There is no other Japanese school so interesting, even from the one point of style in expressive decoration, as the Koyetsu-korin school, the much-admired branch of Japanese art in the West. Although I was glad to see a good specimen of Sotatsu in “Descent of the Thunder God on the Palace of Fujiwara” in the exhibition, I hardly think that such a figure painting (a really good work in its own way) shows Sotatsu’s best art; while my memory of the Sotatsu exhibition at Uyeno of Tokyo a few years ago is still fresh, I am pleased to connect Sotatsu with the flower-screens and little Kakemono for the tea-rooms, now with a pair of rabbits nibbling grasses, then with a little bunch of wild chrysanthemums. You will see what an admirer I am of this school, since I have dwelt at some length on Koyetsu and Kenzan in this little book of Japanese art. I regret that I have to beg for some more time before I make myself able to write on great Korin; I am sure that Hoitsu, one of the most distinguished decadents of the early nineteenth century, and the acknowledged successor of the Koyetsu-korin school, would give us a highly interesting subject to discuss. Oh, those days at Bunkwa and Bunsei (1804-1830)! Dear, rotten, foolish, romantic old Tokugawa civilisation and art!
Two articles on Harunobu and Hokusai are still to be written for the Ukiyoye school; I know, I believe, that without those two artists the school would never be complete. I am happy to think that I have Gaho Hashimoto in the present book as the last great master of the Kano school; but I cannot help thinking about Hogai Kano, Gaho’s spiritual brother, who passed away almost in starvation.
Indeed, Hogai’s whole life of sixty years was a life of hardship and hunger; when he reached manhood, the whole country of Japan began to be disturbed under the name of the Grand Restoration. In those days, the safety of one’s life was not assured; how then could art claim the general protection? All the artists threw away their drawing-brushes. Hogai tried to get his living by selling baskets and brooms; his wife, it is said, helped him by weaving at night; their lives were hard almost without comparison. Following the advice of a certain Mr. Fujishima, Hogai drew pictures and gave them to a dealer at Hikage Cho, Tokyo, to be sold. After three long years, he found that only one picture had been sold, and so he gave the rest of them, more than fifty, to Mr. Fujishima, who, by turns, gave them away to his friends. And those pictures which were given freely by Mr. Fujishima are now their owners’ greatest treasures. Thus is the irony of life exemplified. It was thought by Hogai a piece of good fortune when he was engaged by Professor Fenellosa for twelve yen a month; this American critic’s eye discerned Hogai’s unusual ability. It is almost unbelievable to-day that such a small sum should have been acceptable; but it may have been the usual payment in those days, and the Professor’s friendship was more to Hogai than money. He received fifteen yen afterward when he was engaged by the Educational Department of the Government in 1884; how sad he could not support himself by art alone. And alas, he was no more when the general appreciation of his great art began to be told. Quite many specimens of Hogai’s work are treasured in the Boston Museum at present. How changed are the conditions now from Hogai’s day! But are these fortunately changed conditions really helpful for the creation of true art?
To look at some of the modern work is too trying, mainly from the fact that it lacks, to use the word of Zen Buddhism, the meaning of silence; it seems to me that some modern artists work only to tax people’s minds. In Nature we find peacefulness and silence; we derive from it a feeling of comfort and restfulness; and again from it we receive vigour and life. I think so great art should be. Many modern artists cannot place themselves in unison with their art; in one word, they do not know how to follow the law or michi, that Mother Nature gladly evolves. It is such a delight to examine the works of Hogai, as each picture is a very part of his own true self; the only difference is the difference that he wished to evoke in interest; his desire was always so clear in the relation between himself and his work, and accidentally he succeeded as if by magic in establishing the same relationship for us, the onlookers. It goes without saying that the pictures of such an artist are richer than they appear; while he used only Chinese ink in his pictures, our imagination is pleased to see them with the addition of colour, and even voice.
The subjects which are treated in the present volume are various, but I dare say that all the artists whose art I have treated here will well agree in the point of their expression of the Japanese spirit of art, which always aims at poetry and atmosphere, but not mere style and purpose.
Y. N.
London,
May 13, 1914.
THE SPIRIT OF
JAPANESE ART