describe an appropriate set of formal properties or aesthetic principles that embody such ideals. The usual qualities ascribed to yamato-e—bright mineral pigments, limited interest in the third dimension, and so forth—offer some

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possibilities. As in classical poetry, there is an abstracted quality to the pictures that give a sense of intimate emotional engagement with a fleeting world rather than careful observation and reporting. Further investigation of this link, or investigation of better ones, would go a long way toward making classicism a truly productive concept in the study of Japanese art history. The chapters in this book not only offer new insights into the art of the early Edo period but also clearly point to profitable new directions for research. One direction is toward carefully balanced, comparative studies between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Another is toward further investigation of the relationship between aesthetics and ideology in the seventeenth century. We can only be grateful to Elizabeth Lillehoj and Laura Allen, along with all the contributors, who have taken us so far.

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Appendix: Artists and Schools

Hon’ami K oetsu ¯ (1558–1637): multitalented artist from a Kyoto artisan family. A prominent calligrapher, he was known as one of the “Three Brushes of the Kan’ei Era”; he also painted and designed works in lacquer and ceramic. Modern historians of art have praised K≤etsu, along with Tawaraya S≤tatsu, as a founder of Rimpa and a leader of the cultural renaissance in seventeenth-century Kyoto. The artistic rapport between K≤etsu and S≤tatsu is evident in the poem sheets (shikishi) with K≤etsu’s calligraphy and S≤tatsu’s painting. In the century or so after their death, K≤etsu was acclaimed but S≤tatsu was less highly recognized—for example, Asaoka Okisada (1800 – 1856) in his Handbook of Classical Painting (Koga bik≤; ca. 1851) ranked K≤etsu above S≤tatsu and later Rimpa artists. See also Rimpa. Igarashi Doho ¯ (ca. 1643 – 1678): Kyoto lacquerer who moved to Kaga (part of presentday Ishikawa prefecture) to work for the Maeda warrior clan and played a key role in developing a distinctive lacquer form known as Kaga maki-e. The Igarashi family had specialized in lacquerware production for generations; their founder, Shinsai (fl. 1434 – 1490), apparently worked for the Ashikaga shoguns. Iwasa Matabei (1578 – 1650): painter who frequently chose classical courtly themes. Matabei has been described alternatively as a Tosa artist, a Kano artist, and the founder of ukiyo-e (pictures of the floating world). Some scholars compare Matabei to S≤tatsu as a participant in a yamato-e revival, whereas others characterize Matabei as a painter who bridged court and commoner audiences. In part it was Matabei’s originality in treating classical themes that has led to an interest in his unique position in early-Edoperiod circles of art. Kano school or atelier: hereditary lineage of artists founded in the Muromachi period by Kano Masanobu (1434–1530), enlarged by his son Motonobu (1476–1559), and continuing into the nineteenth century. The Muromachi Kano painters were heavily dependent on Chinese themes and styles, but they often worked in a yamato-e manner, as well, as did later Kano artists. In the Edo period, multiple lineages of artists training under Kano masters emerged. The Tokugawa shogunal government employed a number of prominent Kano artists; regional lords employed others; in addition, low-ranking town painters sometimes received Kano training. Kano Atsunobu (1640 – 1718): painter; son of Kano Sosen Nobumasa; third head of the Saruyamachi Kano line. Along with Sumiyoshi Gukei, he is often credited with painting the set of Gion Festival Floats on doors installed in palace halls of Empress T≤fukumon’in. Kano Ein¯o (1631–1697): painter; follower and son of Kano Sansetsu; third head of the Kyoto Kano line of painters; author of A History of Painting in This Realm (Honch≤ gashi).

Kano Ikkei (1599–1662): painter; son of Kano Naizen; student of Kano Mitsunobu; author of the Biographies of Japanese Painters (Tansei jakubokush≥). Kano Sanraku (1559–1635): painter; adopted son and student of Kano Eitoku; leader of the atelier of Kyoto Kano (Ky≤ Kano) painters. Unlike other Kano branches, they remained in Kyoto and, after Sanraku, were led by Sansetsu (1589 – 1651), Ein≤ (1631 – 1697), and Eiki (1662–1702). Kano Tan’yu¯ (1602 – 1674): painter; son of Kano Takanobu. Of all the seventeenthcentury artists, his work was most canonical in its day, as well as later in the Edo period. Tan’y≥ studied in Kyoto under Kano K≤i (ca. 1569 – 1636) but left for Edo perhaps as early as 1617, complying with a Tokugawa request that he serve as goy≤ eshi. He was later appointed oku eshi. Tan’y≥ supervised a crew of artists on numerous major projects including the ornamentation of several palatial Tokugawa residences and the Kyoto imperial palace. These projects reveal Tan’y≥’s strong inheritance from earlier Kano styles, making them “classically Kano.” Some of Tan’y≥’s work was meant for elite public spaces and adheres to a formal Chinese mode, but other works, like his Tale of Genji screens, are painted in a yamato-e manner. Kano Yasunobu (1613 – 1685): painter; son of Kano Takanobu; student of Kano K≤i; adopted as heir of the main Kano house after the death of Sadanobu (1597 – 1623). In the late 1630s or early 1640s, the Tokugawa appointed him goy≤ eshi and he moved to Edo. Yasunobu painted at the imperial palace, as well as in Zen temples. He was the author of the Private Guidelines for the Way of Painting (Gad≤ y≤ketsu). Konoe Nobutada (1565–1614): prominent Kyoto aristocrat and calligrapher; one of the “Three Brushes of the Kan’ei Era.” Widely acclaimed for his skillful refashioning of Japanese-style (way≤) calligraphy, he developed an individual calligraphic manner based on native courtly models and Chinese models. Nobutada also painted abbreviated images of divine and legendary figures with bold brushwork in ink; these paintings can be called classical in that they adopt traditional subjects of painting and pay homage to an earlier style: the Muromachi-period style of Zen ink painting. Kuwayama Gyokush¯u (1743–1799): painter; student of Ike no Taiga (1723–1776); member of the Kansai-area circle of Nanga artists. Gyokush≥ was the author of Humble Words on Matters of Painting (Kaiji higen; published in 1799). See also Nanga. Nanga: indigenous Japanese school of literati painting. Not really a formal school, atelier, or lineage, like the Kano or Tosa schools, this was an informal network of painters who claimed to share a common understanding of their art. Supposedly they based their art on amateur literati painting of China, known as Southern school painting (C: nan-tsung hua; J: nanga) and as scholar-gentlemen’s painting (C: wen-jen hua; J: bunjinga), but their art was actually a synthesis of Northern and Southern school paintings by artists of Ming and Qing-dynasty China. Although Nanga in Japan is markedly different in appearance from other Japanese styles of painting, there is no single, consistent Nanga style. In some cases it is amateurish like certain Chinese literati art; in other cases it is closer to a professional Chinese manner. Nonomura Ninsei (d. ca. 1694): Kyoto ceramic artist. Ninsei’s overglaze polychrome enamel wares (iro-e t≤ki) became famous for their gorgeous designs, widely understood as a reflection of courtly Kyoto aesthetics.

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Ogata Kenzan (1663–1743): multitalented artist of Kyoto; brother of K≤rin. He studied ceramic design under Nonomura Ninsei. Ogata K orin ¯ (1658 – 1716): painter acclaimed as a leading artist of Rimpa; brother of Kenzan. His family’s shop, the Kariganeya—which had prospered early in the Edo period as one of the leading dry-goods stores in the country—was forced to close its doors due to poor business in his lifetime. Later, to cover his expenses, K≤rin turned to painting. Seeking clients for his work, he made several round trips between Kyoto and Edo in the years from 1704 to 1709. See also Rimpa. Rimpa (school of K orin): ¯ group of artists in several generations—separated by gaps in time—who shared certain stylistic approaches but did not necessarily work in the same studio or belong to the same family. In this respect, Rimpa differed from most artistic schools of the Edo period. The first generation of Rimpa artists is commonly identified as Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558–1637) and Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?), both important to the study of so-called classicism in seventeenth-century art. The term “Rimpa” is misleading in that it suggests there was a formal school of artists working under Ogata K≤rin (1658 – 1716). Although influential, K≤rin did not found the style; he was born over a decade after the death of S≤tatsu and was heavily indebted to S≤tatsu’s work. Often Rimpa is described as a decorative style—indicating a tendency for graphic qualities such as extensive use of rich colors and gold or silver, asymmetric compositions, and planar use of space. Some but not all Rimpa works display these qualities. Sakai H¯oitsu (1761–1828): painter of Rimpa and admirer of K≤rin; from a warrior family, lords of K≤zuke province (present-day Gumma prefecture). Sh¯okad¯o Sh¯oj¯o (1584–1639): Shinto-Shingon priest and prominent Kyoto calligrapher; one of the “Three Brushes of the Kan’ei Era.” He was praised for his creative interpretation of Japanese-style (way≤) calligraphy, which was based on native and Chinese models. Sh≤j≤ painted abbreviated images of divine and legendary figures in ink with bold brushwork inspired by earlier Zen paintings. Sumiyoshi school or atelier: lineage of painters founded in 1663 when Emperor Gosai (1637–1685; r. 1654–1663) appointed Tosa Hiromichi (later Sumiyoshi Jokei) to be the official painter at Sumiyoshi Shrine and permitted him to separate from the Tosa family and form his own lineage. The Sumiyoshi painters were known for miniaturist paintings in a richly colored yamato-e manner. Sumiyoshi Gukei (1631–1705): painter; son of Sumiyoshi Jokei; served as oku eshi from 1685. Along with Kano Atsunobu, he is often credited with painting the set of Gion Festival Floats on doors installed in palace halls of Empress T≤fukumon’in. Sumiyoshi Jokei (1599–1670): painter. Known early in his career as Tosa Hiromichi, he changed his name after taking the tonsure. He was conscripted by the Tokugawa to paint for them and was later appointed goy≤ eshi. Tawaraya S o¯ setsu (fl. mid-seventeenth century): painter and successor of Tawaraya S≤tatsu. He served the Maeda family, feudal lords in the region of Kanazawa, and was named hokky≤ in the 1640s. Tawaraya S o¯ tatsu (d. 1643?): painter whose birth and death dates are not clear. He is thought to have used seals reading “Taiseiken” and “Inen,” and he is referred to as

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“Tawaraya S≤tatsu” due to the name of his shop, the Tawaraya. Some scholars believe that Inen was a trademark of S≤tatsu’s shop. Although the artist’s birthplace is uncertain, he typically is described as a resident of Kyoto and as a member of the machish≥, the active merchant class in Kyoto. Scholars believe that the court granted S≤tatsu the title of hokky≤ by 1630. S≤tatsu is central to modern scholarship on early Edo classicism in art. According to a modern appraisal, S≤tatsu and Hon’ami K≤etsu were the founders of Rimpa. In the century after his death, S≤tatsu was largely overlooked, or forgotten, or confused with Ogata K≤rin, and he was only rediscovered early in the modern era. Soon thereafter he was elevated in the public eye, called a genius, and declared a star of the classical revival. The art of S≤tatsu and K≤etsu has occupied an undeniably important place in the historical consciousness of modern Japan, but modern writers and connoisseurs have at times implied that S≤tatsu and K≤etsu rediscovered yamato-e on their own. Modern enthusiasts also have suggested that S≤tatsu and K≤etsu formulated uniquely Japanese styles when in fact the two drew from a variety of native and foreign sources. See also Rimpa. Tosa school or atelier: leading professional lineage of painters founded in the early Muromachi period. In many respects, they were the inheritors and preservers of native styles of painting begun in the Heian period. At times Tosa art is treated as the most classical of all Edo art if only because of the many Tosa paintings of Heian courtly scenes. At other times, Tosa art is treated as synonymous with court art in that the court provided a natural home for classicism. To some extent, this appraisal is justified due to the significant role of court sponsorship in sustaining the Tosa school as well as the centrality of classical yamato-e to Tosa painting. This appraisal, however, underestimates the variety of styles employed by Tosa artists. Tosa Mitsumochi (fl. ca. 1520–1560): painter; served as edokoro azukari and head of the Tosa school. Mitsumochi is best known for his work on the (Illustrated Handscroll of the Origins of Kuwanomi Temple) (Kuwanomidera engi emaki), made for the twelfth shogun of the Muromachi period, Ashikaga Yoshiharu (1511–1550). Tosa Mitsunari (1646 – 1710): painter; son of Tosa Mitsuoki; edokoro azukari and head of the Tosa school from 1681 to 1710. Tosa Mitsunori (1583 – 1638): painter; son and student of Tosa Mitsuyoshi. Under Mitsunori, the Tosa atelier returned to Kyoto after having been located in Sakai for several decades; apparently this move was made on the invitation of Emperor Gomizunoo (1596– 1680; r. 1611–1629). Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691): painter; son and student of Tosa Mitsunori; edokoro azukari from 1654 to 1681. Mitsuoki often depicted courtly scenes that are meticulously finished in color, indicating a debt to Muromachi-period yamato-e, but he drew from other sources as well. His many paintings of flowers-and-birds, especially quail, are patterned after Song academic painting. Mitsuoki also established a reputation as a connoisseur of painting, and late in life he composed a treatise on art, the Official Summary of Painting Rules of This Realm (Honch≤ gah≤ taiden).

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Glossary

bakufu (tent government): military government headed by a shogun. A new bakufu was established in the early seventeenth century by Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542 – 1616) and headquartered at Edo (present-day Tokyo). In earlier periods, bakufu were overseen by the Minamoto family (Kamakura era, 1185 – 1333) and later by the Ashikaga family (Muromachi era, 1333–1573). biwa: four-stringed lute that is strummed with a large plectrum. by≤bu: folding screen; a common format for painting in Japan. ch≤nin (block residents): townspeople; in the Edo period, this included people from the artisan and merchant classes. ch≥g≥: the highest rank a woman could attain while married to a reigning emperor. daimyo (daimy≤): major warrior lords whose holdings reached 10,000 koku—fiefs awarded by the shogunal government. Of these daimyo, lords of Tokugawa branch houses (gosanke, gosanky≤) and collateral houses (shimpan) held an eminent position in Edo society, followed in descending order through the hereditary vassals (fudai) and warriors of the great outside houses (tozama). edokoro: painting bureau. At the imperial court, an atelier known as the edokoro had been in existence since at least the ninth century, producing paintings for private and official commissions. In later centuries, such offices were also sponsored by major temples and shrines, military governments, and retired emperors. edokoro azukari: chief artist and director of the official painting bureau of the imperial court. Starting in the twelfth century, the head of the edokoro was typically the leader of a family of professional painters. From the mid-fifteenth century, heads of the Tosa school held the esteemed position of edokoro azukari at court. But after Tosa Mitsumoto (fl. 1530 – 1569) was killed in battle, Tosa Mitsuyoshi (1539 – 1613) apparently moved the Tosa school to Sakai and Kano artists assumed leadership of the imperial painting bureau. Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691) restored the position of edokoro azukari to the Tosa school in 1654. In naming their own edokoro azukari, Tokugawa military lords appointed leaders of the Kano family of painters and later Sumiyoshi family painters. Fenollosa, Ernest (1853–1908): Harvard-trained professor teaching philosophy and economics in Japan from 1878. Along with Okakura Kakuz≤, he initiated a scholarly exploration of ancient Japanese arts, cataloging treasures in a series of art surveys of the Nara-Kyoto area and encouraging Japanese artists to return to their roots. In 1889, they participated in the founding of the Tokyo School of Fine Arts (T≤ky≤ Bijutsu Gakk≤), which specialized in a curriculum of traditional Japanese arts.

Fukko yamato-e (revival yamato-e): early-nineteenth-century movement to revive styles and themes of painting favored by the imperial court, especially in the Heian and Kamakura periods. fusuma: sliding doors and panels; a common format for painting in Japan. Constructed on a wooden frame covered with thick paper, fusuma often separate rooms or hide shelves and storage spaces. f≥zokuga: illustrations of everyday life, often identified as one branch of evolving yamato-e. The term was coined in the Meiji period (1868–1912) to translate the Western term “genre painting.” Although scholars disagree over when genre painting fully emerged, scenes of everyday life appear as details in larger paintings as early as the Heian period. Around the sixteenth century, genre scenes became an exclusive focus in works of art. gaj≤: album; a common format for painting in Japan. Genji monogatari (Tale of Genji): lengthy novel ascribed to Murasaki Shikibu (ca. 978–ca. 1016) and acclaimed as a classic of court literature since the thirteenth century. The leading character is a handsome, artistically gifted courtier named Genji, also known as “The Shining Prince.” Genji-e: illustrations of The Tale of Genji. Gion Festival: festival first held in Kyoto in 869 with a procession to appease spirits blamed for plagues, specifically the god Gozu Tenn≤. Because plagues typically occurred in hot, humid weather, the Gion Festival was held in midsummer. Although festival activities now extend through July, they were formerly held in the sixth month with a welcoming of the gods’ palanquins on the seventh day, a farewell to the palanquins on the fourteenth day, and a parade of floats on the seventeenth day of that month. goy≤ eshi: official painters to the bakufu, typically provided with a salary. In the sixteenth century, painters of the Kano school served as the salaried employees of leading military lords. Some scholars, however, use the term “goy≤ eshi” to refer to the Kano painters after Kano Tan’y≥, when the position was clearly defined in the governmental system. Gozu Tenn≤ (Skt: Gavagriva): bull-headed king of the devas, a deity of Indian origin who served as the patron god of the Jetavana monastery (J: Gion Sh≤ja). People considered Gozu Tenn≤—one of many spiteful spirits (onry≤)—responsible for both causing and preventing disease. Thus the Gion Festival revolves around a meeting with a revered spirit (gory≤-e). haiku: short verses of seventeen syllables arranged in a 5–7–5 pattern; based on linked verse (renga) of the Muromachi period. In the Edo period, these were commonly light verse. Heike monogatari (Tale of the Heike): narrative composed in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries concerning the protracted twelfth-century struggle between the Taira and Minamoto clans.

218

Glossary

Heike n≤ky≤ (Sutra scrolls of the Taira family): set of handscrolls preserved at Itsukushima Shrine. The set was originally produced in the Heian period and included segments of painting, some of which were restored in 1602, supposedly by Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?). hengaku: votive plaques often displayed in Shinto shrines; a format for painting in Japan. hokky≤ (Bridge of the Law): honorific title deriving from a Buddhist phrase. Originally applied to priests, the title was later given to Buddhist artists as well. The lowest of three ranks for artists in later centuries, it followed the higher ranks of h≤gen (Dharma Eye) and h≤in (Dharma Seal). hoko: type of Shinto float. With a long pole or halberd rising from a peaked roof, paraded through Kyoto streets at a high point in the Gion Festival. Largest of these are the mountain floats (yamaboko), measuring about 25 meters in height and weighing about 12 tons. Floats typically carried a few actors or dolls and a group of hayashi musicians numbering up to forty performers. Hyakunin isshu (One hundred poets, one poem each): collection of verse compiled in the thirteenth century by Fujiwara no Teika. iro-e t≤ki: ceramic wares decorated with overglaze polychrome enamels. In the seventeenth century, many of these wares were produced under the direction of Nonomura Ninsei (d. ca.1694) at the Omuro kiln near Ninnaji in Kyoto. Ise monogatari (Tales of Ise): collection of waka poems with narrative prefaces arranged as 125 episodes. Although the authors and date of Tales of Ise are not known, it is believed that the poems were composed in the ninth and tenth centuries. The central figure is a handsome courtier, often identified as the historical figure Ariwara no Narihira (825–880), who becomes involved in numerous love affairs. Jing≥: empress and wife of Emperor Ch≥ai (r. ca. 192–200). Supposedly this “shamanessqueen” took command of Ch≥ai’s forces after his death and led them in a victorious invasion of a Korean kingdom. Although accounts of Jing≥’s exploits—recounted in Records of Ancient Matters (Kojiki; 712) and Chronicles of Japan (Nihon shoki; 720)— are largely fictitious, Japan did exert considerable military influence on the Korean peninsula in the century after her death. kach≤ga: pictures of flowers-and-birds; a common subject in Japanese painting. kakemono: hanging scroll; a common format for painting in Japan. Kakumeiki (Dividing plant record): diary kept between 1635 and 1668 by H≤rin J≤sh≤ (1593–1668), abbot of Rokuonji in northwestern Kyoto. H≤rin was the uncle of Emperor Gomizunoo (1596–1680; r. 1611–1629) and had many aristocratic connections. kanaz≤shi jokun: didactic books for women with texts printed in Japanese script, often accompanied by illustrations. Kan’ei bunka (Kan’ei culture): term coined by Japanese cultural historians to refer to a phase that extended one or two decades before and after the Kan’ei era (1624–1644), roughly the first half of the seventeenth century.

Glossary

219

Kan’ei no sanpitsu (Three Brushes of the Kan’ei Era): the three leading calligraphers of the seventeenth century—Konoe Nobutada (1565 – 1614), Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ (1584 – 1639), and Hon’ami K≤etsu (1558–1637). This term draws upon a classical precedent, the “Three Brushes of the Heian Period” (Heian sanpitsu). kanga (Han painting): term that came into widespread use in the Muromachi period. Despite its literal meaning, it does not refer to Chinese painting of the Han dynasty (206 b.c.–220); instead it refers to paintings based on models from the Song dynasty (960–1279) and the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368). The term “kanga” was introduced to differentiate colorful Tang-style court painting from Song and Yuan-style works. kara-e (Tang painting): term used by Japanese writers from the Heian period on to refer to paintings from the Tang period (618–907). Later this term was applied to Japanese renderings of Chinese themes. Kariganeya: leading dry-goods shop of early-seventeenth-century Kyoto run by the Ogata family. With an impressive clientele of warrior and aristocratic families, the Kariganeya filled orders for clothing and fabric from Empress T≤fukumon’in and other famous personages. The brothers K≤rin (1658 – 1716) and Kenzan (1663 – 1743) inherited the Ogata fortune in the late seventeenth century, and soon thereafter the Kariganeya floundered. kasen-e (pictures of immortal poets): portraits of a select group of renowned poets that are often placed next to their poem. Most often there are thirty-six kasen in a group, based on a collection of poems by the Heian-period poet Fujiwara no Kint≤. Kinch≥ narabi ni kuge shohatto (Regulations for the palace and nobility): measure issued by the Tokugawa in 1615 decreeing that the emperor and courtiers should take as their main task preservation of traditional scholarship and court culture. kirei sabi (beautiful and tranquil): aesthetic term related to tea ceremony in the style of Kanamori S≤wa (also known as Shigechika, 1584 or 1589–1656). kokugaku (national learning): Japanese learning that spread in the late eighteenth century; frequently tinged with Neo-Shinto notions and seeking a national identity in classics of Japanese literature. koten (C: gudian; “old texts”): term that Japanese writers borrowed centuries ago from Chinese textual sources, where it generally referred to works that set a standard. In the seventeenth century and earlier, people in Japan apparently understood koten to refer to Chinese literary classics; only much later did they come to conceive of koten as embracing Japanese literary classics as well. koten fukk≤ (classical revival): phrase coined in the mid-twentieth century by Japanese cultural historians including Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤ in reference to seventeenthcentury cultural developments, especially in Kyoto. kotenteki bijutsu (old textlike art): term commonly translated as “classical art.” koto: musical instrument resembling a zither with strings made of twisted silk and a long sounding board.

220

Glossary

machi-eshi (town painter): generic term for painters who worked independently in towns, not sponsored by a particular patron or organization. maki-e (sprinkled picture): form of ornamented lacquer produced by spreading gold or silver powder on a wet lacquer ground. makimono (handscroll): horizontal scroll in various lengths; a common format for painting in Japan. meisho-e: pictures of famous sites associated with waka poetry. Meisho-e was a central thematic category of yamato-e from about the eleventh century on. Until the sixteenth century, meisho-e included a fairly set number of natural locales in Japan with literary, historical, or religious associations. Later the number of sites increased to include places with little literary or historical precedent. mitate: literally, a comparison; in visual art, usually a comparison, often parodic in nature, of a recent scene with a classical motif. monogatari: historical or fictional prose narratives. monzeki: Buddhist temples and nunneries affiliated with the imperial family. Nanga: indigenous Japanese Southern school of painting. Nihonga (Japanese-style painting): painting of the Meiji, Taish≤, and Sh≤wa eras based on several earlier traditions of Japanese art as well as certain Western styles. ≤ch≤ dent≤ no fukkatsu (rebirth of dynastic traditions): phrase coined in the mid-twentieth century by Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤ and colleagues to refer to a purported nineteenthcentury revival of elite cultural traditions of the Heian-period court. Okakura Kakuz≤ (1862–1913) (a.k.a. Okakura Tenshin): art critic, teacher, and associate of Ernest Fenollosa. okesh≤den (toilette rooms): dressing chambers; an informal private space in the women’s quarters of the palace. oku eshi: chief painter admitted into the inner quarters of the shogun; official painters to the shogunate. The four branches of the Kano school in the Edo period—the Kajibashi Kano, the Kobikich≤ Kano, the Nakabashi Kano, and the Hamach≤ Kano— supplied the oku eshi. Okutaimensho: Inner Reception Hall; a formal public space of the imperial palace. Otsubone: quarters at court for the empress’ attendants. rakuch≥ rakugai-zu (scenes in and around Kyoto): expansive folding-screen compositions depicting city streets in miniature detail arranged in a panoramic, maplike formation. Making its appearance in the sixteenth century, this subject is one of many varieties of genre painting of the time. Rimpa (school of K≤rin; also Rinpa): group of artists—separated by gaps in time—who shared certain stylistic approaches but did not necessarily work in the same studio or

Glossary

221

belong to the same family. In this respect, Rimpa differed from most artistic schools of the Edo period. The term “Rimpa” is misleading in suggesting there was a formal school of artists working under Ogata K≤rin (1658–1716). Although influential, K≤rin did not found the style; he was born more than a decade after the death of Tawaraya S≤tatsu (d. 1643?) and was heavily indebted to S≤tatsu’s work. Often Rimpa is described as a decorative style—indicating a tendency for graphic qualities such as extensive use of rich colors and gold or silver, asymmetric compositions, and planar use of space. Seiry≤den (Clear, Cool Hall): main building of the imperial palace. Until the sixteenth century, the Seiry≤den was the main living quarters of the emperor, but later it was used for ceremonial purposes. The present Seiry≤den of the palace is a nineteenthcentury reconstruction based on a Heian-period original. sengoku jidai (age of wars): protracted phase of civil strife lasting roughly from 1467 to 1568. senmen: fan; a common format for painting in Japan. Sent≤ Gosho: palace for retired emperors; in the early seventeenth century, the Sent≤ Gosho was reconstructed for Gomizunoo in Kyoto. shikishi: square poem sheets; a format for painting in Japan. Shishinden: building for state ceremonies within the imperial palace; important court events were held here, including coronations. shoin (study): style of residential architecture that typically features a group of rooms including a main room that has a writing alcove (tsukeshoin), a display alcove (tokonoma), and shelves. Sh≤sh≤ hakkei-zu (Eight views of the Xiao and Xiang rivers): popular theme from Chinese painting and poetry adopted by Japanese painters and poets. Shugakuin: a villa-and-garden complex built for Emperor Gomizunoo and Empress T≤fukumon’in in the hills of northeastern Kyoto in the mid-seventeenth century. shukuzu: small connoisseur sketches; reduced-size sketches of famous old paintings. s≤shokuteki (decorative): term often used in the twentieth century to describe certain early Edo artworks emphasizing pattern and flat areas of rich color. Edo-period audiences clearly valued decorative arts (applied arts), but many premodern Western critics ranked painting and sculpture as superior. Just as Japanese art was being introduced to the West in the nineteenth century, a broad anti-academic “decorative movement” emerged in Europe and the United States. In response, late-nineteenthcentury exponents of Japanese art praised the decorativeness of Rimpa, for example. sukiya (tastefully discriminating): aesthetic term applied to architecture in seventeenthcentury teahouses at Shugakuin Detached Palace, Katsura Detached Palace, and the Ekan Sans≤. Tsunegoten (ordinary living quarters): originally a building with private rooms for daytime use by the emperor; in the Edo period, a building with formal rooms for a variety of ceremonial and administrative functions.

222

Glossary

ukiyo-e (pictures of the floating world): paintings and woodblock prints that flourished in the Edo period; frequently featuring images of Kabuki actors and courtesans but also including landscapes, cityscapes, and flowers-and-birds. Best known are the richly colored nishiki-e (brocade pictures) developed in the late eighteenth century. waka: Japanese court poetry in thirty-one syllables. yamato-e (pictures of Yamato): Japanese-style painting. “Yamato” refers to the Nara region, considered the ancient heartland of the Japanese people. There are several main styles of yamato-e: one style is visually luxurious, animated with vibrant color and strong pattern; another is more subdued in color with vigorous linear qualities. In thematic terms, yamato-e features Japanese seasonal images and scenes of famous sites associated with waka or scenes and characters from Japanese court poetry and prose narratives including The Tale of Genji, Tales of Ise, and Tale of the Heike. Some yamato-e themes derive from the Heian period. A modernist definition holds that yamato-e is uniquely Japanese and distinct from foreign models—not only Chinese art but also Japanese monochrome-ink painting that follows Chinese models, namely kara-e (Tang painting) and kanga (Han painting). In fact, however, yamato-e owes much to Chinese painting and literature, especially painting and literature of the Tang dynasty (618–907).

Glossary

223

Kanji List

Aburakôji Dainagon Takasada  !"#$% Agedatami  Akashi  Akazome Emon  ! Aki  Aki-no-no  Akiyama Terukazu  ! Amaterasu Ômikami  !" Amidakyô  ! Anegawa  Anzai Un’en  ! ariso 

Arisugawa no Miya Yukihito  !"#

Ariwara no Narihira  ! Asai Nagamasa  ! Asano Mitsuakira  ! Asaoka Okisada  ! Ashigamo-zu tsuitate  !" Ashikaga Takauji  ! Ashikaga Yoshiharu  ! Ashikaga Yoshimitsu  ! Ashikaga Yoshimochi  ! Asukai Masachika  !" Asukai Masatoyo  !" Asukai no Masatsune  !" Asukai Saki no Dainagon Masa’aki  !"#$%&

Atago Dainagon Michitomi  !"#$

Atsuta  bakufu  Ban Zhao  Batô Kannon  ! Bifaji  bijinga 

bijutsu  Bijutsu Shinpô  ! biwa  Bo Juyi  Botanka Shôhaku  !" Bugaku-zu byôbu  !" buke  Buke hyakunin isshu  !"# Buke shohatto  !" buke tensô  ! bun  bunjinga  Bunki  Bunsei  byôbu  chadôgu  chadôka  chanoyu  chashitsu  chatsubo  Chaya  chigaidana  Chikurin shichiken  ! Chikusa Dainagon Ariyoshi  !"#$

Chino Kaori  ! Chiyo  Chôdai-no-ma  ! Chôgonka  Chômyôji  Chônin kôkenroku  !" Chotô  Chûdan-no-ma  chûgû  Chûgû Goten  ! Chûkamon’in  ! chûkei 

Chûko sanjûrokunin  !"# Daigo Fuyumoto  ! Daigoji  daijô daijin  ! daimyô  dainagon  Daini no Sanmi  ! Daishi-kai  Daishôji  Daitokuji  Dan Takuma  Danzan  Date  dattanjin  denju  Dôchô  dôgu  Dong Qichang  Dong Yuan  Donke’in  Edo  Edo nijô oshiro goten  !"#"$

edokoro azukari  e-hyakunin isshu  !" Eikandô  Eiri Genji monogatari  !"#$ Ekan Sansô  ! ema  emaki  Endô Naotsune  ! Enryûji  Fûhime  Fuji  Fûjin-Raijin-zu byôbu  !" Fujioka Sakutarô  !" Fujiwara no Ietaka  ! Fujiwara no Kiyosuke  ! Fujiwara no Mototoshi  ! Fujiwara no Teika  ! Fujiwara no Yoshitsune  ! Fujiwara Nobuzane  ! Fujiwara Okikaze  ! fukko yamato-e  !"

226

Kanji List

Fukui Rikichirô  !" Fukushima Masanori  ! funeboko  funpon-shugi  ! furigana  ! Furukawa Miyuki  ! furukotobumi  !"# ( furukikotofumi 

!"#)

Furuta Oribe  ! fusuma  Fuyuki  fûzokuga  ga  Gadan keiroku  ! Gadô yôketsu  ! gaisen funeboko  ! gajô  gaku  Ganmon  Gaozong  Gasetsu  Gedan-no-ma  ! Gembei Katsushige  !" Genji  Genji-e  Genji gaiden  ! Genji kô  Genji kokagami  ! Genji monogatari  ! Genji monogatari emaki  !"# Genji monogatari kogetsushô  !"#$

Genji monogatari Sekiya Miotsukushi-zu byôbu  !"#$%&'( Genna  genpon  Genroku  Genryô  Gion matsuri  Gion Nankai  ! Gion sairei boko  !" Gion sairei-zu  !" Gion shôja  ! Gôdanshô  Gokômyô  Gokyûsoku-no-ma  !"

Gomizunoo  Gosai  Goshirakawa  Gotô  Gotoba  goyô eshi  ! Goyôzei  Gozu Tennô  guadian  Guangwu  Guhua pinlu  Gyôkô Goten  Gyokuen Kaiô  Gyôson 

hikime kagibana  ! Hino Chûnagon Sukemochi  !"#$

Hino Saki no Dainagon Hirosuke  !"#

%$Hiraga Seibei  !" Hiramatsu Sangi Tokikazu !

! ! !

 !"#

Hirasawa Kôshirô  !" Hishikawa Moronobu  ! hitatare  Hitotsubashi Tokugawa  ! hôgen  Hôgen-Heiji monogatari  !"#

Hachijô no Miya Toshihito  !"

Hachiman  Hachisuka  haikai  haikai no renga  !" Hakusan  Hamuro Juichii Yoritaka  !"#$

Han  Hannya shingyô  ! Han Zhuo  Hara Sankei  Hasegawa Tôhaku  !" Hasu shita-e hyakunin isshu wakakan  !"#$%&'

Hatakeyama  Hatsune  Hayami Gyoshû  ! Hayashibara  Hayashiya Tatsusaburô  !" Heian  Heibonsha  Heike monogatari emaki  !"#

Heike nôkyô  ! hengaku  Hiei  Higashizono Dainagon Motokata  !"#$

Higuchi Chûnagon Nobuyasu  !"#$

hôin  Hôin Tan’yû-hitsu  !" hôjô  hôkaboko  Hôkaiji  Hokekyô  hokkyô  hoko  Hon’ami Kôetsu  !" Honchô gahô taiden  !"# Honchô gashi  ! Honchô jokan  ! Honda Izunokami Tomimasa  !"

Honda Tadatoki  honga  Honmaru  Honpôji  Hôrin Jôshô  ! Hosokawa Yûsai  ! Hotei  Hottô Kokushi  ! Huashi  Hyakunin isshu  ! Hyakunin isshu gazô  !"# Hyakunin isshu te-kagami  !"#

Hyakunin isshu zôsanshô  !"#$

Hyakunin isshu-zu byôbu  !"#$ 

Hyôkeikan

Kanji List

227

Ichijô  Ichijô Kanetô  ! Ichi-no-ma  Idemitsu  Igarashi Dôho  !" Ihara Saikaku  ! Ike no Taiga  Ikeda  Ikeda Kikan  ! Ikeda Mitsumasa  ! Ikenobô Senkô  ! Imadegawa Koresue  !" Imadegawa Udaijin Kinnari  !"#

%$Imayô bijin jûnikei  !"#$ Insei  iro-e tôki  ! Ise Jingû  ! Ise monogatari  ! Ishin Sûden  ! ita ni kakitaru ema  !"#$% Itoya Joun  ! Itsukushima  Itsukushima hômotsu zue  !"#

Iwai Hiromi  ! Iwasa Matabei  !" Iwasaki Yanosuke  !" iwatoyama  Izanagi no Mikoto  !" Izumi Shikibu  ! Jakuren  Jidai fudô uta-awase  !"# Jidaihin tenrankai  !"# Jien  Jikôjikyô  ! Ji’myôin Dainagon Mototoki  !"#

%$Jing Hao  Jingû  jinokuchi  Jishô sanjûrokunin uta-awase-e  !"#$%&

Jittei waka emaki  !"# Jôdan-no-ma  ! Jokun shô 

228

Kanji List

Jôrakuden  Josetsu  Jûjô Genji  ! Jukibon  Juntoku-in gyosei meisho waka nijisshu emaki  !"#$%&'()*+

kabeharitsuke-e  ! kabokuzu  kabuki  kabukimono  ! kachôga  Kaigan  Kaihô Yûsetsu  ! Kaiji higen  ! Kaikan shô  Kajii no Miya Jiin Hôshinnô  !"#

%$kakemono  Kakinomoto no Hitomaro  !" Kakumeiki   Kamakura  kami  Kamo wake-ikazuchi no yashiro no utaawase  !"#$ kana  Kanamori Sôwa  ! kanazôshi  ! kanazôshi jokun  !"# kanbun  Kanbun  Kan’ei  Kan’ei bunka  ! Kan’ei no sanpitsu  !" Kanfugenkyô  ! kanga  kangateki  Kanjinchô  Kano Atsunobu  ! Kano Einô  ! Kano Eitoku  ! Kano Ikkei  ! Kano Kôho  ! Kano Kôi  ! Kano Kôshi  ! Kano Masunobu  !

Kano Mitsunobu  ! Kano Motonobu  ! Kano Naganobu  ! Kano Sanraku  ! Kano Sansetsu  ! Kano Shigenobu  ! Kano Sôshû  ! Kano Takanobu  ! Kano Tanshin  ! Kano Tan’yû  ! Kano Tsunenobu  ! Kano Yasunobu  ! kanpaku  kanshi  Kara  Kara jimbutsu  kara-e  karamono  Karasumaru Dainagon Mitsuo  !"#$

Karasumaru Mitsuhiro  ! Karasumaru Saki no Dainagon Sukeyoshi  !"#$% Kariganeya  kariginu  karuta  =E F kasen  kasen-e  kasen-e hengaku  !" kasen no ema  !" Katsuko  Katsura Rikyû  Katsuta Chikuô  ! Kawagoe  Kazahaya Dainagon Sanetane  !"#$

Kazanin Dainagon Sadanobu  !"#

%$Kazanin Mochishige  !" Keian  Keichô  Keichû  Keisai Eisen  ! Kejôyubon  ! kenjô no sôji  ! Kenjo teijo no han  !" Kenninji 

Kenzan iboku  ! kiin  Kimura Kenkadô  !" Kinchû narabi ni kuge shohatto  !"#

%$Kingin sô unryûmon dôsei kyô bako  !"#$%&'

kinkishoga  ! Kinoshita Chôshôshi  !" Kinoshita Jun’an  ! Kinpishô  Kinsei meika shoga dan  !"#$

Kin’yôshû  kirei sabi  !=E F Kishi Kôkei  Kitamura Kigin  ! Kitano Tenjin  ! Kiyohara Yukinobu  ! Kiyomori  Kobayashi Tadashi  Kôbô Daishi  ! Kobori Enshû  ! Kôchi  Kochô  kôdô  Kôetsu betsuden Takagamine yorai  !"#

%$Kôetsu-bon  Kôetsu-kai  Koga bikô  ! Koga Michitomo  ! Koga Saki no Udaijin Hiromichi  !"#

%$kohitsu  Kohitsu Ryôetsu  ! Kohitsu Ryôhan  ! Kohitsu Ryôsa  ! ko’i  Kojiki  Kôkamon’in  ! Kokin denju  ! Kokinshû  Kokka  kokka Shintô  ! kokugaku  kokusaika 

Kanji List

229

Komura  Kongôji  Konjaku monogatari shû  !" Kôno Motoaki  ! Konoe Naidaijin Motohiro  !"#$

Konoe Nobutada  ! Kôrinha gashû  !" kosetsu  kôtaigô  koten  koten fukkô  ! kotenshugi  ! koten shumi  ! kotenteki bijutsu  !" koto  kuge  Kuge shohatto  !" Kujô  Kujô Sukezane  ! Kujô Udaijin Kaneharu  !"#$

Kumakura Isao  ! Kumazawa Banzan  ! kurashishizumu  !" Kuroda  Kurokawa Harumura  ! Kurokawa Mayori  ! Kusaka  Kuwanomidera  Kuwayama Gyokushû  ! Kyakuden  Kyô Kano  kyôgen  Kyôgoku  Kyôto  Kyû-Date-ke-bon hyakunin isshu gajô  !"#$%&'(

Lienü zhuan  Liu Guandao  Lunyü  machi  machi-eshi  machishû  Maeda 

230

Kanji List

maki-e  makimono  Manji  Manpô kashira-gaki hyakunin isshu taisei  !"#$%&' Manshuin no Miya Nihon Hôshinnô Ryôshô  !"#$%&'( man’yô-gana  ! Man’yôshû  Marinokôji Dainagon Masafusa  !"#$%&

Masuda Don’ô  ! Masunobu  Matsubara Shigeru  Matsudaira Hideyasu  ! Matsudaira Sadanobu  ! Matsudaira Tadanao  ! Matsuho  Matsunaga Teitoku  ! Matsushima  Matsushima-zu byôbu  !" Meiji  Meiji 18–20 nijôrikyû shûzenkôji roku  NUJOM 

!"#$%&

Meireki  Meishô  meisho-e  Meisho jikkei-zu  !" Mengzi  Mi Fu  Midaidokoro  Minamoto no Toshiyori  Minamoto Toyomune  Ming  misemono  mitate  Mitsui Bussan  ! Mitsui Takafusa  ! miyabi  Mizuo Hiroshi  !" Môko shûrai ekotoba  !"# Momoyama  monogatari  monzeki  Môri  Mori Tôru  Motoori Norinaga  !

Murasaki Shikibu  Muryôgikyô   Muromachi  myô  Myôhôin Gyônen Shinnô  !"#$

Myôhôin no Miya Muhon Hôshinnô Gyôjo  !"#$%&' Myôkôji  Myôshinji  Nagoyajô  ! Nakamachi Keiko  ! Nakanoin Dainagon Michishige  !"#$

Nakanoin Michikatsu  ! Nakanoin Michimi  ! Nakanoin Michimura  ! Nakayama Kôyô  ! Nanba Chûnagon Munekazu  !"#$

Nanga  Nankôbô Tenkai  !" nanshûga  Nanzenji  Narikane  Narutaki  Narutaki betsuya  ! Nenjû gyôji emaki  !"# Ne-no-hi  Nichiren  Nihon bijutsushi  !" Nihon Ginkô  ! Nihon shoki  ! Nihonga  Nijô no shiro no gyôkô no den no sashizu  ! "# $ %& Nijô oshiro gyôkô no goten on-e tsuke osashi-zu  !"#$ % &' ()

Nijô oshiro osakuji shosho ozaimoku takaharai chô  ! "#$% &'()*

Nijô Tsunahira  ! Nijôjô  Nijôjô gyôkôki  !"# Nijûshikô  !

nikki  Nikkô  Nikkô Tôshôgû  !" ningyô  ninjô  Ni-no-ma  Ninomaru Goten  !" Nishi Honganji  ! Niwata Saki no Dainagon Shige’eda  !"#

%$nô  Nôin Hôshi  ! Nonoguchi Ryûho  !" Nonomiya Chûnagon Sadabuchi  !"#

%$Nonomura Ninsei  !" Nü jie  Nü lunyü  Nü xiao jing  Nyôgo Gosho  Nyôin Gosho  ! Nyôin Goten  ! Obama  Oda Nobunaga  ! Ogata Kenzan  ! Ogata Kôrin  ! Ogata Sôhaku  ! Ogura  Oka Yoshiko  Okada Kiyoshi  Okakura Kakuzô  ! Okayama  okeshôden  ! oku eshi  Okutaimensho  ! Omuro  Onna shisho  Ono no Takamura  oshie  Otsubone  oyudono  ôchô dentô  ! ôchô dentô no fukkatsu  !"#$

Ôe no Masafusa  ! ôgi 

Kanji List

231

Ôgimachi Saki no Dainagon Sanetoyo  !"#$%& Ôhiroma  Ôhôjô 

Ôimikado Sadaijin Tsunetaka  !"#

%$Ôimikado Tsunemitsu  !"# Ôjin  Ômi hakkei  ! Ômine  Ômura Seigai  Ônin  Ôsakajô Tenshukaku  !"# Ôta Shôko  ! rakuchû rakugai-zu  ! Reizei Tamechika  ! renga  rikka  Rimpa  Rishukyô  rokkasen  Rokujô  Rokuonji  rokushô  rônin  roppô  runesansu  !" Ryû’ei hinami ki  !" Sagami  Saigyô  Saigyô monogatari emaki  !"#

Sakai  Sakai Hôitsu  ! Sakai Tadakatsu  ! Sakaki Hyakusen  ! Sakakibara Satoru  Sambôin  Sanjônishi Sanetaka  !" Sanjûrokkasen gaku  !"# Sanjûrokuninshû  !" sankin kôtai  ! Sankô Jôeki  ! Sanmyaku’in  San-no-ma 

232

Kanji List

Sannomaru Shôzôkan  !"# Sanuki  Sasamegoto  ! Satake  Satomura Jôha  ! Sei Shônagon  ! Seikadô Bunko  !" Seikanji Dainagon Hirofusa  !"#

%$Seiryôden  Seiwa  Sekigahara  Sekiya-Miotsukushi-zu byôbu  !"#$

Sen no Rikyû  Senba Tôshôgû  !" sengoku jidai  ! senmen  Senmen harimaze byôbu  !"#

senmonka  Sennin  Sentô Gosho  ! Senzaishû  seppuku  sesshô  Shi jing  shi-e  Shiga  Shijô  Shijôgawara  ! Shijô-Karasuma  ! shikashû  shikishi  shikishi ema  ! Shimabara no ran  ! Shimizudani Sanenari  !" Shin rokkasen gajô  !"# Shin sanjûrokkasen zujô  !"#

%$Shinbi Shoin  ! Shinbi Taikan  ! Shinden  Shinjôtômon’in  !" Shinkei  Shinkokinshû  ! shinkoku 

Shinmachidôri  Shinsenen  shintai  Shinto/Shintô  Shiragi  Shirakawa Ni’i Masataka  !"#

Shishinden   Shôgoin no Miya Nihon Hôshinnô Dôkan  !"#$%&'( shôheiga  shoin  Shôkadô Shôjô  !" Shokunin uta-awase  ! Shokuruibon  Shokushi  Shôrenin  Shôrenin no Miya Muhon Hôshinnô Sonshô  !"#$%&'( Shôshô hakkei-zu  !" Shôunji  Shu jing  Shûbun  Shugakuin  shuinsen bôeki  !" Shûko jisshu  ! shukuzu  Shunzei  Shûtei Shônin  ! Sima Guang  Soan-bon hyakunin isshu  !"#$

Song  Sono Jun-Daijin Motoyoshi  !"#

Sono Motoka  sôshi  sôshokusei  sôshokuteki  Sôtatsu gashû  ! Sôtatsu-kai  Sugawara Michizane  ! suhama  suibokuga  sukiya  Suminokura Soan  ! Suminokura-bon 

Sumiyoshi Gukei  ! Sumiyoshi Jokei  ! Sumiyoshi môde  Sumiyoshi no yukari  ! Sumiyoshi Taisha  ! Suô  Susanoo no Mikoto  !" Taga Taisha  ! Taishô  Taishokkan  Tajikarao no Mikoto  ! Takagamine  Takaoka  Takatsukasa Kanehiro  ! Takatsukasa Kanpaku Sadaijin Fusasuke  !"#$%&

Takatsukasa Nobuko  ! Takayama Noboru  Takeno Jôô  ! Takeno Megumi  Taketori monogatari  ! Taki Seiichi  Takuan Sôhô  ! Tamamushi Satoko  ! Tamazushima Myôjin  !" Tanaka Chikayoshi  ! Tanaka Hidemichi  ! Tanaka Ichimatsu  ! Tanaka Totsugen  ! Tang  Tani Bunchô  Tani Shôan  Tansei jakubokushû  !" Tao Yuanming (Tô Enmei)  Tawaraya Sôsetsu  ! Tawaraya Sôtatsu  ! Teika jittei  ! Teika-ei tsukinami kachô uta-e  !"#$%&

Teikan-zu  Teikan zusetsu  ! Teishitsu gigeiin  !" Tenbôrin Udaijon Kintomi  !"#

%$Tendai  tenka taihei  xz

Kanji List

233

tennô  tennôsei  Toba Sôjô  ! Tôfukumon’in Masako  !"# Tôhoku  Tokitsugu kyôki  ! tokonoma  Tokudaiji Sadaijin Kinnobu  !"#$

Tokugawa Hidetada  ! Tokugawa Iemitsu  ! Tokugawa Ietsuna  ! Tokugawa Ieyasu  ! Tokugawa jikki  ! Tokugawa Reimeikai  !" Tokugawa Tsunayoshi  ! Tokugawa Yoshimune  ! Torii Kiyonobu  ! Tosa Hiromichi  ! Tosa Mitsumochi  ! Tosa Mitsunari  ! Tosa Mitsunori  ! Tosa Mitsuoki  ! Tosa Mitsuyoshi  ! Toshitada  Tôshôgû  Tôshun  Tôun-hitsu  Tôyô bijutsu taikan  !"# Tôyô Sesshû  ! Toyokuni (Hôkoku)  Toyotomi Hidetsugu  ! Toyotomi Hideyori  ! Toyotomi Hideyoshi  ! Tsuchida Sôtaku  ! Tsugaru  Tsuji Nobuo  Tsunegoten  Tsuruko  Tsuta-no-hosomichi-zu  !" Udda Jûemon Kagenori  !"#

%$Udda Jûemon Kinnori  !"#

%$Udda Jûemon Mitsunori  !"#

%$234

Kanji List

ukiyo-e  ukon’e no shôgen  !" ushin  Ushizu  uta-e  utamakura  Utsuyama  waka  Waka jittei gajô  !"# wakakan  Wakamurasaki  Wakana-jô  Wakimoto Tôkurô  !" Wakisaka  Wang Mang Wang Yangming  Wanli  wayô  Xiao jing  Xie He  Xuanzong  yamaboko  yamabushi  Yamaga Sokô  ! Yamamoto Shunshô  ! Yamamoto Soken  ! Yamane Yûzô  ! Yamashina  Yamashina Tokitsugu  ! yamato-e  Yamazaki Ansai  ! Yamazaki Sôkan  ! Yanagihara Dainagon Sukeyuki  !"#$

Yanagisawa Kien  ! Yang Guifei  Yasaka Jinja  ! Yashiro Yukio  ! Yasumura Toshinobu  ! Yôgenin  Yon-no-ma  yorimachi  Yuan  yûgei 

yûgen  Yûsai shô  zashiki  Zen  Zenrinji 

Zhao Mengfu  Zhou  Zhu Xi  Zôho kôko gafu  !"# zu 

Kanji List

235

Selected Bibliography

Primary Sources Asaoka Okisada. Koga bik≤. 3 vols. plus index revised and enlarged by ∑ta Kin as Z≤tei koga bik≤. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1904. Edo bakufu nikki. Historiographic Institute, University of Tokyo, Tokyo. Facsimile. Edo shiry≤ s≤sho. Tokyo: Shinjimbutsu ∑raisha, 1967. Gy≤jo H≤shinn≤. Gy≤jo h≤shinn≤ nikki. In Murayama Shuichi, ed., My≤h≤in shiry≤, vol. 1. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1976. H≤rin J≤sh≤. Kakumeiki. 6 vols. Kyoto: Shibunkaku Shuppan, 1997. Kano Ein≤, comp. Honch≤ gashi (1693). In Kasai Masaaki, ed., Yakuch≥ honch≤ gashi. Tokyo: D≤h≤sha, 1985. Kinch≥ mikurai gosho shosho goden e tsuke no ch≤. 2 vols. Tokyo: Kunaich≤ Shory≤bu. Kuwayama Gyokush≥. Kaiji higen. In Sakazaki Tan, ed., Nihon kaigaron taikei, vol. 1. Tokyo: Meich≤ Fuky≥kai, 1980. ∑uchi nikki. Historiographic Institute, University of Tokyo, Tokyo. Facsimile. Sakazaki Tan, ed. Nihon garon taikan. Tokyo: Meich≤ Fuky≥kai, 1979–1980. Tokugawa jikki. Compiled by Narushima Motonau. In Kuroita Katsumi, ed., Shintei z≤ho kokushi taikei, vols. 38–47. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1964–1966. Tosa Mitsuoki, comp. Honch≤ gah≤ taiden. In Sakazaki Tan, ed., Nihon garon taikan. Tokyo: Meich≤ Fuky≥kai, 1979–1980. Yamashina Tokitsugu. Tokitsugu ky≤ki. 13 vols. In Dai Nihon kokiroku. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1959–1987. Secondary Sources Addiss, Stephen. The Art of Zen: Paintings and Calligraphy by Japanese Monks 1600– 1925. New York: Abrams, 1989. ———. Obaku: Zen Painting and Calligraphy. Lawrence, Kans.: Spencer Museum of Art, 1978. Addiss, Stephen, Thomas J. Rimer, et al. Shisendo: Hall of the Poetry Immortals. New York: Weatherhill, 1991. Aimi K≤u. “S≤tatsu F≥raijin to My≤k≤ji.” In Nihon shoshigaku taikei 45, 1 Aimi K≤u sh≥. Tokyo: Seish≤d≤ Shoten, 1985. Akiyama Terukazu. “Genji-e no keifu.” In Akiyama Ken, ed., Zusetsu Nihon no koten 7 Genji monogatari. Tokyo: Sh≥eisha, 1988. ———. Heian jidai sezokuga no kenky≥. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1964. Akiyama Terukazu, Tanaka Ichimatsu, and Mizuo Hiroshi. “Zadankai: Freer Gallery z≤ S≤tatsu no Matsushima-zu by≤bu o megutte.” Kokka 958 (1973):5–26.

Akunuma Taka. “Nonomura Ninsei-saku iroe Rimpa-mon chawan—Nonomura Ninsei-saku iroe Kingin ry≥j≥ chawan.” Kokka 1232 (1998):21–25. Aoyama Tadakazu. Kanaz≤shi jokun bungei no kenky≥. Tokyo: ∑f≥sha, 1982. Asao Naohiro. “Bakuhansei to tenn≤.” In Taikei Nihon kokkashi. Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Daigaku Shuppankai, 1975. Asao Naohiro with Marius B. Jansen. “Shogun and Tenn≤.” In John Whitney Hall, Keiji Nagahara, and Kozo Yamamura, eds., Japan Before Tokugawa: Political Consolidation and Economic Growth, 1500–1650. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981. Ashmole, Bernard. Architect and Sculptor in Classical Greece. New York: New York University Press, 1972. Assmann, Jan. Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung, und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen. Munich: Beck, 1992–1997. Baroni, Helen J. Obaku Zen: The Emergence of the Third Sect of Zen in Tokugawa Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2000. Befu Harumi. “Village Autonomy and Articulation with the State.” In John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen, eds., Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968. Bernstein, Gail Lee. Recreating Japanese Women, 1600–1945. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Berry, Mary Elizabeth. The Culture of Civil War in Kyoto. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. ———. Hideyoshi. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1982. ———. “Public Peace and Private Attachment: The Goals and Conduct of Power in Early Modern Japan.” Journal of Japanese Studies 12(2) (1986):237–271. Binyon, Laurence. Painting in the Far East. London: Edward Arnold, 1913. Birge, Bettine. “Chu Hsi and Women’s Education.” In W. Theodore de Bary and John W. Chaffee, eds., Neo-Confucian Education: The Formative Stage. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. Bix, Herbert P. Peasant Protest in Japan, 1590–1884. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986. Bloom, Allan. Closing of the American Mind. New York: Touchstone Books, 1988. ———. The Western Canon: The Books and Schools of Ages. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1994. Board of Chamberlains, Imperial Household, ed. Art Masterpieces from the Imperial Collection: Calligraphy. Vol. 2. Tokyo: Asahi Shinbun, 1987. Bodart-Bailey, Beatrice. “The Persecution of Confucianism in Early Tokugawa Japan.” Monumenta Nipponica 48(3) (Autumn 1993):293–314. ———, ed. Kaempfer’s Japan: Tokugawa Culture Observed. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999. Bolitho, Harold. “The Dog Shogun.” In Wang Gungwu, ed., Self and Biography: Essays on the Individual and Society in Asia. Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1975. ———. Treasures Among Men. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974. Boston Museum of Fine Arts, ed. Courtly Splendor: Twelve Centuries of Treasures from Japan. Boston: Boston Museum of Fine Arts, 1990. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Translated by Richard Nice. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1984.

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Bowring, Richard. Murasaki Shikibu: The Tale of Genji. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Boxer, C. R. The Christian Century in Japan, 1549–1650. London: Cambridge University Press, 1951. Brower, Robert H., and Earl Miner. Japanese Court Poetry. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1961. Brown, Kendall H. The Politics of Reclusion: Painting and Power in Momoyama Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1997. ———. “Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ as ‘Tea Painter.’ ” Chanoyu Quarterly 49 (1987):7–40. Brown, Yu-ying. “Kaempfer’s Album of Famous Sights of Seventeenth Century Japan.” British Library Journal 15(1) (1989):90–103. Brownlee, John S. Japanese Historians and the National Myths, 1600–1945: The Age of the Gods and Emperor Jinmu. Vancouver: UBC Press, 1997. Bruschke-Johnson, Lee. “The Calligraphy of Konoe Nobutada: Reassessing the Influence of Aristocrats on the Art and Politics of Early Seventeenth-Century Japan.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Leiden, 2002. Butler, Lee A. “Court and Bakufu in Early 17th Century Japan.” Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 1991. ———. Emperor and Aristocracy in Japan, 1467–1680. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002. ———. “Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Regulations for the Court: A Reappraisal.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 54(2) (1994):509–551. Carter, Steven D. Literary Patronage in Late Medieval Japan. Michigan Papers in Japanese Studies, 23. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1993. Chibbett, David. The History of Japanese Printing and Book Illustration. Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1977. Chino Kaori. “Bijutsukan, bijutsu shigaku no ry≤iki ni miru jend≠ rons≤.” In Kumakura Takaaki, Chino Kaori, et al., eds., Onna? Nihon? Bi? Tokyo: Kei≤ Gijuku Daigaku Shuppankai, 1999. ———. “Gender in Japanese Art.” Translated by Joshua S. Mostow. Aesthetics (Japanese Society for Aesthetics) 7 (1996):49–68. ———. “Nihon bijutsu no jend≠.” Bijutsushi 136 (March 1994):235–246. ———. “Tenn≤-no-haha no tame no kaiga—Nanzenji ∑h≤j≤ no sh≤hekiga o megutte.” In Chino Kaori, Suzuki Tokiko, and Mabuchi Akiko, eds., Biijutsu to jend≠— hitaish≤ no shisen. Tokyo: Bruecke, 1997. Chino Kaori and Nishi Kazuo. Fuikushion toshite no kaiga. Tokyo: Perikansha, 1991. Chino Kaori, Suzuki Tokiko, and Mabuchi Akiko, eds. Biijutsu to jend≠—hitaish≤ no shisen. Tokyo: Bruecke, 1997. Chino Kaori, Kamei Wakana, and Ikeda Shinobu, eds. “H≠b≠do Daigaku Sakura Bijutsukan Genji monogatari gach≤.” Kokka 1222 (Winter 1997–1998). Clark, Timothy. “Mitate-e: Some Thoughts, and a Summary of Recent Writings.” Impressions 19 (1997):6–27. Clunas, Craig. Material Culture and Social Status in Early Modern China. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991. ———. Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997.

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Coaldrake, William H. Architecture and Authority in Japan. London: Routledge, 1996. ———. “Edo Architecture and Tokugawa Law.” Monumenta Nipponica 36(3) (Autumn 1981):263–269. Commission Impériale du Japon, ed. Histoire de l’art du Japon. Paris: Maurice de Brunoff, 1900. Cooper, Michael, ed. They Came to Japan: An Anthology of European Reports on Japan, 1543–1640. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981. Cranston, Edwin A. “Poem Cards: Waka and the Kyoto Renaissance.” In Felice Fischer, ed., The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000. Cranston, Fumiko. “Takagamine Colony: K≤etsu at Takagamine.” In Felice Fischer, ed., The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000. Crawcour, E. S. “Changes in Japanese Commerce in the Tokugawa Period.” In John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen, eds., Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968. Cunningham, Michael R. The Triumph of Japanese Style: Sixteenth-Century Art in Japan. Cleveland: Cleveland Museum of Art, 1991. “Daigoji no h≤motsu tenkan.” Kaiga S≤shi 107 (31 December 1895):2 Daishi-kai, ed. Daishi-kai tenkan zuroku. Vol. 1. Tokyo: Shinbi Shoin, 1911. Dalby, Liza Crihfield. Kimono: Fashioning Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. De Bary, W. Theodore, and John W. Chaffee, eds. Neo-Confucian Education: The Formative Stage. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. Doi Kumiko. “Goy≤ maki eshi K≤ami Ch≤j≥.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. ———. “Nikki ni shirusareta urushi.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1988. Doi Tsugiyoshi. Kinsei no Nihon kaiga no kenky≥. Tokyo: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1970. ———. Momoyama Decorative Painting. Translated by Edna B. Crawford. New York: Weatherhill/Heibonsha, 1977. Dore, R. P. Education in Tokugawa Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1965. Earl, David Magarey. Emperor and Nation in Japan: Political Thinkers of the Tokugawa Period. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1964. Eliseeff, Danielle, and Vadime Eliseeff. Art of Japan. Translated by I. Mark Paris. New York: Abrams, 1985. Elison, George. Deus Destroyed: The Image of Christianity in Early Modern Japan. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973. Elison, George, and Bardwell L. Smith, eds. Warlords, Artists, and Commoners. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1981. Faure, Bernard. The Rhetoric of Immediacy: A Cultural Critique of Chan/Zen Buddhism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991. Fenollosa, Ernest. Epochs of Chinese and Japanese Art. Vol. 2. New York: Dover, 1963. Fischer, Felice. “Introduction” and “Handscrolls: The Flowering of Artistic Collaboration.” In Felice Fischer, ed., The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000.

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———, ed. The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000. Fister, Patricia. Japanese Women Artists, 1600–1900. Lawrence, Kans.: Spencer Museum of Art, 1988. ———. Kinsei no josei gakkatachi: Bijutsu to jend≠. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1994. Fujikake Shizunari. “Iwasa Matabei no gaf≥.” Kokka 391 (December 1922):171–177. Fujino Tamotsu. Bakuhan taiseishi no kenky≥. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1961. Fujioka Michio. Shinch≤: Ky≤to gosho. Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1987. Fujiwara Yuchiku. Rikka: The Soul of Japanese Flower Arrangement. Tokyo: Shufunotomo, 1978. Fukaya Katsumi. “Bakuhansei kokka to tenn≤: Kan’eiki o ch≥shin ni.” In Kitajima Masamoto, ed., Bakuhansei kokka seiritsu katei no kenky≥: Kan’eiki o ch≥shin ni. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1978. Fukui Rikichir≤. Bijutsu. Tokyo: Seinen Fuky≥kai, 1931. ———. “K≤rin k≤,” pts. 1–3. Geibun 6 (1915):61–90, 65–98, and 42–79. ———. “Momoyama jidai no bijutsu.” In Nihon Rekishi Chiri Gakkai, ed., AzuchiMomoyama jidaishi ron. Tokyo: Jiny≥sha, 1915. Furukawa Miyuki. Z≤ho k≤ko gafu. Vol. 1. Revised by Kurokawa Mayori. Tokyo: Y≥rind≤, 1882. Gerd, Lester. “The Blossoming of Chonin Art and Culture in Japan.” Arts of Asia 24(1) (1994):78–88. Gerhart, Karen M. The Eyes of Power: Art and Early Tokugawa Authority. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999. ———. “Honch≤ Gashi and Painting Programs: Case Studies of Nij≤ Castle’s Ninomaru Palace and Nagoya Castle’s Honmaru Palace.” Ars Orientalis 28 (1999):67–97. ———. “Issues of Talent and Training in the Seventeenth-Century Kano Workshop.” Ars Orientalis 31 (2001):103–128. ———. “Kano Tan’y≥ and H≤rin J≤sh≤: Patronage and Artistic Practice.” Monumenta Nipponica 55(4) (Winter 2000):483–508. ———. “Tokugawa Authority and Chinese Exemplars: The Teikan Zusetsu Murals of Nagoya Castle.” Monumenta Nipponica 52(1) (1997):1–34. Gifushi Rekishi Hakubutsukan, ed. ∑baku—Zen to geijutsu, Ingen Zenshi tanj≤ 400 nen kinen. Gifu: Gifushi Rekishi Hakubutsukan, 1992. Gluck, Carol. Japan’s Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. Glum, Peter. “Layers of Meaning and Lyric Echoes in a Japanese Screen Painting of the Sotatsu School.” Oriental Art 26(1) (1980):72–81. Graham, Patricia J. Tea of the Sages: The Art of Sencha. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998. Graybill, Maribeth, Manabe Shunsh≤, and Sadako Ohki. Days of Discipline and Grace: Treasures from the Imperial Buddhist Convents of Kyoto. New York: Institute for Medieval Japanese Studies, 1998. Grilli, Elise. The Art of the Japanese Screen. Tokyo: Weatherhill, 1971. Groom, Gloria, ed. Beyond the Easel: Decorative Paintings by Bonnard, Vuillard, Denis, and Roussel. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001. Gropius, Walter, ed. Katsura. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960.

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Grossberg, Kenneth Alan. Japan’s Renaissance: The Politics of the Muromachi Bakufu. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981. Guillory, John. “Canon.” In Frank Lentricchia and Thomas McLaughlin, eds., Critical Terms for Literary Study. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990. ———. Cultural Capital: The Problem of Literary Canon Formation. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. Guth, Christine M. E. Art, Tea, and Industry: Masuda Takashi and the Mitsui Circle. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. ———. Art of Edo Japan: The Artist and the City 1615–1868. New York: Abrams, 1996. ———. “Masuda Don’o: Tea and Art Collecting in the Meiji Era.” Chanoyu Quarterly 53 (1988):7–34. ———. “Varied Trees: An I’nen Seal Screen in the Freer Gallery of Art.” Archives of Asian Art 39 (1986):48–61. Haga K≤shir≤. Wabicha no kenky≥. Kyoto: Tank≤sha, 1978. Hall, John Carey. “Japanese Feudal Laws, 3: The Tokugawa Legislation.” Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan 38(4) (1911):269–331. Hall, John W. “The Bakuhan System.” In Marius B. Jansen, ed., Warrior Rule in Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. ———. “Feudalism in Japan—A Reassessment” and “The New Look of Tokugawa History.” In John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen, eds., Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968. ———. “Kyoto as Historical Background.” In John W. Hall and Jeffrey P. Mass, eds., Medieval Japan: Essays in Institutional History. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974. ———. “Rule by Status in Tokugawa Japan.” Journal of Japanese Studies 1(1) (1974): 39–49. ———, ed. The Cambridge History of Japan. Vol. 4: Early Modern Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Hall, John W., and Marius B. Jansen, eds. Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968. Hall, John W., Keiji Nagahara, and Kozo Yamamura, eds. Japan Before Tokugawa: Political Consolidation and Economic Growth, 1500–1650. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981. Hamanaka Shinji. “Nihon ni shinkotenshugi kaiga wa atta ka? 1920–30 nendai Nihonga o kensh≤ suru: ‘Shinkotenshugi’ te nani?—kenky≥ n≤to yori.” In Yamatane Bijutsukan kaikan sanj≥ sh≥nen kinen shinpojiumu h≤kokusho. Yamatane: Yamatane Bijutsukan, 1999. Hanley, Susan B. Everyday Things in Premodern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Haraguchi Shizuko. “Kakumeiki ni mieru emakimono.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Harootunian, H. D. Things Seen and Unseen: Discourse and Ideology in Tokugawa Nativism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988. Hashimoto Fumio. Architecture in the Shoin Style: Japanese Feudal Residences. Translated by H. Mack Horton. Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1981.

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Haskell, Francis, and Nicholas Penny. Taste and the Antique: The Lure of Classical Sculpture, 1500–1900. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981. Hay, John. “Some Questions Concerning Classicism in Relation to Chinese Art.” Art Journal 47(1) (Spring 1988). Hayashi Susumu. “Shinshutsu no S≤tatsu-hitsu Y≤bai-zu by≤bu ni tsuite.” Bijutushi 147 (1999):152–153. Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤. Ch≥sei bunka no kich≤. Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1953. ———. Kinsei dent≤ bunkaron. Tokyo: S≤gensha, 1974. ———. Koten bunka no s≤z≤. Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1964. ———. Machish≥: Ky≤to ni okeru “shimin” keiseishi 59 Ch≥≤ shinsho. Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1964. ———. Nihon bunkashi. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1988. ———. “S≤tatsu no suiboku sugitoe” Kobijutsu 6 (October 1964):71–105. ———, ed. Shiry≤ taikei: Nihon no rekishi 4 Kinsei. Osaka: ∑saka Shoseki, 1979. ———. Uji shishi 3 Kinsei no rekishi to keikan. Uji: Uji Shiyakusho, 1976. Heinrich, Amy Vladeck, ed. Currents in Japanese Culture: Translations and Transformations. New York: Columbia University Press, 1983. Henderson, Dan Fenno. “The Evolution of Tokugawa Law.” In John W. Hall and Marius B. Jansen, eds., Studies in the Institutional History of Early Modern Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968. Hickman, Money L., ed. Japan’s Golden Age: Momoyama. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996. Hirabayashi Moritoku et al. Essays: Twelve Centuries of Japanese Art from the Imperial Collections. Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, 1997. Hirsch, E. D., Jr. Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know. New York: Vintage Books, 1988. Hiruma Hisashi. “Edo no kaich≤.” In Nishiyama Matsunosuke, ed., Edo ch≤nin no kenky≥, vol. 2. Tokyo: Yoshikawa K≤bunkan, 1973. Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terence Ranger, eds. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983–1997. “Hon’ami K≤etsu.” Yamato Bunka 45 (August 1966):42–48. Hurst, G. Cameron, III. Insei: Abdicated Sovereigns in the Politics of Late Heian Japan, 1086–1185. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976. Hy≥ga Susumu. “Chaya ni miru s≥ki no k≥kan.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Ienaga Sabur≤. J≤dai yamato-e zenshi. Rev. ed. Tokyo: Bokusui Shob≤, 1966. ———, ed. Iwanami k≤za Nihon rekishi 10 Kinsei. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1962–1963. Ii Haruki. Genji monogatari ch≥shakushi no kenky≥. Tokyo: ∑f≥sha, 1980. Ikegami, Eiko. The Taming of the Samurai: Honorific Individualism and the Making of Modern Japan. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995. Ishii Hisayasu et al. Court and Samurai in an Age of Transition: Medieval Paintings and Blades from the Gotoh Museum, Tokyo. New York: Japan Society Gallery, 1990. Ishikawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan, ed. Konoeke Y≤mei Bunko no meih≤. Ishikawa: Ishikawa Kenritsu Rekishi Hakubutsukan, 1988.

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Ishikawa Tadashi. Imperial Villas of Kyoto. Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1970. ———. Ky≤to no riky≥. Tokyo: H≤shob≤, 1966. Ishikawa Tadashi, Shirahata Yoshi, and Takeda Tsuneo, eds. Miyako no miyabi: Kinsei no ky≥tei bunkaten. Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1988. It≤ Munehiro. “Rakuhoku—Ents≥ji no enkaku—Sh≤kokuji matsu kara Nanzenji matsu e.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. ———. “Shoki bakusei to H≤rin J≤sh≤.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. It≤ Tasabur≤. “The Book Banning Policy of the Tokugawa Shogunate.” Acta Asiatica 22 (1972):36–61. It≤ Toshiko. Ise monogatari-e. Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1984. ———. “Keich≤ j≥ichinen j≥ichigatsu j≥ichinichi no K≤etsu shikishi.” Yamato Bunka 45 (August 1966):42–48. Itoh Teiji. Imperial Gardens of Japan. New York: Weatherhill, 1970. ———. “Kobori Ensh≥: Architectural Genius and Chanoyu Master.” Chanoyu Quarterly 44 (1985):7–37. ———, ed. Katsura. Tokyo: Shinkenchikusha, 1983. Iwada Hisako. “Kakumeiki no naka no Imari.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Iwama Kaori. “Gion-e to Kaih≤ Y≥setsu.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. ———. “Shugakuin hakkei.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. ———. “Tosa Mitsuoki to kinri edokoro no fukk≤.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Jansen, Marius B., ed. Warrior Rule in Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Jones, Sumie, ed. Imaging/Reading Eros. Bloomington: East Asian Studies Center, Indiana University, 1996. Jordan, Brenda G., and Victoria Weston, eds., Copying the Master and Stealing His Secrets: Talent and Training in Japanese Painting (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2003). Kagotani Machiko. Josei no chanoyu. Kyoto: Tank≤sha, 1985. Kamada Michitaka. Kinsei toshi, Ky≤to. Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1976. Kamei Wakana. “Suntory bijutsukanz≤ Hie sann≤-Gion sairei-zu by≤bu no seisaku ito: Ky≤to to ∑mi o miru manazashi.” Kokka 1238 (December 1998):3–16. Kamens, Edward. “The Past in the Present: Fujiwara Teika and the Traditions of Japanese Poetry.” In Carolyn Wheelwright, ed., Word in Flower: The Visualization of Classical Literature in 17th-Century Japan. New Haven: Yale University Gallery, 1989. Kanagawa Kenritsu Hakubutsukan, ed. Kan’ei no hana: Gomizunootei to T≤fukumon’in Masako. Tokyo: Kasumi Kaikan, 1996. Kasanoin Jikun et al. Seasons of Sacred Celebration: Flowers and Poetry from an Imperial Convent. New York: Institute for Medieval Japanese Studies/Weatherhill, 1998.

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Kasaya Kazuhiko. “Nihon kinsei shakai no atarashii rekishiz≤ o motomette.” Nihonshi Kenky≥ 333 (May 1990):35–61. Kawahara Masahiko. The Ceramic Art of Ogata Kenzan. Translated by Richard L. Wilson. Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1985. Kawamoto Shigeo, Kawamoto Keiko, and Miura Masayuki. “Kenj≤ no s≤ji no kenky≥.” Kokka 1028 (1979):9–28 and 1029 (1979):7–31. Kawasaki Hiroshi. “ ‘Shosoyogin’ ni arawareta K≤rin to Kenzan.” Kobijutsu 81 (1987):58–90 and 82 (1987):84–90. Keene, Donald. World Within Walls: Japanese Literature of the Pre-Modern Era, 1600–1878. New York: Grove Press, 1976. Kemp, Wolfgang. “The Work of Art and Its Beholder: The Methodology and Aesthetics of Reception.” In Mark A. Cheetham, Michael Ann Holly, and Keith Moxey, eds., The Subjects of Art History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Kihara Toshie. “H≤rin J≤sh≤ kishin no Kano Tan’y≥ hitsu Kach≤-zu tsuitate ni tsuite.” Nihon no Bijutsu K≤gei 662 (1993). ———. “Kano Tan’y≥ to Sh≤kokujiz≤ Kach≤-zu tsuitate.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. ———. “Kano Tan’y≥ hitsu Sh≤sh≤ hakkei-zu by≤bu.” Kokka 1259 (September 2000): 17–20. ———. “The Search for Profound Delicacy: The Art of Kano Tan’y≥.” In Miyeko Murase and Judith G. Smith, eds., The Arts of Japan: An International Symposium. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000. ———. Y≥bi no tanky≥: Kano Tan’y≥ ron. 2 vols. Suita: ∑saka Daigaku Shuppankai, 1998. Kinoshita Kyoko. “Books: The Advent of Movable-Type Printing: The Early Keich≤ Period and Kyoto Cultural Circles.” In Felice Fischer, ed., The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000. Kirihata Ken, ed. Inishie no miyabi na sekai: ∑ch≤ no asobi. Kyoto: Shik≤sha, 1992. Kishi K≤kei. “Ne-no-hi no tana oyobi Itsukushima ky≤kan ni tsuite.” In K≤etsu Association, ed., K≤etsu. Kyoto: Uns≤d≤, 1916. Kita, Sandy. “The Bulls of Ch≤my≤-ji: A Joint Work by S≤tatsu and Mitsuhiro.” Monumenta Nipponica 47(4) (Winter 1992):492–520. ———. “An Illustration of the Ise monogatari: Matabei and the Two Worlds of Ukiyo.” Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art (September 1984):252–267. ———. The Last Tosa: Iwasa Katsumochi Matabei, Bridge to Ukiyo-e. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999. Kitano Yoshie. “Tenky≥in J≤dan-no-ma/Ichi-no-ma sh≤hekiga ni kansuru ikk≤satsu— Kano Ikkei K≤s≤sh≥ to no kanren ni tsuite.” Kokka 1253 (March 2000):21–26. Kitazawa Noriaki. Me no shinden: “Bijutsu” juy≤shi n≤to. Tokyo: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1989. Ko, Dorothy. Teachers of the Inner Chambers: Women and Culture in SeventeenthCentury China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994. Kobayashi Tadashi. “Ed≤ jidai kanga y≤shiki no seiritsu.” In Kobayashi Tadashi and Murashige Yasushi, eds., Kach≤ no sekai 5 Sh≤sha na s≤shokubi: Edo shoki no kach≤. Tokyo: Gakken, 1981.

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———. Tokugawa Village Practice: Class, Status, Power, Law. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Osaka Shiritsu Bijutsukan, ed. K≤etsu no sho—Keich≤-Genna-Kan’ei no meihitsu. Osaka: Osaka City Museum, 1990. ∑ta Sh≤ko. “S≤tatsu no Matsushima by≤bu.” In E wa Kataru, vol. 9. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1995. Ozaki Yoshimichi. “Kan≤ha to kuge shakai—shijis≤ kakudai e mukete.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Pekarik, Andrew. Japanese Lacquer, 1600–1900. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1980. ———, ed. Ukifune. New York: Columbia University Press, 1982. Phillips, Quitman E. “Honch≤ Gashi and the Kano Myth.” Archives of Asian Art 67 (1994):46–57. ———. “The Price Shuten D≤ji Screens: A Study of Visual Narrative.” Ars Orientalis 26 (1996):1–22. Pincus, Leslie. Authenticating Culture in Japan: Kuki Sh≥z≤ and the Rise of National Aesthetics. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Plutschow, Herbert. Matsuri: The Festivals of Japan. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1996. Pollack, David. The Fracture of Meaning: Japan’s Synthesis of China from the Eighth Through the Eighteenth Centuries. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986. Ponsonby-Fane, Richard A. The Fortunes of the Emperors: Studies in Revolution, Exile, Abdication, Usurpation, and Deposition in Ancient Japan. Washington, D.C.: University Publications of America, 1979. ———. The Imperial House of Japan. Kyoto: Ponsonby Memorial Society, 1959. ———. Kyoto: Its History and Vicissitudes Since Its Foundations in 792. Hong Kong: Rumford Printing Press, 1931. Powers, Martin J. Art and Political Expression in Early China. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991. Powers, Martin, et al. “The Problems of Classicism.” Art Journal 47(1) (Spring 1988). Qui, Peipei. “Adaptation and Transformation: A Study of Taoist Influence on Early Seventeenth-Century Haikai.” In Amy Vladeck Heinrich, ed., Currents in Japanese Culture: Translations and Transformations. New York: Columbia University Press, 1983. Rambelli, Fabio. “Religion, Ideology of Domination, and Nationalism: Kuroda Toshio on the Discourse of Shinkoku.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 23 (1996):387–426. Ravina, Mark. Land and Lordship in Early Modern Japan. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999. Reizei Tamehito. “H≤rin J≤sh≤ to Fujitani Tamesato—Hitomaro-zu o megutte.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds. Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Richter, David, ed. The Critical Tradition: Classic Texts and Contemporary Trends. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1989.

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Ridgway, Brunilde Sismondo. Fourth Century Styles in Greek Sculpture. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997. Rodd, Laurel Rasplica, and Mary Catherine Henkenius, trans. Kokinsh≥: A Collection of Poems Ancient and Modern. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984. Röpke, Ian Martin. Historical Dictionary of Osaka and Kyoto. Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press, 1999. Rosenfield, John M. Extraordinary Persons: Works by Eccentric, Nonconformist Japanese Artists of the Early Modern Era (1580–1868) in the Collection of Kimiko and John Powers. Cambridge, Mass.: Sackler Museum, 1999. ———. Japanese Arts of the Heian Period: 794–1185. New York: Asia House Gallery, 1967. ———. “Japanese Studio Practice: The Tosa Family and the Imperial Painting Office in the Seventeenth Century.” In Peter M. Lukehart, ed., The Artist’s Workshop: Studies in the History of Art, vol. 38. Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1993. ———, ed. Song of the Brush: Japanese Paintings from the Sans≤ Collection. Seattle: Seattle Art Museum, 1979. Rosenfield, John M., et al. The Courtly Tradition in Japanese Art and Literature: Selections from the Hofer and Hyde Collections. Cambridge, Mass.: Fogg Art Museum, 1973. Rosenfield, John M., and Shimada Shujiro. Traditions of Japanese Art: Selections from the Kimiko and John Powers Collection. Cambridge, Mass.: Fogg Art Museum, 1973. Saitama Kenritsu Hakubutsukan, ed. Jotei: Meish≤ tenn≤ to shogun Iemitsu— Matsudaira Nobutsuna to sono jidai. Tokyo: Kasumi Kaikan, 1997. Sait≤ Hidetoshi, ed. Gosho to Katsurag≥ 6 K≤shitsu no meih≤. Tokyo: Tokyo National Museum, 1999. ———, ed. Kinsei ky≥tei no bijutsu: Shugakuin to Ky≤to Gosho. Tokyo: Gakken, 1988. Sait≤ Hidetoshi and Tsuji Nobuo, eds. Kinsei ky≥tei bijutsu 19 Nihon bijutsu zensh≥. Tokyo: Gakken, 1979. Sait≤ Takamasa. “The Teabowls of Hon’ami K≤etsu.” In Felice Fischer, ed., The Arts of Hon’ami K≤etsu, Japanese Renaissance Master. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2000. Sakai City Museum, ed. Genji monogatari no kaiga. Sakai: Sakai City Museum, 1986. ———. Sumiyoshi Taisha—Utamakura no sekai. Sakai: Sakai City Museum, 1984. Sakai Tetsuo. “Kuwayama Gyokush≥ no garon ni tsuite.” Bijutsu Shigaku 2 (1979):139–154. Sakakibara Satoru, ed. Tosa, Sumiyoshi-ha, Edo meisaku gach≤ zensh≥. Tokyo: Shinshind≤, 1993–1994. Sanekata Y≤ko. “Shinwa naki shinwa: Edokoro azukari Tosa Mitsuoki no henreki.” Bijutsu Fuor≠mu 1 (Autumn 1999):35–40. ———. “Tosa Mitsuoki no ‘iro’ to ‘sumi’—Suma Akashi-zu by≤bu o ch≥shin ni.” Bijutsushi 143(1) (October 1997):47–64. Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, ed. Ky≥ Katsurag≥ denrai no bijutsu—miyabi to karei. Tokyo: Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, 1996. ———, ed. Ky≥tei bunka no hana. Tokyo: Sannomaru Sh≤z≤kan, 1993.

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Sansom, George. A History of Japan to 1332. Tokyo: Tuttle, 1974. Sasaki J≤hei. “The Era of the Kan≤ School.” Modern Asian Studies 18(4) (1984):647–656. Sat≤ D≤shin. “Nihon bijutsu” tanj≤: Kindai Nihon no “kotoba” to senryaku. Tokyo: K≤dansha, 1996. ———. “Sekaikan no saihen to rekishikan no saihen.” In T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsu shigaku o furikaeru. Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999. Sat≤ Masahiko. Kyoto Ceramics. Translated and adapted by Anne Ono Towle and Usher P. Coolidge. New York: Weatherhill, 1973. Screech, Timon. “The Meaning of Western Perspective in Edo Popular Culture.” Archives of Asian Art 47 (1994):58–69. ———. The Shogun’s Painted Culture: Fear and Creativity in the Japanese States, 1760–1829. London: Reaktion Books, 2000. Seidensticker, Edward, trans. The Tale of Genji. New York: Knopf, 1976. Sen S≤shitsu, ed. Chad≤ koten zensh≥. Kyoto: Tank≤ Shinsha, 1961. Senny≥ji, ed. K≤shitsu no otera: Senny≥ji ten. Kyoto: Senny≥ji, 1992. Shimada Sh≥jir≤, ed. Zaigai hih≤, vol. 2. Tokyo: Gakush≥ Kenky≥sha, 1969. Shimatani Hiroyuki. Gyobutsu: Shinkan 5 K≤shitsu no shih≤ gyobutsu. Tokyo: Mainichi Shinbunsha, 1992. Shimazaki Susumu. “Kanazawa chih≤ ni okeru S≤tatsuha to S≤setsu ni tsuite.” In Yamane Y≥z≤, ed., Rimpa kaiga zensh≥ 2 S≤tatsuha. Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shinbunsha, 1978. Shimizu, Yoshiaki. Japan: The Shaping of Daimyo Culture: 1185–1868. Washington, D.C.: National Gallery, 1988. Shimizu, Yoshiaki, and Susan E. Nelson. Genji: The World of a Prince. Bloomington: Indiana University Art Museum, 1982. Shimizu, Yoshiaki, and John M. Rosenfield. Masters of Japanese Calligraphy, 8th– 19th Century. New York: Asia Society Galleries, 1985. Shimomi Takao. Ry≥k≤ retsujoden no kenky≥. Tokyo: T≤kai Daigaku Shuppankai, 1989. Shimonaka Kunihiko, ed. Shiry≤: Ky≤to no rekishi 3 Seiji-gy≤sei. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1979. Shinsh≥ Ky≤to S≤sho Kank≤kai, ed. (Shinsh≥) Ky≤to s≤sho. 22 vols. Kyoto: Rinsen Shoten, 1967–1976. Shintani Akio. “Y≥ky≤ k≥kan kara mita Kan’eiki Ky≤to no k≥kan k≤sei.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Shirane Haruo. The Bridge of Dreams: A Poetics of The Tale of Genji. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987. ———. “Issues in Canon Formation.” In Shirane Haruo and Tomi Suzuki, eds., Inventing the Classics: Modernity, National Identity, and Japanese Literature. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001. Shirane Haruo and Tomi Suzuki, eds. Inventing the Classics: Modernity, National Identity, and Japanese Literature. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001. Shively, Donald H. “Bakufu Versus Kabuki.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 18(3–4) (1955):326–356.

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Tamamushi Satoko. “Heike n≤ky≤ to Tawaraya S≤tatsu.” In Heike n≤ky≤ to Itsukushima no h≤motsu. Hiroshima: Hiroshima Prefectural Art Museum, 1997. ———. “Kinsei sh≤ki no by≤bu to ry≤shi s≤shoku—Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤ hitsu Chokusensh≥ waka by≤bu o megutte.” Bijutsushi 117 (March 1985):55–75. ———. “K≤rinkan no hensen 1815–1915.” Bijutsu Kenky≥ 371 (1999):1–70. ———. “Nihon bijutsu no s≤shokusei to iu gensetsu.” In T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsu shigaku o furikaeru. Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999. ———. “Rinpa: The Past, Present, and Future.” In Miyeko Murase and Judith G. Smith, eds., The Arts of Japan: An International Symposium. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000. ———. “Sakai H≤itsu hitsu Natsuakikusa-zu by≤bu—Tsuioku no ginshoku.” E wa Kataru 13 (1994):1–103. ———. “Sakai H≤itsu hitsu Natsuakikusa-zu by≤bu to Takarai Kikaku no amagoiku— Edo no F≥jin-Raijin ish≤ no bunmyaku kara.” Jissen Joshi Daigaku Bigaku Bijutsushi 13 (1998):79–89. Tanaka Hidemichi. Nihon bijutsu zenshi. Tokyo: K≤dansha, 1995. Tanaka Ichimatsu. “Heike N≤ky≤ to Jik≤jiky≤.” In Nihon emakimono sh≥sei, vol. 6. Tokyo: Y≥zankaku, 1929. ———. “Tanaka Chikayoshi ∑ oboegaki.” Tanaka Chikayoshi, vol. 1. Tokyo: Meich≤ Kank≤kai, 1985. Tanaka, Stefan. “Miidasareta mono—Nihon to Seiy≤ no kako toshite no Nihon bijutsushi.” In T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, ed., Ima, Nihon no bijutsu shigaku o furikaeru. Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Kokuritsu Bunkazai Kenky≥jo, 1999. Tanaka Toshio. “Eshi It≤ Ch≤bee no futatsu no gagy≤.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Tanaka Yasuhiko, ed. Miyako meisho zue to Gion yamaboko. Tokyo: Iwazaki Bijutsusha, 1990. Tanaka Y≥jir≤, ed. Hon’ami K≤etsu 18 Shod≤ geijutsu. Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1971. Tani Naoki. “Daikugashira Nakai Masatomo to kinsei Ky≤to no fukk≤.” In Reizei Tamehito, Oka Yoshiko, and Iwama Kaori, eds., Kan’ei bunka no nettow≠ku. Kyoto: Shibunkaku, 1998. Tanihata Akio. “Chanoyu and the Imperial Court.” Chanoyu Quarterly 71 (1992):45–50. ———, ed. Kinsei chad≤shi. Kyoto: K≤dansha, 1988. Teramoto Naohiko. Genji monogatari juy≤shi ronk≤. Tokyo: Kazama Shobo, 1983. Thompson, Sarah, and H. D. Harootunian. Undercurrents in the Floating World: Censorship and Japanese Prints. New York: Asia Society Galleries, 1992. Toby, Ronald. “Carnival of the Aliens: Korean Embassies in Edo-Period Art and Popular Culture.” Monumenta Nipponica 41(4) (1986):415–456. ———. State and Diplomacy in Early Modern Japan: Asia in the Development of the Tokugawa Bakufu. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984. Tokugawa Bijutsukan Zuroku Kank≤kai, ed. Tokugawa bijutsukan. Tokyo: T≤ky≤ Ch≥nichi Shinbun Shuppan, 1962. Tokugawa Yoshinobu, ed. NHK Tokugawa Bijutsukan 1 Oku d≤gu no hana: Genji monogatari emaki to Hatsune no ch≤d≤. Tokyo: Nihon H≤s≤ Shuppankai, 1988.

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Yasuda Atsuo. “K≤rinha gash≥ no zengo: ∑gata K≤rin o ch≥shin to suru kindai ‘Rimpa’ kan o megutte.” Bijutsu Fuor≠mu 1 (Autumn 1999):44–50. Yasuda Kenichi. Kinsei no suki k≥kan—Rakuch≥ no yashiki, rakugai no chaya. Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1988. Yasumura Toshinobu. Kano Tan’y≥ 7 Shinch≤ Nihon bijutsu bunko. Tokyo: Shinch≤sha, 1998. ———. Karasumaru Mitsuhiro to Tawaraya S≤tatsu. Tokyo: Itabashi Bijutsukan, 1982. ———. “Rimpa nante, hont≤ ni atta no ka?” Bijutsu Fuormu 1 (Autumn 1999):41–44. ———, ed. Edo meisaku gaj≤ zensh≥ 4 Kano-ha—Tan’y≥, Morikage, Itch≤. Tokyo: Shinshind≤, 1994. Yokota Fuyuhiko. “Imagining Working Women in Early Modern Japan.” Translated by Mariko Asano Tamanoi. In Tonomura Hitomi, Anne Walthall, and Wakita Haruko, eds., Women and Class in Japanese History. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 1999. ———. “Kinsei shakai no seiritsu to Ky≤to.” Nihonshi Kenky≥ 404 (April 1996):50–70. Yokota-Murakami, Gerry. The Formation of the Canon of N≤: The Literary Tradition of Divine Authority. Osaka: Osaka University Press, 1997. Yonemura, Ann. Japanese Lacquer. Washington, D. C.: Freer Gallery of Art, 1979. Yonemura, Ann, et al. Twelve Centuries of Japanese Art from the Imperial Collections. Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, 1997. Yoneyama Toratar≤. “Seikad≤ no enkaku to bijutsuhin.” In Seikad≤ h≤kan. Tokyo: Seikad≤ Foundation, 1992. Yoneyama Toshinao. Dokyumento Gion matsuri—toshi to matsuri to minsh≥ to. Tokyo: NHK Bukkusu, 1986. ———. Gionsai. Tokyo: Ch≥≤ K≤ronsha, 1974. Yoshida Teruji. Iwasa Matabei 1 Ukiyo-e taisei. Tokyo: T≤h≤shoin, 1931. Yoshida Y≥ji. “Edokoro no yukue—Tosa Mitsushige shiron.” Geijutsu Ronky≥ 1, 2, 3 (1971, 1973, 1975). ———. “Kinsei Tosaha—Mitsunori kara Mitsuoki-e.” Kobijutsu 71 (July 1984):56–87. Zolbrod, Leon. Haiku Painting. Tokyo: K≤dansha, 1982.

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259

Contributors

Laura W. Allen is a research associate at the Center for Japanese Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Her essay on models of exemplary behavior in the thirteenthcentury Illustrated Life of Saigy≤ (Saigy≤ monogatari emaki) appeared in the Journal of Japanese Studies in 1995. Her chapter is part of her larger study of figure paintings by Tosa Mitsuoki (1617–1691). Karen M. Gerhart holds a Ph.D. in Japanese art history from the University of Kansas. She is the author of The Eyes of Power: Art and Early Tokugawa Authority (1999) and her essays on paintings and murals of Nij≤ and Nagoya castles have appeared in Monumenta Nipponica and Ars Orientalis. Currently she is associate professor of the history of art and architecture at the University of Pittsburgh. Elizabeth Lillehoj received her Ph.D. in Japanese art history from Columbia University in 1988. She is the author of the catalog Woman in the Eyes of Man: Images of Women in Japanese Art (1995) along with other publications on medieval and early modern Japanese art. Her current research relates to imperial sponsorship of art in seventeenthcentury Japan. She is associate professor of art history at DePaul University, Chicago. Joshua S. Mostow is associate professor in the Department of Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia. He is the author of Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image (1996) along with numerous articles on literary and visual analysis of Japanese art. Among these is the essay “Picturing Love Among the One Hundred Poets,” in Love in Asian Art and Culture (1998). Keiko Nakamachi is professor in the Department of Aesthetics and Art History at Jissen Women’s University, Tokyo. She has examined numerous topics related to later Japanese art, focusing often on Edo-period Rimpa. Her books include Rimpa ni yume miru (Dreaming of Rimpa, 1999) and Ogata K≤rin (1998). Quitman Eugene Phillips received his doctorate from the University of California at Berkeley in 1992. Since then he has taught Japanese art history and art-historical theory and methods at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, achieving the rank of associate professor in 1998. He is the author of The Practices of Painting in Japan, 1475 – 1500 (2000) and articles on the Kano school, Japanese pictorial narration, and a variety of other topics. His current research deals with Buddhist painting of the Muromachi period, especially as it relates to rituals for the dead. Satoko Tamamushi received her master’s degree from T≤hoku University. Formerly she served as chief curator of the Seikad≤ Bunko Art Museum and currently she is a professor of Japanese art history at Musashino Art University. Among her publications are “Sakai H≤itsu hitsu Natsuakikusa-zu by≤bu in E wa Kataru 13 ,” which won the six-

teenth Suntory Gakugei Sh≤ Award in 1994, and “Transition of the Image of K≤rin, 1815–1915” (1999). Melanie Trede has studied in Berlin, Heidelberg, and Tokyo and received her M.A. and Ph.D. in the history of East Asian art from the University of Heidelberg. She has published articles and reviews, mainly on the subject of Japanese pictorial narratives, in English, German, and Japanese. She has taught at the University of Heidelberg and was a visiting professor at Columbia University in 1999. Currently she is assistant professor of Japanese art histories at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University.

262

Contributors

Index

References to figures and plates are in italic Admonitions for Women (Nü jie), 106– 107, 107 Album of New Thirty-Six Immortal Poets. See Thirty-Six Poets Painting Anderson, William, 37, 51n. 62 Anzai Un’en, 35–36 Ariso by≤bu. See Rough Sea Screens Art History of Japan in the World (Nihon bijutsu zenshi), 24, 42, 46n. 10 Asai Nagamasa, 142 Asano Mitsuakira, 56 Ashikaga; painting, 40; period, 39–40 Ashikaga Takauji, 194 Ashikaga Yoshiharu, 195, 216 Ashikaga Yoshimochi, 178 Autumn Grass with Deer, painting of, 61 bafuku (military government), 1, 81, 145, 184n. 13; bakufu painter, 11 Ban Zhou, 106 Battle of Sekigahara, 54, 187 Binyon, Lawrence, 41, 51n. 78 Biographies of Japanese Painters (Tansei jakubokush≥), 10, 19n. 31, 214 biwa, 117 Black Pine with Water, painting of, 61 Buddhism, 31, 102, 106, 111, 171 buke tens≤ (liaison officer), 149 Bunsei, 178 by≤bu (folding screens), 53, 64, 66, 83, 121, 196, 197, Pl. 1, 2, 8, 10, 12, 16 chad≤gu (tea ceremony utensils), 10 Chats about Calligraphy and Painting of

Famous Masters of Recent Times (Kinsei meika shoga dan), 35 Chaya merchant house, 197–198, 204n. 31 ch≤nin (block residents), 217 classical art; Chinese notion of, 28–31, 169–170; Japanese notion of, 1, 6–8, 24–28, 81–82, 207–211, 220; Western notion of, 3–5, 16–17n. 4, 21–23, 25–26, 52n. 85, 74–75, 170, 210–211 classical revival (koten fukk≤), 1, 6–8, 16, 81–82, 207–211, 220 classical taste (kotenshugi), 28, 30 classicism, 1–4, 16n. 2, 21, 24, 27–28, 43, 99, 187–188, 202, 207–211 classics (koten), 28–29, 30, 48n. 34, 73, 127, 159, 220; literary, 3, 15, 17n. 13, 47n. 21, 99–100, 109, 187 commoner, 6, 9, 88, 94, 113, 114, 188–189, 195–196, 198–200 Compendia of Asian Art, The (T≤y≤ bijutsu taikan), 59, 76n. 10 Confucianism, 9, 102, 110–111, 169, 172, 177, 178 court, 7–9, 16, 158; culture of, 74–75, 80–82, 89–90, 103–105, 110, 117–119, 181, 182, 199–201; literature of, 85, 170, 187 creation of tradition. See dent≤ no s≤shutsu daimyo (daimy≤), 135, 138; culture, 171; family, 85, 89, 133, 135 Daishi–kai (Daishi Association), 61–62, 76n. 13 Dan Takuma, 62 Date Family One Hundred Poets Picture

Album (Ky≥-Date-ke-bon hyakunin isshu gaj≤), paintings in, 133–136, 134, 148–151 dattanjin (Monguls), 175–176, 177, 179, 185nn. 22– 24, 26, Pl. 12 dent≤ no s≤shutsu (creation of tradition), 73, 77n. 37 Dong Qichang, 30, 31, 33, 35, 49n. 38 Dong Yuan, 170 Dowry Set with Designs from “First Warbler,” 84, 112, 112 Edo period, 1, 16n. 1, 45n. 2, 73–74, 79, 86–89, 101, 152; art, 53, 70, 79, 86, 89– 91, 94, 99, 154, 209; boom, 42; city of, 16n. 1, 45n. 2, 89–90; early, 93, 187, 198–199; education/guild system, 27; four-class system, 199; late, 14, 59–60, 63, 71 edokoro azukari, 27, 102, 114, 132n. 46, 216–217 ema (paintings of horses), 140–141, 164n. 18 emaki (illustrated handscroll), 139, 221 Epochs of Chinese and Japanese Art, 40, 46n. 12 Fenollosa, Ernest, 4, 17n. 10, 24, 40, 41, 46n. 12, 51n. 75, 72, 77n. 33, 210, 217, 221 Flowering Plants of Summer and Autumn, painting of, 72 Four Books for Women (Onna shisho), 106, 107, 131n. 23 F≥jin-Raijin-zu by≤bu. See Wind and Thunder Gods Screens Fujioka Sakutar≤, 26–27, 39, 47n. 23 Fujiwara no Teika, 15, 52, 58, 85, 133, 137, 139, 144, 150, 152, 153, 166n. 51 fukko yamato-e, 8, 218 Fukui Rikichir≤, 6, 18n. 18, 61–63, 73, 76nn. 17, 18, 77n. 30 Fukushima Masanori, 54–55, 59 funeboko (ship float), 196–198, Pl. 14 Furukawa Miyuki, 58, 76n. 7 furukikotofumi (furukotobumi), 30 Furuta Oribe, 137–138 fusuma, 83, 190, 218

264

Index

f≥zokuga (genre painting), 42, 188–190, 202, 218 ga (refined), 32 Gad≤ y≤ketsu. See Private Guidelines for the Way of Painting gaj≤ (album), 133, 152, 155, 218 Ganmon, 54–55, 55, 57, 58, 61–62 Gaozong, 170, 183n. 3 Gembei Katsushige, 190 Genji-e (Illustrations of The Tale of Genji), 100–103, 105, 111, 114, 116–118, 121, 128, 129n. 2, 132n. 39, 218, Pls. 1, 3–8. See also Tale of Genji; Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji Screens Genji k≤ (Genji incense game), 105 Genji monogatari. See Tale of Genji Genna era, 138, 143 Genroku era, 39, 88, 117, 119, 153 Gion Festival, 16, 188, 190, 195–197, 203n. 13; floats, 187–191, 193, 195–197, 201–202, 203nn. 12, 18, 204n. 29, 218; paintings of, 189–193, 192, Pls. 14–16; parade, 194, 200; Shrine, 193–195, 197 Gion Nankai, 33–35 goky≥soku-no-ma (waiting rooms), 174 Gomizunoo (Emperor), 15–16, 80–81, 86–87, 95n. 12, 104–105, 173–174, 176, 179, 200–201, 203nn. 12, 18, 204n. 29, 204nn. 29, 36, 216, 222 Gosai (Emperor), 105, 114, 215 goy≤-eshi, 90, 214, 215, 218 Gozo Tenn≤, 193, 218 Great Tradition of Painting Methods of Our Country, The (Honch≤ gah≤ taiden), 28, 48n. 29, 216 Greco-Buddhist art, 24 Greco-Roman revival, 170 Guangwu, 169 gu’i, 28, 30, 35, 48nn. 30 Gupta period, 210 guzhou, 28–29 haikai, 87, 110, 218 Hakuh≤ period, 23–24 Han Dynasty, 169

Han Zhuo, 181–182 Hara Sankei, 61 Hay, John, 22, 28, 45n. 3, 48n. 30 Hayami Gyosh≥, 69 Hayashiya Tatsusabur≤, 6–7, 18nn. 19, 21, 80, 195–196, 204n. 25, 204n. 25, 204n. 36, 207, 221 Heian classicism, 7, 202 Heian Jing≥, 67 Heian period; art of, 24, 46n. 9, 79, 92, 114; Buddhism in, 54; classical revival, 80–81; culture, 26–27, 109; palace model, 34 Heianistic art, 207, 209, 210 Heike monogatari (The Tale of Heike), 218, 223 Heike n≤ky≤. See Sutra Scrolls of the Taira Family hengaku, 140, 142–143, 145–146, 219 hikime kagibana, 114 Hishikawa Moronobu, 156–157, 158, 158 Histoire de l’art du Japan, 37, 51n. 63 History of Painting in This Realm, A (Honch≤ gashi), 10, 19n. 31 Hobsbawn, Eric, 26 h≤gen (Dharma Eye), 28, 155 H≤gen-Heiji monogatari-zu senmen harimaze by≤bu. See Screens with Fans of A Tale of the H≤gen War and A Tale of the Heiji War h≤in (Dharma Seal), 27 H≤itsu school. See Sakai H≤itsu h≤kaboko (“showering down” float), 196– 197, Pl. 15 Hokeky≤. See Lotus sutra hokky≤ (Bridge of the Law), 53, 75n. 2, 215, 216, 219 hoko (Shinto floats), 193, 218 Hon’ami K≤etsu; art, 11, 43, 80–81, 164n. 13, 207, 213, 215–216; and Japaneseness, 38–39; K≤etsu-kai, 60–61; Koyetsu-Korin school, 40–41; One Hundred Poets, calligraphy in, 138; revival, 22, 41; style, 63 Honch≤ gah≤ taiden. See Great Tradition of Painting Methods of Our Country

Honch≤ gashi. See History of Painting in This Realm Honch≤ j≤kan. See Mirror of Japanese Women Honch≤ teijo kagami. See Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women H≤rin J≤sh≤, 87, 96n. 21, 204n. 36 Humble Words on Matters of Painting (Kaiji higen), 31–35, 49n. 44, 50nn. 50, 52, 53, 54, 92–93, 97n. 31, 214 Hyakunin isshu. See One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Hyakunin isshu gaz≤. See Portraits of One Hundred Poets Hyakunin isshu te-kagami. See One Hundred Poets Calligraphy Model-book Ichinomiya Okiko (Empress Meish≤), 174, 179, 184n. 15, 199, 203n. 10 Igarashi D≤ho, 11, 213 Ihara Saikaku, 26 Ike no Taiga, 33, 48n. 31, 50n. 53, 214 Ikeda family, 90, 135 Ikeda Kikan, 29, 48n. 32 Illustrated Guide to the Treasures of Itsukushima (Itsukushima h≤motsu zue), 56–57, 58, 59, 60, 60, 76n. 6 Illustrated Handscroll of The Collection of Japanese Poetry for One Thousand Years (Senzaish≥ waka-kan), 62–64, 64 Illustrated Handscroll of The New Collection of Ancient and Modern Japanese Poetry (Shinkokinsh≥ waka-kan), 62–63, 63 Illustrations of Eight Views of Xiao and Xiang (Sh≤sh≤ hakkei-zu), 151–152, 222 Images of Elegant Figures of One Hundred Poets (F≥ry≥ sugata-e), 157, 158, 159 Imay≤ bijin j≥nikei. See Twelve Views of Beautiful Women of Today Immortal Poets Painting (kasen-e), 75, 133, 138–141, 145–147, 154–155, 158– 159, 163n. 4, 220; kasen-e by≤bu, Pl. 10, 142–146; kasen-e hengaku, 138, 140– 142, 145, 148. See also Thirty-Six Poets Painting

Index

265

imperial court. See court imperial palace, 34, 50n. 57, 81, 91–93, 97n. 30, 175–180, 184n. 16, 190–193, 214 Impressionism, 40 individuality, 64, 74 Insei period, 144 iro-e t≤ki (ceramics with enamel overglaze), 90, 214, 218 Ise monogatari. See Tales of Ise Itsukushima Shrine (Itsukushima Jinja), 54, 83, 146 Iwasa Matabei (Matahei), 11, 37, 145, 165n. 38, 190, 203n. 8, 213; style of, 146 Iwasaki Yanosuke, 68, 71, 77n. 26 iwatoyama (mountain-grotto float), 196– 197, Pl. 15 Japaneseness, 13, 22, 39, 41, 45, 94 Japonisme, 25; age of, 42 Jetavana Monastery, 193–194 Jing≥ (Empress), 197, 219 j≤dan-no-ma (upper chamber), 175, 181 Jokun sh≤. See Selected Lessons for Women Josetsu, 33, 178 Jukibon scroll, 64, 66 kach≤ga (paintings of flowers and birds), 91–92, 152, 184n. 19, 219 Kaempfer, Engelbert, 176, 185n. 25 Kaiji higen. See Humble Words on Matters of Painting kakemono (kakefuku; hanging scroll), 83, 219 Kakumeiki, 87, 204n. 36, 219 Kamakura period, 24, 42, 95n. 10, 99, 141, 159, 171 Kanamori S≤wa, 87, 95n. 10, 97n. 27, 220 kanaz≤shi (prose literature in Japanese), 9, 102 kanaz≤shi jokun, 86, 102–111, 129n. 5, 131nn. 24, 32, 219 Kanbun era, 15, 138–139 Kan’ei bunka (Kan’ei cultural phase), 6, 9, 18n. 20, 80, 97n. 27, 219 Kan’ei era, 6, 75, 81–82, 138, 146; Kanyei, 39

266

Index

Kan’ei no sanpitsu (Three Brushes of the Kan’ei Era), 138, 213–215, 220 kanga (Chinese painting), 42, 143, 220, 223; kangateki (Chinese-style painting), 181 Kano; art, 44; artists, 9, 15, 149, 159, 178, 190, 213, 214; atelier/school, 10, 15, 27, 33; mode, 149; paintings, 128, 133, 134, 135, 136, 136, 138, 143, 147, 150, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 160, 165n. 39, 208; style, 152, 154; texts, 10, 19n. 31, 27 Kano Atsunobu, 191, 192, 203n. 17, 213, Pls. 14–15 Kano Ein≤, 9n. 31, 213–214 Kano Eitoku, 35, 214 Kano Hidenobu, 191 Kano Masunobu, 155–157, 156 Kano Motonobu, 33, 141, 178, 213, Pl. 12 Kano Sanraku, 11, 35, 142–143, 213 Kano Sansetsu, 11, 213, 214 Kano Takanobu, 142–143, 214 Kano Tanshin, 153 Kano Tan’y≥; art, 9, 27, 48n. 27, 109, 131n. 28, 134, 139–140, 158, 214; atelier of, 191; copybook, 136; painting at Ninomaru Palace, 15, 172–177; Portraits of the One Hundred Poets, painting of, 135–137, 135–137, 145–149; Teika’s Birds and Flowers, 152; Thirty-Six Immortal Poets, painting of, 143, 143 Kano Tsunenobu, 154, Pl. 11 Kano Yasunobu, 19n. 31, 35, 134, 214 Kara (Tang), 91, 97nn. 28, 29; kara-e (Tang painting), 220, 223 Karasumaru Mitsuhiro, 43, 82–84, 86–87 Kariganeya, 88, 198, 204n. 30, 215, 220 kariginu (hunting robes), 144 kasen-e. See Immortal Poets Painting Katsura Detached Palace, 80, 222 Keian era, 59 Keich≤ era, 63, 142 Keisai Eisen, 157, 159, 159 Kej≤yubon, 54, 56, 57, 59, 59, 61 kenj≤ no s≤ji (32 Confucian Sages), 92, 175 kiin (spirit resonance), 32

Kimura Kenkad≤, 31–34, 49n. 44, 50n. 52, 97n. 31 Kinch≥ narabi ni kuge shohatto (Regulations for the Palace and Nobility), 104, 220 kinkishoga (Four Accomplishments), 91, 175, 176–179, 185n. 29 Kinsei meika shoga dan. See Chats about Calligraphy and Painting of Famous Masters of Recent Times kirei sabi (beautiful and tranquil), 81, 95n. 10, 138, 220 Kishi K≤kei, 60, 62, 76nn. 11, 12 K≤ami Nagashige, 112–113, 112 Kobayashi Tadashi, 33, 49n. 44 Kobori Ensh≥, 138 k≤d≤ (incense game), 10. See also Genji k≤ K≤etsu-kai (K≤etsu Association), 60, 95n. 5 koga (old paintings), 3 Kohitsu Ry≤han, 58–61, 76n. 9, 147 ko’i (antique spirit), 28–29, 31–32, 34– 35, 44 Kojiki. See Record of Ancient Matters kojin (“individual”), 54 kokka Shint≤ (National Shinto), 5 kokugaku, 29, 220 kokusaika (internationalization), 42 Komura Shrine, 142 K≤no Motoaki, 18n. 21, 27, 48n. 26, 176, 184n. 16 Konoe Nobutada, 33–36, 44, 93, 138, 142–143, 145, 164nn. 26, 29, 165n. 34, 214, Pl. 10 Korea, 5, 32, 185n. 32, 197–198, 219 kosetsu (antique simplicity), 29, 31–32, 34–35, 44 koten. See classics koten fukk≤. See classical revival kotenshugi. See classical taste kotenteki bijutsu. See “old textlike art” koto, 122, 220 Koyetsu-Korin school. See Hon’ami K≤etsu kuge shohatto. See Kinch≥ narabi ni kuge shohatto

Kuki Ry≥ichi, 37 kurashishizumu (“classicism”), 1, 28. See also classical revival, classicism Kurokawa Harumura, 58 Kuwayama Gyokush≥, 29, 31–36, 49nn. 44, 55, 50nn. 50, 51, 53, 55, 60, 92, 97n. 31, 214 Kyoto, 15–16, 68, 86–90, 93; art, 8, 14, 18n. 20, 88, 114; aristocrats, 6, 91, 93, 148, 187; commoners, 188–189, 198; printing in, 9, 138; repressive government, 198; scenes of, 190–195, 221 Ky≥-Date-ke-bon hyakunin isshu gaj≤. See Date Family One Hundred Poets Picture Album Li, Chu-tsing, 28, 48n. 30, 183n. 4 literati art. See Nanga Liu Guandao, 176 Lotus Sutra (Hokeky≤), 54–64, 76n. 19 machi-eshi (town painter), 11, 53, 221 machish≥ (commoner townspeople), 6, 18n. 21, 207–209, 216 maki-e (lacquer sprinkled with gold powder), 55, 213, 221 makimono. See emaki Manchu, 177 Mannerist art, 24 Manp≤ kashira-gaki hyakunin isshu taisei. See Ten Thousand Treasures Annotated One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Compilation Masuda Don’≤, 61, 62 Matsudaira Sadanobu, 34 Matsushima Screens (Matsushima-zu by≤bu), 53, 64–67, 65, 67, 83, 86–88 medievalism, 40 Meiji period, 3–5, 28–29, 54, 79, 86, 97n. 29 meisho-e (pictures of famous places), 70, 151, 153, 221 Mengzi, 29 merchant, 6, 9, 14, 65–66, 86–89, 171, 182, 187–190, 195–200, 217 Mi Fu, 30 Middle Ages, 39, 100

Index

267

Ming Dynasty; art of, 30–31, 100, 214– 215; emperor of, 179 Mirror for Instructing the Emperor (Teikan zusetsu), 174, 176, 178–179, 179, 185nn. 32, 33, 186n. 33 Mirror of Japanese Women (Honch≤ j≤kan), 107–109, 110–121, 110, 118 Mirror of Japan’s Virtuous Women (Honch≤ teijo kagami), 117, 118, 119– 120, 120 mitate (parody), 13; mitate-e (parody pictures), 158, 221 miyabi (courtliness), 6, 18n. 17 M≤ko sh≥rai ekotoba. See Painted Handscroll of the Mongol Invasion Momoyama period, 6, 18n. 18, 24, 73, 81, 91–93, 101, 147 Mongols. See dattanjin monogatari (narratives), 68, 82, 85–86, 99, 221 monzeki (courtly temples), 10, 82, 105, 110, 130n. 14, 221 Mori T≤ru, 134–136 Motoori Norinaga, 30, 34 Murasaki Shikibu, 102, 108–110, 111, 115, 119, 129n. 2, 130n. 16, 131nn. 27, 28, 144, 218 Murasaki Shikibu Viewing the Moon at Ishiyamadera, painting of, 109, 111 Muromachi period, 10, 16n. 2, 24, 39, 75, 87, 137, 141, 147, 171, 176, 194–195, 209 my≤ (exquisite), 32 Nakanoin Michimura, 143 Nanga (Southern school painting), 33– 36, 93, 214, 221 Nara period, 24, 210 Narrative Handscrolls of Annual Rites and Ceremonies of the Court (Nenj≥ gy≤ji emaki), 81, 95n. 12 Nenj≥ gy≤ji emaki. See Narrative Handscrolls of Annual Rites and Ceremonies of the Court Neo-Classicism, 23 Neo-Confucianism, 106, 111, 130n. 17 Nihon bijutsushi (Japanese art history), 79

268

Index

Nihonga (Japanese-style painting), 69, 221 Nij≤ Castle, 15, 169, 172–178, 173, 180, 182, 185n. 38, 186n. 38, 200; Nij≤ oshiro osashi-zu, diagram of, 173–174, 180; Ninomaru Palace, 15, 169, 172–173, 175–177, 186nn. 38, 39, 40, 41, 200; painting from Upper Chamber, Grand Audience Hall, Pl. 13; Visitation Palace, diagram with, 174 Ninomaru Palace. See Nij≤ Castle Nonoguchi Ry≥ho, 109 Nonomura Ninsei, 11, 90–91, 214–215 Nü jie. See Admonitions for Women Ny≤in Gosho (the empress’ retirement compound), 191 ≤ch≤ dent≤ no fukkatsu (rebirth of dynastic traditions), 80, 221 Oda Nobunaga, 195 Ogata family, 198, 220 Ogata Kenzan, 59, 96n. 20, 215 Ogata K≤rin, 14, 22, 32–33, 35, 39, 43– 45, 53–54, 58, 62, 67, 68, 71, 79, 88, 91–93, 95n. 7, 96n. 20, 143, 215–216, 221–222; K≤rin school, 38, 95n. 6; style, 41, 71, 89 ∑hiroma (Grand Audience Hall), 180– 182 Okada Kiyoshi, 56 Okakura Kakuz≤, 4, 210, 221 okesh≤den (dressing chambers), 191, 221; Carp in Golden Nets, painting of, 193 oku eshi (painter of the inner quarters), 27, 221 Okutaimensho (Inner Reception Hall), 191, 221 “old textlike art” (kotenteki bijutsu), 3–4, 220. See also classicism ∑mura Seigai, 59–60 One Hundred Poets Calligraphy Model Book (Hyakunin isshu te–kagami), 134–136, Pl. 9 One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu), 15, 99, 133–138, 145–146, 148–149, 154, 155, 156, 159,

210, 219; in album paintings and copybook, 133–137, 134, 135, 136, 137, 146– 151, 154, 154, 155, 156, Pl. 9; early versions, 137–139; in handscroll paintings, 143, 143; in hengaku paintings, 138; in prints, 138–139, 139, 140, 156– 157, 158, 159; in screen paintings, 143– 146, 149, Pl. 10; in uta-e, 155–157 Onna shisho. See Four Books for Women Osaka Castle, 143 Otsubone (quarters for empress’ attendants), 190, 221 oy≥dono (bathing and relaxing area), 174, 184n. 16

Chinese, 40, 43; Japanese, 38. See also classical revival; classicism renga (linked verse), 137, 141–142 Rimpa, 14, 79–80, 85, 92; artists, 11, 53, 60, 63, 69, 71–72, 75, 79–80, 143, 215, 221–222; lineage, 73; painting style, 54, 59; patronage, 88 Room of Four Seasons, 191 Rosenfield, John, 8, 18n. 20, 19n. 29, 24, 46n. 9 Rough Sea Screens (Ariso by≤bu), 65–66, 86 Russo-Japanese War, 5, 27, 39 ry≤gawa ch≤ (two-sided block), 196

Painted Handscroll of the Mongol Invasion (M≤ko sh≥rai ekotoba), 176 Painting in the Far East, 41 Pax Tokugawa, 209 Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi Shrine, 70 pine, 180–182 Pleasures of the Shij≤ Riverside Screens, 73, 74 Poetry Slips Attached to Cherry and Maple Trees, screen paintings of, 198, 204n. 31 Portrait of Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune, 159, 160 Portraits of One Hundred Poets (Hyakunin isshu gaz≤), 134–136, 135, 136, 149–150 Private Guidelines for the Way of Painting (Gad≤ y≤ketsu), 10, 19n. 31, 214 proto-nationalist, 29, 36

Sakai H≤itsu, 54, 59, 78n. 40, 88, 215; school of, 72 Sakaki Hyakusen, 33 samurai, 171–172 Scenes In and Around Kyoto (rakuch≥ rakugai-zu), 190, 221; screens of, 195, 196 Screens of a Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi Shrine (Sumiyoshi m≤de by≤bu), 67, 70 Screens with Fans of A Tale of the H≤gen War and A Tale of the Heiji War (H≤gen-Heiji monogatari-zu senmen harimaze by≤bu), 69, 77n. 29, 86 Seiry≤den, 92, 184n. 16, 222 Seiwa (Emperor), 193 Sekiya and Miotsukushi Chapters from The Tale of Genji Screens (Genji monogatari Sekiya-Miotsukushi-zu by≤bu), 53, 82–83, 70, Pl. 1; label on packing bag, 70 Selected Lessons for Women (Jokun sh≤), 107–109, 108–109, 119, 127 Sen no Riky≥, 137 sengoku jidai (age of the country at war), 222 senmen (fan), 69, 222 senmonka (professional painters), 32 Sennin (Chinese Immortals), 91, 175 Sent≤ Gosho, 184n. 13, 191, 222 shell game, 104, 105 Shij≤, 73, 74, 197

Qing period, 177; painting of, 214 rakuch≥ rakugai-zu. See Scenes In and Around Kyoto rebirth of dynastic traditions. See ≤ch≤ dent≤ no fukkatsu Record of Ancient Matters (Kojiki), 34, 219 Reigen (Emperor), 190 Reizei Tamechika, 8 Renaissance, 1, 23, 27, 38–40, 43, 73;

Index

269

shikishi (ornamental poem sheets), 85, 137–140, 143, 146, 163n. 7, 222 Shinden (Imperial apartments), 50n. 61, 92, 175, 191 Shinkei, 142 shinkoku (land of the deities), 5, 17n. 14 shintai, 115, 128 Shinto, 5, 54, 67, 102, 106, 111, 141, 193 Shirane, Haruo, 17n. 13 , 26, 45, 47n. 22 Shishinden, 92, 222 shoin, 222 Sh≤kad≤ Sh≤j≤, 32, 44, 50n. 60, 93, 138, 215 shokunin uta-awase (imaginary poetry contest between different occupations), 143 Shokuruibon, 54, 57, 57, 60, 61 Sh≤sh≤ hakkei-zu. See Illustrations of Eight Views of Xiao and Xiang Sh≥bun, 33 Shugakuin, 80, 191, 196–197, 201, 222; Reception Hall, 193, 194 Sh≥ko jisshu. See Ten Types of Collected Antiquities shukuzu, 19n. 30, 143, 222 Sino-Japanese War, 5, 67 Soan One Hundred Poets (Soan-bon hyakunin isshu), 138, 139 Song Dynasty, 10, 39, 170, 177 s≤shokuteki (decorative), 80, 95n. 7, 222 S≤tatsu-kai, 69 S≤tatsu school. See Tawaraya S≤tatsu Southern school, 33–36, 93; artists, 93. See also Nanga suhama (shore), 65 sukiya, 80, 222 Suminoe Writing Box, 67, 68 Suminokura Soan, 80–81, 138, 139, 190, 198 Sumiyoshi Great Shrine, 66–67, 71. See also Screens of a Pilgrimage to Sumiyoshi Shrine Sumiyoshi Gukei, 11, 191, 203n. 17, 215 Sumiyoshi Hirotsura, 191 Sumiyoshi Jokei, 37, 40, 51n. 62, 81

270

Index

Sumiyoshi school, 38, 215 Supplemental Album of Antique Paintings, The, 58–59 Susanoo no Mikoto, 194 Sutra Scrolls of the Taira Family (Heike n≤ky≤), 14, 54–64, 55, 56, 57, 66, 74, 76nn. 4, 5, 19, 83, 219 Taira family, 54 Taish≤ era, 54, 61, 63, 79 Takahashi S≤an, 62 Takeno J≤’≤, 137 Taketori monogatari. See Tale of the Bamboo Cutter Taki Seiichi, 38–39 Takuan S≤h≤, 65–66, 86–88 Tale of the Bamboo Cutter (Taketori monogatari), 170 Tale of Genji, The (Genji monogatari), 14–15, 42, 48n. 34, 99–105, 115–117, 119–121, 129n. 2, 209, 218, 223; album paintings, 114–120, 115, Pls. 4–7; handscroll painting, 103, Pl. 3; printed illustrations, 103–106; screen paintings, 53, 67–71, 82–84, 99–106, 108–109, 114, 117, 119–126, 122–125, 129n. 2, 155, 209, 214, 218, 223, Pls. 3–8. See also Genji-e Tales of Ise (Ise monogatari), 99–100, 105, 219, 223; painting of, 42, 85, 92 Tanaka Chikayoshi, 61, 63, 76n. 16 Tanaka Hidemichi, 24, 42, 46n. 10 Tanaka Totsugen, 8 Tang Dynasty, 24, 30, 79, 91, 106, 170, 175, 184n. 18, 210 Tani Bunch≤, 34 Tani Sh≤an, 65–66, 86, 88 Tansei jakubokush≥. See Biographies of Japanese Painters Tao Yuanming, 175–176, 178–179 Tatars. See dattanjin Tawaraya S≤setsu, 72, 215 Tawaraya S≤tatsu; art, 7, 22, 32–33, 41–45, 53–55, 63–65, 69, 71–73, 75, 79–80, 95n. 7, 138, 207, 210, 213, 215, 222, Pls. 1–2; Heike n≤ky≤, painting in,

61–65; Japaneseness, 39; methods, 35; patrons of, 82, 86, 88–89; school of, 82, 84; themes of, 91–94; yamato-e and, 14 Teikan zusetsu. See Mirror for Instructing the Emperor Teishitsu gigeiin (Imperial household artist), 60 te-kagami, 135, 147 Ten Thousand Treasures Annotated One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each Compilation (Manp≤ kashira-gaki hyakunin isshu taisei), 138–139, 140 Ten Types of Collected Antiquities (Sh≥ko jisshu), 34, 50n. 56 tenka taihei (peace under heaven), 8 tenn≤sei (imperial system), 5 Tenpy≤ (Tempy≤) period, 24, 26, 46n. 8 Thirty-Six Poets Painting, 139–150, 143, 156, 157; Narikane version, 138–139; New Thirty-Six Immortal Poets, 147–148; Thirty-Six Immortal Poets Album, 155–157, 156–157 Three Essays on Oriental Painting, 38, 51n. 69 Toba S≤j≤, 32 T≤fukumon’in (Masako; Empress), 16, 181, 184n. 14, 187–191, 197–201, 202nn. 1, 2, 204nn. 30, 31, 207, 220; patronage of art, 200, 222 Tokugawa; classicism, 16, 28, 36, 183; painting, 35, 37, 39, 42–44, 213–214, 216; period, 28, 37, 38, 44, 45n. 2, 133, 200–201 Tokugawa Hidetada, 15–16, 83, 172 Tokugawa Iemitsu, 84, 173–174, 180– 181 Tokugawa Ieyasu, 54, 81, 84, 104, 142, 145, 158, 183n. 10, 200 Tosa; atelier, 15; domain, 31; model, 150; painting, 43, 154; school, 27, 33, 38, 41, 122, 133, 136, 143, 150, 154; style, 40–41, 152 Tosa Hiromichi. See Sumiyoshi Jokei Tosa Mitsumochi, 216 Tosa Mitsunari, 216

Tosa Mitsunori, 114–116, 115, 216 Tosa Mitsuoki, 11, 15, 27–28, 40, 48n. 29, 102–103, 109, 111, 114–118, 115, 123, 122– 125, 128, 129n. 4, 132n. 38, 134–135, 137, 142, 149–150, 152–153, 155, 158, Pls. 4– 9 T≤y≤ bijutsu taikan. See Compendia of Asian Art, The Toyotomi Hideyori, 142, 185n. 32 Toyotomi Hideyoshi, 142, 185n. 32, 198 Tsunegoten (Ordinary living quarters), 92, 191, 222 Twelve Views of Beautiful Women of Today (Imay≤ bijin j≥nikei), 157, 159 ukiyo-e, 13, 38, 133, 156, 158, 213, 223 Ukiyo zoshi (floating world), 26 ushin style, 153, 153 uta-e (poem-pictures), 133, 151–152, 154– 156, 158, 163n. 2 Visitation Palace, 15, 169, 172–174, 173– 174, 176, 179–180, 182–183 waka, 62, 87, 104, 111–112, 121, 129n. 6, 137, 221, 223 Wakimoto T≤kur≤, 41, 51n. 79 Wang Mang, 169 Wanli, 179 warriors, 84, 86, 88, 90, 171–172, 176, 178–179, 189, 194–196, 199 Wind and Thunder Gods Screens (F≥jinRaijin-zu by≤bu), 53, 71–73, 77n. 32, 83, 86–87, 96n. 20, Pl. 2 Yamamoto Soken, 152 Yamane Y≥z≤, 41, 51n. 80, 96n. 15, 203n. 13, 204nn. 30, 33 yamato-e, 7, 14–15, 19n. 25, 38–40, 42– 44, 69, 74–75, 79–80, 151, 154, 187, 189, 202, 208, 211, 213–216, 221, 223 yamato-e revival, 8, 42, 44, 64, 71 Yanagisawa Kien, 33 Yasaka Shrine. See Gion Festival Yashiro Yukio, 65, 67, 76nn. 20, 24 yorimachi (contributing blocks), 196

Index

271

Yuan Dynasty, 10, 30, 170, 176; painting of, 39 y≥gei (elegant pastimes), 199 Zen (Chan) Buddhism, 31, 86–87, 137, 171, 178

272

Index

Zhao Mengfu, 30–31, 35 Zhou period, 170 Zhu Xi, 106, 130nn. 17, 18

Production Notes for Lillehoj | critical perspectives on classicism in japanese painting, 1600–1700 Cover and interior designed by April Leidig-Higgins in Electra, with display type in Triplex. Composition by Copperline Book Services, Inc. Printing and binding by Thomson-Shore, Inc. Printed on 70 lb. Fortune Matte, 500 ppi