CHAPTER FOUR. LAWS GOVERNING THE CONCEPTION AND EXECUTION OF A PAINTING
When a Japanese artist is preparing to paint a picture he considers first the space the picture is to occupy and its shape, whether square, oblong, round or otherwise; next, the distribution of light and shade, and then the placing of the objects in the composition so as to secure harmony and effective contrasts. In settling these questions he relies largely on the laws of proportion and design.
The principles of proportion (ichi) and design (isho) are closely allied. They aim to supply and express with sobriety what is essential to the composition, proportion determining the just arrangement and distribution of the component parts, and design the manner in which the same shall be handled. In a landscape, proportion may require the balancing effect of buildings and trees, while design will determine how the same may be picturesquely presented; for instance, by making the [pg 47] trees partially hide the buildings, thus provoking a desire to see more than is shown. Such suggestion or stimulation of the imagination is called yukashi. The Japanese painter is early taught the value of suppression in design—l'art d'ennuyer est de tout dire.
A well-known rule of proportion, quaintly expressed in the original Chinese and which is more or less adhered to in practice, requires in a landscape painting that if the mountain be, for example, ten feet high the trees should be one foot, a horse one inch and a man the size of a bean. Jo san seki ju, sun ba to jin [(Plate XVII)].
Design, called in art isho zuan or takumi, is largely the personal equation of the artist. It is his power of presenting and expressing what he treats in an original manner. The subject may not be new, but its treatment must be fresh and attractive. Much will depend upon the learning and the technical ability of the artist. In the matter of design the artists of Tokyo have always differed from those of Kyoto, the former aiming at lively and even startling effects, while the latter seek to produce a quieter or more subdued (otonashi) result.
Where landscapes or trees are to be painted upon a single panel, panels on each side of it may be conveniently placed and the painting designed upon the central panel in connection with the two additional ones used for elaboration. In this way, when the side panels are withdrawn the effect is as though such landscape or trees were seen [pg 48] through an open window, and all cramped or forced appearance is avoided. The Ukiyo e artists practiced a similar method in their hashirakake or long, narrow, panel-like prints of men and women used for decorating upright beams in a room.
The literature of art abounds in instances illustrative of correct proportion and design.
The artist Buncho being requested to paint a crow flying across a fusuma or four sliding door-like panels, after much reflection painted the bird in the act of disappearing from the last of these subdivisions, the space of the other three suggesting the rapid flight which the crow had already accomplished, and the law of proportion (ichi) or orderly arrangement thus observed was universally applauded.
In the wooded graveyard of the temple at Ike-gami, where the tombs of so many of the Kano artists (including Tanyu) are to be found, is a stone marking the grave of a Kano painter who, having executed an order for a picture and his patron observing that it was lacking in design and that he must add a certain gold effect in the color scheme, rather than violate his own convictions of what he considered proper design, first refused to comply and then committed hara kiri.
A canon of Japanese art which is at the base of one of the peculiar charms of Japanese pictures, not merely in the whole composition but also in minute details that might escape the attention at first glance, requires that there should be in every [pg 49] painting the sentiment of active and passive, light and shade. This is called in yo and is based upon the principle of contrast for heightening effects. The term in yo originated in the earliest doctrines of Chinese philosophy and has always existed in the art language of the Orient. It signifies darkness (in) and light (yo), negative and positive, female and male, passive and active, lower and upper, even and odd. This term is of constant application in painting. A picture with its lights and shades properly distributed conforms to the law of in yo. Two flying crows, one with its beak closed, the other with its beak open; two tigers in their lair, one with the mouth shut, the other with the teeth showing; or two dragons, one ascending to the sky and the other descending to the ocean, illustrate phases of in yo. Mountains, waves, the petals of a flower, the eyeball of a bird, rocks, trees—all have their negative and positive aspects, their in and their yo. The observance of this canon secures not only the effective contrast of light and shade in a picture but also an equally striking contrast between the component parts of each object composing it.
The law of form, in art called keisho or kakko, is widely applied for determining not only the correct shape of things but also their suitable or proper presentation according to circumstances. It has to do with all kinds of attitudes and dress. It determines what is suitable for the prince and for the beggar, for the courtier and for the peasant. It regulates the shape that objects should take [pg 50] according to conditions surrounding them, whether seen near or far off, in mist or in rain or snow, in motion or in repose. The exact shape of objects in motion (as an animal running, a bird flying or a fish swimming) no one can see, but the painter who has observed, studied and knows by heart the form or shape of these objects in repose can, by virtue of his skill, reproduce them in motion, foreshortened or otherwise; that is keisho; and he is taught and well understands that if in executing such work his memory of essential details fails him hesitancy is apt to cause the picture to perish as a work of art.
Keisho literally means shape, but in oriental art it signifies also the proprieties; it is a law which enforces among other things canons of good taste and suppresses all exaggerations, inartistic peculiarities and grimaces.
The law touching historical subjects and the manner of painting them is called ko jutsu. Special principles apply to this department of Japanese art. The historical painter must know all the historical details of the period to which his painting relates, including a knowledge of the arms, accoutrements, costumes, ornaments, customs and the like. This subject covers too vast a field and is too important to be summarily treated here. Suffice it to say that there have been many celebrated historical painters in Japan. I recall, on the other hand, a picture once exhibited by a distinguished Tokyo artist which was superbly executed but wholly ignored by the jury because it violated some canon applicable to historical painting.
The term yu shoku refers to the laws governing the practices of the Imperial household, Buddhist and Shinto rites. Before attempting any work of art in which these may figure the painter must be thoroughly versed in the appointments of palace interiors, the rules of etiquette, the occupations and pastimes of the Emperor, court nobles (Kuge), daimyo and their military attendants (samurai), the costumes of the females (tsubone) of the Imperial household and their duties and accomplishments. The Tosa school made a thorough familiarity with such details its specialty. All Buddhist paintings come under the law of yu shoku.
Let us next consider briefly some of the principles applicable to Japanese landscape painting. Landscapes are known in art by the term san sui, which means mountain and water. This Chinese term would indicate that the artists of China considered both mountains and water to be essential to landscape subjects, and the tendency in a Japanese artist to introduce both into his painting is ever noticeable. If he cannot find the water elsewhere he takes it from the heavens in the shape of rain. Indeed, rain and wind subjects are much in favor and wonderful effects are produced in their pictures suggesting the coming slorm, where the wind makes the bamboos and trees take on new, weird and fantastic shapes.
The landscape [(Plate XVIII)] contains a lofty mountain, rocks, river, road, trees, bridge, man, animal, et cetera. The first requisite in such, a composition is that the picture respond to the law [pg 52] of ten chi jin, or heaven, earth and man. This wonderful law of Buddhism is said to pervade the universe and is of widest application to all the art of man. Ten chi jin means that whatever is worthy of contemplation must contain a principal subject, its complimentary adjunct, and auxiliary details. Thus is the work rounded out to its perfection.
Tiger, by Kishi Chikudo. Plate VI.
This law of ten chi jin applies not only to painting but to poetry (its elder sister), to architecture, to garden plans, as well as to flower arrangement; in fact, it is a universal, fundamental law of correct construction. In [Plate XVIII] the mountain is the dominant or principal feature. It commands our first attention. Everything is subservient to it. It, therefore, is called ten, or heaven. Next in importance, complimentary to the mountain, are the rocks. These, therefore, are chi, or earth; while all that contributes to the movement or life of the picture, to wit, the trees, man, animal, bridge and river, are styled jin, or man, so that the picture satisfies the first law of composition, namely, the unity in variety required by ten chi jin.
There is another law which determines the general character to be given a landscape according to the season, and is thus expressed: Mountains in spring should suggest joyousness; in summer, green and moisture; in autumn, abundance; in winter, drowsiness. The formula runs as follows: shun-zan, warau gotoshi; kazan, arau gotoshi; shuzan, yoso gotoshi; tozan, nemurugotoku.
Similarly, according to the season, there are four principal ways of painting bamboo (chiku). In fair-weather bamboo (sei chiku) the leaves are spread out joyously; in rainy-weather bamboo (uchiku) the leaves hang down despondently; in windy-weather bamboo (fuchiku) the leaves cross each other confusedly, and in the dew of early morning (rochiku) the bamboo leaves all point upwards vigorously [(Plate LIII a 1 to a 4)].
The Kano artists differ from the Shijo painters in their manner of combining (kasaneru) the leaves and branches of the bamboo. Speaking generally, the Shijo artists point the leaves downward, while the former point them upward, which is more effective.
Again, in snow scenery the Kano artists first paint the bottom of the snow-line and then by shading (kumadori) above the same with very light ink (usui sumi) produce the effect of accumulated snow. The Okyo school secures the same result in a much more brilliant manner, using but a single dexterous stroke of the well-watered brush, the point only of which is tipped with sumi.
Some artisls, notably Kubota Beisen and his followers, employ both methods, the former for near and the latter for distant snow landscapes.
Low mountains in a landscape suggest great distance. Fujiyama, the favorite subject of all artists, should not be painted too high, else it loses in dignity by appearing too near. In an art work written by Oishi Shuga, Fuji is reproduced as it appears at every season of the year, whether clad in snow, partly concealed by clouds, or plainly [pg 54] visible in unobstructed outline. The book is a safe guide for artists to consult.
We may next consider some laws applicable to mountains, rocks and ledges. It has long since been observed by the great writers on art in China that mountains, rocks, ledges and peaks have certain characteristics which distinguish them. These differ not only with their geological formations but also vary with the seasons on account of the different grasses and growths which may more or less alter or conceal them. To attempt to reproduce them as seen were a hopeless task, there being too much confusing detail; hence, salient features only are noted, studied and painted according to what is called shun po, or the law of ledges or stratifications. There are eight different ways in which rocks, ledges and the like may be represented:
The peeled hemp-bark method, called hi ma shun [(Plate XXIII a)].
The large and small axe strokes on a tree, called dai sho fu heki shun [(Plate XXIII b)].
The lines of the lotus leaf, called ka yo shun [(Plate XXIV a).]
Alum crystals, called han to shun [(Plate XXIV b)].
The loose rice leaves, called kai saku shun [(Plate XXV a)].
Withered kindling twigs, called ran shi shun [(Plate XXV b)].
Scattered hemp leaves, termed ramma shun [(Plate XXVI a)].
The wrinkles on a cow's neck, called gyu mo shun [(Plate XXVI b)].
These eight laws are not only available guides to desired effects; they also abbreviate labor and save the artist's attempting the impossible task of exactly reproducing physical conditions of the earth in a landscape painting. They are symbols or substitutes for the truth felt. Nothing is more interesting than such art resources whereby the sentiment of a landscape is reproduced by thus suggesting or symbolizing many of its essential features.
It was a theory of the great Chinese teacher, Chinanpin, and particularly enforced by him, that trees, plants and grasses take the form of a circle, called in art rin kan (see [Plate XXVII]), No. 1; or a semi-circle (han kan) [(Plate XXVII)], No. 2; or an aggregation of half-circles, called fish scales (gyo rin) [(Plate XXVII)], No. 3; or a modification of these latter, called moving fish scales (gyo rin katsu ho) [(Plate XXVII)], No 4. Developing this principle on [Plate XXVIII], No. 1, we have theoretically the first shape of tree growth and on [Plate XXVIII], No. 2, the same practically interpreted. In Nos. 3 and 4, same plate, we have the growth of grass illustrated theoretically and practically. In [Plate XXIX], according to this method, is constructed the entire skeleton of a forest tree. In Nos. 1 and 2 on this plate numerous small circles are indicated. These show where each stroke of the brush begins, the points of commencement being of prime importance to correct effect. In No. 3, same plate, we have the foundation work of a tree in a Japanese painting. It is needless to point out the marvelous vigor [pg 56] apparent in work constructed according to the above principles.
In the painting of rocks, ledges, and the like, Chinanpin taught that the curved lines of the fish scales are to be changed into straight lines, three in number, of different lengths, two being near together and the third line slightly separated, and all either perpendicular or horizontal, as in [Plate XXX], Nos. 1 and 2. In the same plate, Nos. 3 and 4, we have the principle of rock construction illustrated. In [Plate XXXI], Nos. 1, 2 and 3, is seen the practical application of this theory to kakemono work. In executing these lines for rocks much stress is laid upon the principle of in yo; on the elevated portions the brush must be used lightly (in) and on the lower portions it must be applied with strength (yo). At the bottom, where grass, mould, and moss accumulate, a rather dry brush (kwappitsu) is applied with a firm stroke.
Next, there are laws for near and distant tree, shrubbery and grass effects, corresponding to the season of the year. These are known as the laws of dots (ten po); the saying ten tai san nen indicates that it takes three years to make them correctly.
They are as follows:
The drooping wistaria dot (sui to ten) [(Plate XXXII a)] for spring effects.
The chrysanthemum dot (kiku kwa ten) [(Plate XXXII b)] used in summer foliage.
The wheel spoke dot (sha rin shin) [(Plate XXXIII a)], being the pine-needle stroke and used for pine trees.
The Chinese character for the verb “to save” (kai ji ten) [(Plate XXXIII b)], used for both trees and shrubbery.
The pepper dot (koshoten) [(Plate XXXIV a)]. This dot requires great dexterity and free wrist movement. It will be observed that the dots are made to vary in size but are all given the same direction.
The mouse footprints (so soku ten) [(Plate XXXIV b)], used for cryptomeria and other like trees.
The serrated or sawtooth dot (kyo shi shin) [(Plate XXXV a)], much used for distant pine-tree effects.
The Chinese character for “one” (ichi ji ten) [(Plate XXXV b)]. The effect produced by this character is very remarkable in representing maple and other trees whose foliage at a distance appears to be in layers.
The Chinese character for “heart” (shin), called shin ji ten [(Plate XXXVI a)]. This is used most effectively for both foliage and grasses.
The Chinese character for “positively” (hitsu), called hitsu ji ten [(Plate XXXVI b)]. This dot or stroke is successfully employed in reproducing the foliage of the willow tree in spring.
The rice dot, called bei ten [(Plate XXXVIII a)].
The dot called haku yo ten [(Plate XXXVII b)], being smaller than the pepper dot, with the clove dot (sho ji ten) surrounding it.
It is a strictly observed rule that none of these dots should interfere with or hide the branches of the trees of which they form part.
The term chobo chobo is applied to the practice of always finishing a landscape painting, rocks, [pg 58] trees or flowers, with certain dots judiciously added to enliven and heighten the general effect. These dots, done with a springing wrist movement, serve to enliven the work and give it freshness, just as a rain shower affects vegetation. The Kano artists were most insistent upon chobo chobo.
There are many quaint aids to artistic effects from time immemorial well known to and favored by the old Chinese painters and still successfully practiced in Japan. Probably the larger number of these are employed in the technical construction of the Four Paragons (p. 66 et seq.). There are still others: as, for instance, the fish-scale pattern [(Plate XIX)], used in painting the clustered needles of the pine tree or the bending branches of the willow; the stork's leg for pine tree branches [(Plate XIX)]; the gourd for the head and elongated jaws of the dragon; the egg for the body of a bird ([Plate XXII]; the stag horn for all sorts of interlacing branches; the turtle back pattern or the dragon's scales for the pine tree bark. In addition to these, the general shapes of certain of the Chinese written characters are invoked for reproducing winding streams [(Plate XX)], groupings of rocks, meadow, swamp, and other grasses and the like.
Of course the exact shape of the various Chinese characters here referred to must not be actually painted into the composition but merely the sentiment of their respective forms recalled. They are simply practical memory aids to desired effects.
It is the spirit of the character rather than its exact shape which should control; the order of [pg 59] the painted strokes being that of the written character, its sentiment or general shape is thus reproduced.
In this connection I would allude to criticisms or judgments upon Japanese painting in which particular stress is laid upon its calligraphic quality. If any Japanese artist was seriously informed that his method of painting was calligraphic, he would explode with mirth. There are several ways to account for this rather wide-spread error. Much that is written about Japanese painting and its calligraphy is but the repetition by one author of what he has taken on trust from another, an effective way sometimes of spreading misinformation. It is quite true that the assiduous study of Chinese writing (sho) is an essential part of thorough art education in Japan, not, however, for the purpose of learning to paint as one writes, or of introducing written characters more or less transformed into a painting (if that be what is meant by “calligraphic”), but simply to give the artist freedom, confidence, and grace in the handling of the brush and to train his eye to form and balance and to acquire both strength of stroke and a knowledge of the sequence of strokes. To write in Chinese after the manner of professionals (sho ka) is truly a great art, esteemed even higher than painting; it requires thirty years of constant practice to become expert therein, and it has many laws and profound principles which, if mastered by artists, will enable them to be all the greater in their painting, and many Japanese artists have justly prided [pg 60] themselves upon being expert writers of the Chinese characters. Okyo practiced daily for three years the writing of two intricate characters standing for his name, until he was satisfied with their forms, but there is nothing calligraphic about any of Okyo's painting.
Possibly what has misled foreign critics and even some Japanese writers is that there exists a class of men in Japan given to learning, to writing, and also to painting in a particular way.
These men are called bun jin (literati) and their style of painting is called bun jin fu. They are not artists, but are known as Confucius' scholars (ju sha), and being professional or trained writers in the difficult art of Chinese calligraphy they have a manner of painting strictly sui generis. It is known as the nan gwa or southern literary way of painting. Their subjects are the bamboo, the plum, the orchid and the chrysanthemum, called the four paragons (shi kun shi). These and landscapes they paint with their writing brush and more or less in what is called the grass character (so sho) manner of writing. In fact, they often aim to make their painting look like writing and they rarely use any color except light-brown (tai sha). They suppress line as distinguished from mass. This method is called bokkotsu (see [Plate XII]). Such painting of the nan gwa school is, in a sense, calligraphic, but that is not the kind of painting which Japanese artists are taught, practice and profess, nor is it even recognized as an art, but simply as an eccentric development of the literary [pg 61] man with a taste for painting. At one time or another well-known artists, especially at the beginning of the Meiji era, have affected this bun jin calligraphy style simply as a passing fashion.
One other possible explanation of the critics pronouncing all Japanese paintings calligraphic is that various Chinese characters are, as we have seen, invoked and employed by Japanese artists as memory aids to producing certain effects; but were these characters introduced calligraphically, the result would be laughable. It should be plain then that Japanese painting is not calligraphic; as well apply the term calligraphy to one of Turner's water colors. On the other hand, Chinese writing is built up on word pictures. There are between five and six hundred mother characters, all imitating the shapes of objects; these, with their later combinations, constitute the Chinese written system, so that while there is nothing calligraphic about Japanese painting, there is much that is pictorial about Chinese calligraphy.
Other landscape laws applicable to things seen at a distance in a painting require that distant trees should show no branches nor leaves; people at a distance, no features; distant mountains, no ledges; distant seas or rivers, no waves. Again, clouds should indicate whence they come; running water the direction of its source; mountains, their chains; and roads, whither they lead.
In regard to painting moving waters, whether of deep or shallow, in rivers or brooks, bays or oceans, Chinanpin declared it was impossible for the eye [pg 62] to seize their exact forms because they are ever changing and have no fixed, definite shape, therefore they can not be sketched satisfactorily; yet, as moving water must be represented in painting, it should be long and minutely contemplated by the artist, and its general character—whether leaping in the brook, flowing in the river, roaring in the cataract, surging in the ocean or lapping the shore—observed and reflected upon, and after the eye and memory are both sufficiently trained and the very soul of the artist is saturated, as it were, with this one subject and he feels his whole being calm and composed, he should retire to the privacy of his studio and with the early morning sun to gladden his spirit there attempt to reproduce the movement of the flow; not by copying what he has seen, for the effect would be stiff and wooden, but by symbolizing according to certain laws what he feels and remembers.
In work of this kind there are certain directions for the employment of the brush which can only be learned from oral instruction and demonstration by the master.
In [Plate XXXVIII] a, 1, the method by which waves are reproduced is shown, the circles indicating where the brush is turned upon itself before again curving. On the same plate (b) waveless water, shallow water, and river water with current are indicated at the top, middle and bottom, respectively. In [Plate XXXIX] a, we have the moving waters of an inland sea; in b, the bounding waters of a brook; in [Plate XL], the stormy waves of the ocean.
We will now consider another unique department of Japanese painting in connection with the garments of human beings. The lines and folds of the garment may be painted in eighteen different ways according to what are known as the eighteen laws for the dress (emon ju hachi byo). I will mention each of these laws in its order and refer to the plate illustrations of the same.
The floating silk thread line (kou ko yu shi byou) ([Plate XLI] upper). This line was introduced by the Tosa school of artists eight hundred years ago and has been in favor ever since. It is the purest or standard line and is reserved for the robes of elevated personages. The brush is held firmly and the lines, made to resemble silk threads drawn from the cocoon, are executed with a free and uninterrupted movement of the arm.
The Koto string line (kin shi byou) ([Plate XLI] lower). This is a line of much dignity and of uniform roundness from start to finish. It is produced by using a little more of the tip of the brush than in the silk thread line and there must be no break or pause in it until completed. This line is used for dignified subjects.
Chasing clouds and running water lines (kou un ryu sui byou) ([Plate XLII] upper). These are produced with a wave-like, continuous movement of the brush—breathing, as it were. Such lines are generally reserved for the garments of saints, young men and women.
The stretched iron wire line (tetsu sen byou) ([Plate XLII] lower). This is a very important line, [pg 64] much employed by Tosa artists and used for the formal, stiffly searched garments of court nobles, samurai, no dancers, and umpires of wrestling matches. When this line is painted the artist must have the feeling of carving upon metal.
The nail-head and rat-tail line (tei tou sobi byou) ([Plate XLIII] upper). In making this, the stroke is begun with the feeling of painting and reproducing the hard nature of a tack and then continued to depict a rat's tail, which grows small by degrees and beautifully less.
The line of the female court noble or tsubone (sou i byou) ([Plate XLIII] lower). This line and the preceding are much used for the soft and graceful garments of young men and women and have always been favorites with the Ukiyo e painters.
The willow-leaf line (ryu you byou) ([Plate XLIV] upper). This line has always been in great favor with all the schools, and especially with the Kano painters, and is used indiscriminately for goddesses, angels, and devils. It is intended to reproduce the sentiment of the willow leaf, commencing with a fine point, swelling a little and again diminishing.
The angleworm line (kyu en byou) ([Plate XLIV] lower). The angleworm is of uniform roundness throughout its length and it is with that sentiment or kokoromochi that it must be painted, care being taken to conceal the point of the brush along the line. This is a most important line in all color painting. Indeed, where much pains are to be taken with the picture, and the colors are to be most carefully laid on, it is the best and favorite line.
The rusty nail and old post line (ketsu tou tei byou) ([Plate XLV] upper). This line is painted with a brush, the point of which is broken off. The Kano school of artists particularly affect this method of line painting in depicting beggars, hermits, and other such characters.
The date seed line (sau gai byou) ([Plate XLV] lower). This line, intended to represent a continuous succession of date seeds, is made with a throbbing brush and generally used in the garments of sages and famous men of learning.
The broken reed line (setsu ro byou) ([Plate XLVI] upper) is made with a rather dry brush and, as its name indicates, should be painted with the feeling of reproducing broken reeds. It is a line intended to inspire terror, awe, consternation, and is used for war gods, fudo sama, and other divinities.
The gnarled knot line (kan ran byou) ([Plate XLVI] lower). In this kind of painting the brush is stopped from time to time and turned upon itself with a feeling of producing the gnarled knots of a tree. The line is much used for ghosts, dream pictures, and the like.
The whirling water line (sen pitsu sui mon byou) ([Plate XLVII] upper) is used for rapid work and reproduces the swirl of the stream. It was a favorite line with Kyosai.
The suppression line (gen pitsu byou) ([Plate XLVII] lower) is suitable where but few lines enter into the painting of the dress. Any of the other seventeen lines can be employed in this way. The Kano artists used it a great deal.
Dry twig or old firewood line (ko shi byou) ([Plate XLVIII] upper) is generally used in the robes of old men and produced by what is called the dry brush; that is, a brush with very little water mixed with the sumi. The stroke must be bold and free to be effective.
The orchid leaf line (ran yau byou) ([Plate XLVIII] lower). This is a very beautiful method of painting whereby the graceful shape of the orchid leaf is recalled; the line is used for the dresses of geishas and beauties (bijin) generally.
The bamboo leaf line (chiku yau byou) ([Plate XLIX] upper). This style of painting, which aims at suggesting the leaf of the bamboo, was much in favor formerly in China. Japanese artists seldom employ it.
The mixed style (kon byou) ([Plate XLIX] lower), in which any of the foregoing seventeen styles can be employed provided the body of the garment be laid on first in mass and the lines painted in afterward while the sumi or paint is still damp. This gives a satiny effect.
There are many other ways of painting the lines of the garment but the preceding eighteen laws give the strictly classic methods known to oriental art.
The orchid, bamboo, plum, and chrysanthemum paragons (ran chiku bai kiku) are called in art the Four Paragons. Although these may be the first studies taught they are generally the last subjects mastered. Much learning and research have been expended upon them in China and Japan. An [pg 67] artist who can paint shi kun shi is a master of the brush. I will indicate some of the laws applicable to each of these subjects.
The orchid grows in the deepest mountain recesses, exhaling its perfume and unfolding its beauty in silence and solitude, unheralded and unseen; thus, regardless of its surroundings and fulfilling the law of its being, fifteen hundred years ago it was proclaimed by the poet and painter San Koku to typify true nobility and hence was a paragon. In poetry it is called the maiden's mirror. Many great Chinese writers have taken the orchid (ran) for their nom de plume, as Ran Ya, Ran Tei, Ran Kiku, and Ran Ryo.
[Plate LII] shows an orchid plant in flower. The established order of the brush strokes for the leaves of is indicated at the tips by numerals one to eleven; that of the flower stalk and flower by numbers twelve to twenty-one. Various forms are invoked in painting both the plant and the flower and are more or less graphically suggested. These forms are indicated by numbers, as follows:
Leaf blade No. 1 reproduces twice the stomach of the mantis (22), the tail of the rat (23), with the cloud longing (bo un) of the tip (24). Leaf No. 2 is similarly constructed but is painted to intersect leaf No. 1, leaving between them a space (No. 25) called the elephant's eye. Leaf No. 3 is intersected by leaf No. 4, enclosing another space between them, known as the eye of the phoenix. Adding leaves Nos. 5 and 6, called seki or kazari, meaning ornament, we have the most essential [pg 68] parts of the orchid plant. Leaf No. 7 is known as the rat's tail and leaf No. 8 as the body of a young carp. Nos. 9,10 and 11 are called nail heads, from their fancied resemblance to such objects. With these the plant is structurally complete.
Bamboo, Sparrow and Rain. Plate VII.
The flower stalk is divided into four parts (Nos. 12 to 15), called rice sheaths. The flower is made with six strokes (16 to 21), called the flying bee (26). The three dots in the flower reproduce the sentiment of the Chinese character for heart (23).
The orchid is variously painted rising from the ground, issuing from the banks of a brook, or clinging with its roots to a rocky cliff. In allusion to the lonely places where it grows it is called I shiri no kusa or the plant which the wild boar knows. The orchid is credited with medicinal properties, and the flower steeped in wine makes a potion which secures perpetual health. The charm of friendship is likened unto the orchid's perfume and the flowers are worn by the ladies of the court to ward off maladies.
The leaves of the bamboo are green at all seasons. The stems are straight and point upwards. The plant is beautiful under all conditions—struggling beneath the winter snow or fanned by the spring breeze, swaying with the storm or bending under showers—its grace challenges admiration. Typifying constancy and upright conduct, it was claimed over a thousand years ago by Shumo Shiku to be a paragon.
Nothing is more difficult to paint correctly than this plant. [Plate LIII] shows the bamboo with its [pg 69] essentially component parts and forms indicated as follows: The upright stalk is in five subdivisions (1 to 5), each differing in length but all suggesting the Chinese character for one (ichi) painted upright. These are separated from each other by strokes reproducing the Chinese characters for positively (22), for heart (23), for second (24), for one (25), and for eight (26). The stem (6 to 10) is composed of rats' tails. The manner of painting and combining the leaves of the bamboo is called take no ha no kumitata and is minutely described and illustrated in Ransai's great work, Gwa Fu. The essentials are: The five-leaf arrangement (go yo) (11 to 15) with the ornament (16), called kazari. The three-leaf arrangement (17 to 19) called ko ji, from its resemblance to the Chinese character ko (32). The two-leaf arrangement (20 and 21) called jin ji, from its resemblance to the character jin (33), a man. In further development of the plant the following imitative arrangements of the leaves are used: The fish tail (gyo bi) (27), the goldfish triple tail (kingyo bi) (28), the swallow tail (en bi) (29), the Chinese character for bamboo (chiku ji) (30), and the seven-leaf arrangement (shichi yo) (31). It will be observed how the odd or positive numbers (yo) are favored. The foregoing method is used by the Okyo painters.
The Kano artists have another system for combining and elaborating the leaf growth, but it does not differ radically from that here given. The leaf of the bamboo reproduces the shape of a carp's body (34). It also resembles the tail feathers of the [pg 70] phoenix. An oil is made from the bamboo and is said to be good for people with quick tempers. Many artists adopt the name of bamboo for their nom de plume; witness, Chiku Jo, Chiku Do, Chiku Sho, Chiku Den and the like.
It is said that the full moon casts the shadow of the bamboo in a way no other light approaches. The learned Okubu Shibutsu first observed this and the discovery led to his becoming the greatest of all bamboo painters. Nightly he used to trace with sumi such bamboo shadows on his paper window. Sho Hin, a lady artist of Tokyo, enjoys a well-earned reputation for painting bamboo. She was a pupil of Tai Zan, a Kyoto representative of the Chinese school. The Kano painters much favored the subject of the seven sages in the bamboo grove. Bamboo grass (sassa) is much painted by all the schools. It is very decorative. There is a male and a female bamboo; from the latter (medake) arrows are made. The uses to which man puts the bamboo are surprisingly numerous, thus fortifying its claims to be regarded a paragon.
The plum is the first tree of the year to bloom. It has a dejicate perfume. Though the trunk of the tree grows old it renews its youth and beauty every spring with vigorous fresh branches crowded with buds and blossoms. In old age the tree takes on the shape of a sleeping dragon. With no other flower or tree are associated more beautiful and pathetic folk-lore and historical facts. For these and other reasons Rennasei assigned to the plum its place as a paragon centuries and centuries ago.
The tree branches with their interlacings reproduce the spirit of the Chinese character for woman, called jo ji ([Plate L], No. 1). The blossom (2) is painted on the principle of in yo, the upper portion of the petal line being the positive or yo and the lower being the negative or in side. This is repeated five times for the five petals of the blossom (3). The stamens (4) and pistils are reproductions of the Chinese character sho, meaning small. For the calyx (5) the Chinese character for clove (cho) is invoked.
The great scholar and nobleman, Sugewara Michizane, particularly loved the plum tree. Banished from his home, as he was leaving his grounds he addressed that silent sentinel of his garden in the following verse, which has earned immortality:
Do thou, dear plum tree, send out thy perfume when the east wind blows;
And, though thy master be no longer here,
Forget not to blossom always when the springtime comes.
In Japan the plum, though not eaten raw, when salted has wonderful strength sustaining properties, and in wartime supplies as ume boshi a valuable concentrated food.
The chrysanthemum has been cultivated in China for four thousand years and its fame was sung by the poet and scholar, To En Mei, who prized it above all else under heaven and assigned it the rank of paragon.
When all Nature is preparing for the long sleep of winter and the red, brown and golden forest leaves are dropping, spiritless, to the ground, the [pg 72] chrysanthemum comes forth from the earth in fresh and radiant colors. It gladdens the heart in the sad season of autumn. Its clustered petals, all united and never scattering, typify the family, the state, and the Empire. For the last six hundred years the sixteen-petaled chrysanthemum has been the emblem of Imperial sovereignty in Japan. With artists it has always been a favorite flower subject. There are innumerable ways of painting it.
[Plate LI] shows the chrysanthemum flower and leaves painted in the Okyo manner. There is an established order in which the leaves must be executed. Viewed from the front (Nos. 1 and 2) the order of the brush stroke is as indicated on the plate; viewed from the side the brush is applied in the order indicated in Nos. 4 and 5. The flower (6 and 7) is built up from the bud (5), petals being added according to the effect sought. The flower half opened is shown in No. 6, and wholly opened in No. 7. The calyx somewhat reproduces the Chinese written character cho. The Kano painters have a different way of painting the chrysanthemum leaves and flowers, but the foregoing illustrates the general principles obtaining in all the schools. Korin painted the kiku in a manner quite different from that of any other artist. The word kiku is Chinese, the Japanese word for the flower being kawara yomogi. The Nagoya artists have always been particularly skilful in painting the chrysanthemum in an exceptionally engaging way. The little marguerite-like blossom is called mame-giku, and is a universal favorite among all artists.
The impression produced on one who for the first time hears enumerated these various laws may possibly be that all such methods for securing artistic effects are arbitrary, mechanical and unnatural. But in practice, the artist who invokes their aid finds they produce invariably pleasing and satisfactory results. It must not be supposed that such laws are exclusive of all other methods of painting in the Japanese style. On the contrary the artist is at liberty to use any other method he may select provided the result is artistically correct. Many painters have invented methods of their own which are not included in the foregoing enumeration of these laws of lines, dots and ledges, which, it must always be borne in mind, are only to assist the artist who may be in doubt or difficulty as to how he shall best express the effect he aims at. It is such second nature for him to employ them that he does so as unconsciously as one in writing will invoke the rules of grammar. It is related that a great statesman, being asked if it were necessary for a diplomat to know Latin and Greek, replied that it was quite sufficient for him to have forgotten them. And so with these laws. A knowledge of them is a necessary part of the education of every Japanese artist, for they lie at the very foundation of the art of oriental painting. Chinese writing abounds with similar principles; it is a law applicable to one kind of such writing, called rei sho, that in each character there shall be one stroke which begins with the head of a silkworm and terminates with a goose's tail. This also may [pg 74] sound odd and seem forced, yet this law gives a special and wonderful cachet to the character so written.
Some acquaintance with these principles and methods invoked by artists adds much to our keen enjoyment of their work, just as an analysis of the chords in a musical composition increases our pleasure in the harmonies they produce. Ruskin has discovered in the very earliest art the frequent use of simple forms suggested by the slightly curved and springing profile of the leaf bud which, he declares, is of enormous importance even in mountain ranges, when not vital but falling force is suggested. “This abstract conclusion the great thirteenth century artists were the first to arrive at” (Ruskin's Mod. Painters, Vol. III), and even in the architecture of the best cathedrals that author detects the observance of the law determining in an ivy leaf the arrangement of its parts about a center.
In Japanese art simple forms supplied by nature are often used for suggesting other forms as, for instance, the stork's legs for the pine tree branches, the turtle's back for the pine bark lines, the fish tail for bamboo leafage, the elephant's eye in the orchid plant, the shape of Fujiyama for the forehead of a beautiful woman, and various Chinese characters, originally pictorial, adumbrated in trees, flowers and other subjects. The universality of such underlying type forms recognized and applied by oriental artists is confirmatory of the principle that in both nature and art all is united by a common [pg 75] chain or commune vinculum attesting the harmony between created things. A Japanese painting executed with the aid of such resources teems with vital force and suggestion, and to the eye of a connoisseur (kuroto) becomes a breathing microcosm.
To give some idea of the order in which the component parts of an object are painted according to Japanese rules, which are always stringently insisted upon, flowers like the chrysanthemum and peony are begun at their central point and built up from within outwardly, the petals being added to increase the size as the flower opens. In a flower subject the blossoms are painted first; the buds come next; then the stem, stalks, leaves and their veinings, and lastly the dots called chobo chobo.
The established order for the human figure is as follows: Nose and eyebrows, eyes, mouth, ears, sides of the face, chin, forehead, head, neck, hands, feet, and finally the appareled body. In Japanese art the nude figure is never painted.
In a tree the order is trunk, central and side limbs [(Plate XXI)], branches and their subdivisions, leaves and their veinings, and dots.
In birds: The beak in three strokes (ten, chi, jin), the eye, the head, the throat and breast, the back, the wings, the body, the tail, the legs, claws, nails and eyeball [(Plate XXII)].
In landscape work the general rule is to paint what is nearest first and what is farthest last. Kubota's method was to do all this rapidly and, if possible, with one dip of the well-watered brush into the sumi, so that as the sumi becomes gradually [pg 76] diluted and exhausted the proper effect of foreground, middle distance and remote perspective is obtained.
In painting mountain ranges that recede one behind the other the same process is followed, and mountains as they disappear to the right or left of the picture should tend to rise. This principle is called bo un or cloud longing.
It is useless here to enumerate the many faults which art students are warned against committing. Suffice it to say the number is enormous. Out of many of the Chinese formulas I will give only one, which is known as shi byo or the four faults, and is as follows:
Ja, kan, zoku, rai. Ja refers to attempted originality in a painting without the ability to give it character, departing from all law to produce something not reducible to any law or principle. Kan is producing only superficial, pleasing effect without any power in the brush stroke—a characterless painting to charm only the ignorant. Zoku refers to the fault of painting from a mercenary motive only,—thinking of money instead of art. Rai is the base imitation of or copying or cribbing from others.
