After the Dragon: Enter the Snake - Japanese New Year 2025

 

So an old year leaves and a new one comes around. And in Japan that means the start of a new animal year according to the Chinese zodiac (yes, from January 1st, which might not be quite in line with the Chinese world, but is a tradition that has been going for the last 150 years or so). This year, 2025, is the Year of the Snake.

In Japan, like many other cultures, snakes tend not to be popular animals, but they command a sense of respect as well as fear – they can be divine messengers, as well as representing the dangerous and uncontrollable forces of nature. Their physical nature - the ability to shed their skin, their poisonous bite point towards other symbolic aspects such as renewal on the positive side, and malice on the not so positive.

Alas for this blog, there seems to be little overt connection to traditional martial arts in Japan –not the case in China, for example, where snakes and snake style movement feature in a number of styles. There is certainly a tradition of respect - snakes were revered at certain shrines, avoided when traveling in the mountains (although there seems generally to have been a prohibition against killing them) and even today you may still hear the old wisdom that one is not supposed to whistle at night for fear of attracting them. Snakes were not, however, common motifs for samurai or thematically embodied in their traditions.

As one of the animals of the Chinese zodiac, snakes do crop up in art, although they are not as common as many other animals. The white snakes used for many New Year decorations are auspicious - sometime divine messengers, they are often associated with the goddess Benzaiten. Nowadays, they are often depicted curled up, and here incorporating the mochi rice cakes that are often used as New Year decorations, looking cute but not particularly snakey. In the past, artists felt more comfortable with a more naturalistic representation, as you can see from the painting at the top of the page by Hokusai.

On the other hand, there is quite a selection of giant snakes (known as uwabami) to be found in ukiyo-e prints, as sinuous as you could hope for, usually locked in battle with a variety of brave heroes. Here is one such uwabami pre-encounter, once again by Hokusai.

 One of these, Heita Tanenaga, a real life 13th century samurai, seems to have made something of a career taking on these monster snakes, with tales telling of at least five different encounters. Utagawa Kuniyoshi’s dynamic style was well-suited to depicting such encounters, and strongly influenced other artists in their approach.

 but Hokusai who could turn his brush towards almost anything, was clearly not to be outdone.

I have seen such tussles explained as (a subconscious depiction of) the struggle of the upper and lower selves, the earthly and divine sides of our natures, and it’s easy to see where the snake fits in here. It seems nicely ‘symbolic’, but I wouldn’t necessarily dismiss it completely as there is something deeply attractive about such themes, something that you might be expected to grow out of (like superhero movies) but which many people do not.

Speaking of esoterica, snakes were also popularly associated with magic and the dark side of spirituality in novels and theatre in the Edo Period, and you can see these in prints as well. Here is Kidomaru engaged in his esoteric arts. 

Interestingly, some schools of bujutsu also incorporated aspects of these arts (and still do to some extent). Of these, perhaps the best known is Tenshin Shinden Katori Shinto Ryu; there are others. Some regard esoteric training as psychology, whereas others see the training as having a somewhat different flavour, enabling access to something beyond the merely human. The Japanese tend not to like categorically falling in one camp or another on many issues, but I have found that the world of spirits is one that is not dismissed lightly here. You may feel a little reassured to reflect that the swordsmen in the stories were not outmatched by sorcery – the strength of spirit from their training was a match for their opponents.

An unusual painting - I'm not sure just where it's from - it looks
like a picture scroll involving the zodiac animals up to more of their zany antics.

 

I’ll leave you with another rather unusual painting, once again by Hokusai, of a snake and dragon, painted as a lantern. If I recall correctly, it was painted for a business, in Fukugawa in Edo. This area was also known as Tatsumi, which meant south-east, as the area lay in the south east of the city. It is also a play on the place name, as ‘tatsu’ means dragon, and ‘mi’ is an alternative pronunciation for the word snake.

Happy New Year 2025!

The military rake in times of peace – from the battlefield to civilian protection – part 2

 

A real antique kumade - this one was more than  260cm long

We looked at the military rake (kumade) last month, so now it’s time to see how it fared after the long centuries of war came to an end. Perhaps it was its utility that doomed it in the field of war – It didn’t have much mystique or status as a weapon, did not seem particularly attached to any social or military group (unlike the masakari or long handled axe, for example, which was long associated with yamabushi), and without anywhere to realise its use as a weapon, people forgot how useful it could be, and little more is seen or heard of it…as such. 

A modern day yamabushi with a masakari

 

(image courtesy of Trip Advisor)

 

While it doesn’t seem that the kumade made the transition as a weapon into the relatively peaceful Edo period, several weapons were used in civil defense/law enforcement that involved entangling and immobilizing an opponent. These were the triad of sasumata, sodegarami and tsukubo (there are several alternative names, but these are the most common – the fork, the sleeve entangler and the push pole. Matsura Seizan, for example, calls them the sasumata, hineri and shumoku). They were categorized as implements or tools rather than weapons, but their array of short spikes, partly to deter grabbing, would have been capable of causing significant damage, as well as helping to catch and entangle clothing. If you get the chance to see them close up, there is no doubt that you wouldn’t want the business end of any of them near you. 

sasumata

sodegarami

tsukubo

In their use, they could very well have replicated the hooking functions of the rake, and perhaps they were more suitable for use against unarmoured opponents. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of techniques for these implements that have been passed down, though there are several videos online of people using them in more or less plausible ways. 

I would think that anyone reasonably well-versed in the use of pole arms (and jujutsu, perhaps, given their use for restraint) could come up with similar techniques. 

These were not the only tools used to subdue unruly lawbreakers. Anyone who has seen the classic film, Daisatsujin Orochi, starring Ichikawa Raizo, will surely remember the scene where the lone swordsman is confronted by a crowd of constables who attempt to capture him using ropes, doors two-wheeled wooden wagons and ladders (as well was some of the more usual implements just visible in the bottom of the frame below. (This is well worth watching in any case – one of my favourite Japanese movies. it's English title is The Betrayal).

A still from Daisatsujin Orochi - the hero is in the centre - note the the tsukubo and sasumata at the bottom of the frame.

A slightly less conventional law enforcement tool

Though this approach may seem to be a relic of the past, a modern iteration of the sasumata is still a common piece of equipment in schools (and police stations) in Japan (and also in China apparently – I saw one in evidence in a news report about one of the recent mass stabbing incidents) and has occasionally been deployed successfully. It offers the ability to hold off a knife wielding attacker while remaining at a safe distance. Techniques have been designed to give it more flexibility in use, and it looks as if it could, indeed, be quite effective, especially if it is part of a coordinated effort involving several people. An ideal version is depicted in the picture below. 

 

Teachers training with sasumata

 Here is a link to a video showing training in a supermarket:

https://youtu.be/WtdCxgmqDI4

Note the use of supermarket trolleys, too!

However, as always, the reality of an attack is likely to be quite different from practice. It would require a cool head to use it well against a knife wielding assailant, and, perhaps because of its success in being sold as such a practical response to a knife attack, there has been some criticism of its effectiveness. These criticisms stress the relative ease with which the knife wielder could catch hold of the head, either to twist it around so they can get past, or, by grabbing both prongs, take control of it. (As someone holding the two prongs has a mechanical advantage over someone just holding the shaft, this is quite possible.) The lack of spikes in the centre of the ‘u’ section, a feature in some ‘samurai period’ sasumata also means that there is nothing to stop the aggressor pushing back directly against the force of the defender, possibly forcing the defender to drop the sasumata or risk being cut. 

I like pole weapons but space limitations in Japan means I haven’t had the chance to practice with them as often as I would like. The modern sasumata certainly seems like something it would be fun to play around with.

On a final note, although the sasumata is designed to immobilize an attacker, that is not the only way of using it. The video below shows the owner of a jewelers shop in Tokyo using it successfully as a club in the most basic of ways – and it worked.

https://youtu.be/q1vwgwi-k9Y?si=9_Xv-ugJsCjvXLz9

The rake’s progress - from the battlefield to modern-day civilian protection - part 1

From the Scroll of the Mongol Invasion (Mōko Shūrai Ekotoba) - a fine example of a kumade in the centre.

Today, seeing the leaves beginning to turn to the gold of autumn, I was reminded of that perennial garden chore, raking leaves. It made me think of a reference I came across regarding a certain Matsuda Hidenobu, a warrior of some note who fought at the battle of Sekigahara (1600) during which he is reported to have used a long weapon called a kumade (literally ‘bear’s claw’) to bring down 11 mounted opponents whom his followers then dispatched. What had caught my eye was that the weapon he was depicted with was a large leaf rake (see below).

Chicken or egg? One of these is clearly derived from the other, but they both have poor old Matsuda using a leaf rake.

While it is true that the same word, kumade, is used for a modern leaf rake, this is very far from the weapon that Matsuda Hidenobu must have used.

The word ‘battlefield’ is often bandied about with regard to traditional martial arts – some of them really were created for or used on battlefields; others are more likely to have developed for civilian self-protection in what were very violent times. Some were probably meant as a kind of training to imbue discipline and other virtues in a suitable cultural package. Many are hybrids, adapting and developing military techniques for other purposes. But early examples of the use of the kumade can, indeed, be located on battlefields in early medieval Japan. 

This can be seen in artwork such as the Kasuga Gongen E-Maki (early 14th century - see above) and in the well known Scroll of the Mongol Invasion (13th century), and several instances appear in war chronicles, both on land and at sea. Set at an earlier date than both the aforementioned scrolls, the story of Taira no Yorimori being attacked by one Hachimachi Jiro, who hooked a rake onto his helmet, only for Yorimori to reverse the tables by cutting through the shaft of the kumade with his sword, the famous Nuke-maru, sending Jiro tumbling, and returning to camp with the kumade still attached to his helmet, has a ring of truth to it, despite the clearly fictional basis of many of the individual exploits in these tales.  These tales and picture scrolls were mostly created well after the periods they depict (not in the case of the Mongol Invasion scroll, however), but still in a time of pretty constant warfare, so they can be considered reasonably reliable in the weapons they depict.

Doubling as a weapon and a tool, it is difficult to ascertain the origins of this device, but its similarity to the kind of anchor used by small boats suggests this is a possible source. It is often depicted with a rope or chain wound around the shaft, and although I have seen no depictions (or read any accounts) of how this was used, it suggests the head may not have been too firmly fixed on the shaft and the rope/chain served as an additional means of controlling the opponent if the head became detached (or if the shaft was cut through, as in the story above).

Not surprisingly, it was used differently on land and at sea. On land, it seems to have been used both by foot soldiers and mounted warriors, principally as a means of pulling armoured riders off their mounts – a useful tactic, especially given the amount of cordage and loose fitting pieces that made up Japanese armour. At sea, it could be used not only to grapple with enemy boats, but accounts also note its use in rescuing comrades who had fallen into the water. 

Although it seems to have been effective, it was not particularly common. With the weight concentrated at one end, it is likely it was less well-balanced than more typical spears and naginata. Both Musashibo Benkei, legendary retainer of Minamoto Yoshitsune, who carried it as one of his seven weapons/tools, (which also included a large mallet, a broad-bladed axe and an iron staff, all of which were meant to indicate his strength) and the aforementioned Hachimachi Jiro, were warriors of more than average strength, and it may well be that it was, indeed, heavier and less wieldy than more common weapons. 

A close-up from the Denshoubi showing a hybrid rake-like weapon

That it was used by Matsuda Hidenobu in the battle of Sekigahara, suggests it continued to be used throughout the Sengoku period, and perhaps beyond. The fact that surprisingly few examples have survived to the present day suggests it quickly fell out of favour, perhaps to be replaced by other weapons more suitable to the demands of new era. A screen painted around 1614 (the Denshoubi probably by Iwasa Matabei) depicting scenes in Kyoto, shows what looks like a kumade, together with other pole arms, on display at a theatre. Here, however, it seems to have assumed something of a civic role, as something symbolic or to be used in a crowd control function. I believe that it is in this guise that it continued up the the modern era - more of that next time.

One last picture of Matsuda Hidenobu with his leaf rake.It looks like it is from one of the Osprey publications, but it shows the difficulty of finding accurate source material.

 

Unlocking the Secrets of the Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryū

The late Otake Risuke, master of the Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryū

 Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryū is one of the oldest extant schools of martial arts in Japan, with an unbroken lineage from late medieval times, blessed (until recently) with an open and charismatic shihan (not sōke as I wrote previously) who oversaw the teaching and passing on of his skills and knowledge to the next generation while managing to maintain quality control at the same time as expanding its popularity.

It was also notable as the principal koryū studied by Donn Draeger, and through his influence became the point of entry for many non-Japanese interested in older martial traditions. Because of this connection, it was also featured in the BBC documentary ’Way of the Warrior’, becoming familiar to another generation of practitioners outside Japan and it was because of both of these that I learnt about it first myself.

It has a broad technical repertoire utilizing a number of weapons and, unusually in traditional Japanese martial arts, involves quite long kata which are done at speed (and also, at least at one time and depending on the circumstances, also practiced out of doors). Seen from an outsider’s perspective, it is often difficult to tell exactly what is happening in these kata, especially as targets are substituted for the real target to allow a longer sequence and to hide the true nature of the attacks from outsiders. There are several videos online of Otake Risuke demonstrating and explaining parts of these kata, and one can only assume this is the tip of the iceberg. Although such explanations give us an insight into the meanings of the kata, it must be viewed as a partial explanation of the system as a whole - there is, no doubt, very much more that is kept within the teachings. However, it gives enough to have good idea of how deceptive surface appearances can be. 

At first glance, the kata appear more combative than those of other schools - there is much clashing of bokken and the pace is fast. In fact, they look like the kind of choreography you might see in a movie. When Otake explains the techniques it opens a window to understanding, but there is more left unexplained. Two of the points he stressed were that targets are predominantly those areas that would be left minimally protected by armour, and that the targets which are shown in the kata are not the real targets. Strikes made in the kata are typically blocked (for want of a better word) by the opponent’s bokken, or avoided, and although it is sometimes easy to see where the cut is aimed, often the intended target is purposely obscured.

Looking at the kata more closely, there are several other points common to much of Japanese swordsmanship. Many schools of sword stress the ability to make a straight downward cut; their kata feature this as an attack (albeit often an unrealistic one) and often begin with a number of cuts that are obviously not directed at the opponent. (You can see this in the introductory kata of the TSKSR.) Putting aside considerations of reigi (proper behaviour and respect, custom, even religion) that may have influenced these kata (and these aspects should not necessarily be downplayed) what purpose does this have? I believe it is intimately bound up with the style of fighting, one which relies on assessment of line and distance, and one which sees attack as the best defence. These initial cuts are a means of establishing one’s own awareness of the line of the sword, the line which you use to attack and, vitally, must defend against. Understanding and being able to see this line is a vital component of effective swordsmanship: creating and manipulating this line within oneself is an important step towards this.

Otake explaining the finer points of technique to a student

The kata of TSKSR feature a wide variety of attacks to different targets, but still, many of them derive from this basic downward stroke; some other schools keep this focus through whole series of kata. In branches of the Ittō Ryū, for example, understanding this is basically the main point of the whole school. It is not something that a student can develop quickly, but continually returning to this motion will, it is hoped, bring an unconscious understanding. The vital corollary to this is being able to read the line of the opponent’s sword, and this is the basis of all the defensive (for which also read 'attacking') moves.

If line does not seem to be as immediate a focus in TSKSR as in some schools, the same cannot be said of distance, and this, indeed, is key to a proper understanding of the kata. An awareness of this can be seen in the avoidance of cuts by stepping back or taking one hand off the hilt to avoid a cut to the wrist. The importance of this is greater than it first appears, for it is axiomatic in this school that “if you can block, you should cut”, which is to say, in principle, all the ‘blocks’ or ‘parries’ in the kata were actually meant to be cuts, either to the attacking arm or to some other part of the body. (I have seen many a discussion online in which people marshal a variety of evidence - often including reference to TSKSR kata - in argument against this, usually along the lines of “it’s in this kata” or “if it’s a matter of life or death…”, largely unconvincingly). 

I don’t train in TSKSR, nor do I make any claim to understand all the minutiae of the style, so feel free to disregard my opinion on this, but I think the above gives an accurate insight into what makes the sword techniques work. It is an interesting training method, and not having experienced it from the inside, I can’t give any direct comparison with other modes of training. From an outsider's perspective, it seems that some of the kata moves involve strikes of bokken against bokken that are far from the intended usage, even though the speed and rhythm of the kata is much closer to how the techniques might have been used 'for real'.  Like all kata, the effectiveness will depend on how good the attacks are and how much pressure is put on the student, and of course there are trade-offs. 

The vexed question of just how to conduct effective training was something that remained on people’s minds well into the twentieth century. I suspect that, in many cases, kata devolved into a choreographed performance in which the participants relied on foreknowledge of the attack to defend against it, not to mention attacks that were not committed enough to cause much damage even if they had hit. Overcoming these problems is where the advanced levels of training come in, and at least one commentator, Joseishi, an adept of the Shingyōtō ryū, noted that the inner teachings of a style are a development of what was taught as the basic principles, and the importance of sensitivity in developing skill.

For an insider’s view of TSKSR, I recommend listening to this online talk given by Aiden O’Reilly, who does a good job of introducing the style, as well as making some interesting comparisons with another style he practises. (See if you can spot my question towards the end).

https://youtu.be/RGFiodeyx0I?feature=shared

Golden Spring - Japanese historical fiction

                                                    FREE novella available here: Golden Spring

It has taken me long enough, but finally I have my 1930's mystery novel, The Tiger’s Gate available on pre-order on Amazon and most other online bookshops (only as an e-book so far but that may change).

Not only that, but my prequel novella, Golden Spring is available for download free here. You have to sign up for my newsletter to get it, but I promise I won't flood your inbox with emails.

The series is set in 1930's Tokyo, and in Golden Spring, our hero, Oshima Kai, is reminiscing about his time as a soldier in Manchuria and his old friend, Boss. Hired to escort the daughter of a local industrialist as she travels to the Golden Spring Resort, the two comrades look forward to a break from the monotony of a soldier’s life.

Of course, things don’t go as smoothly as they planned and instead of the relaxing weekend he’d hoped for Oshima finds himself involved in a deadly intrigue.

For those of you who enjoy period details and immersing yourself in a culture a little different from your own, this might be just the book. Throw in a shadowy fixer, bandits, a military spy master and mysterious woman and there's a bit off something for everyone! And if you like it, why not take a look at The Tiger's Gate. I hope you enjoy them!

For more information, see my website: cjhellman.com

Now I've sorted that out, I might get down to writing a few more blogs!

 

Passing of a master – Kuroda Tetsuzan (1950-2024)

 

Kuroda demonstrating battojutsu (screen shot from budojapan.com)

Tributes to Kuroda Tetsuzan, master of the Komagawa Kaishin Ryu kenjutsu (as well as related schools of iaijutsu and jujutsu) have been slowly appearing online, marking the passing earlier this month of a martial artist of rare skill, who had polished and refined his skills, passed down through his family, into something quite unique.

I never met him or had any connections with his school, but he clearly displayed impressive and unusual body skills developed, as he explained, through strict adherence and analysis of the kata passed down to him. He was able to illustrate facets of these skills in a variety of ways, opening aspects of his art to those outside his school. Indeed, he was one of the pioneers of this approach in Japan, of bringing the body skills of traditional Japanese arts to a wider audience, through books, seminars and DVDs. Kono Yoshinori (who was a friend of Kuroda's) and Akuzawa Minoru (founder of Aunkai) are two others who were (and still are) similarly involved in making such skills more widely known, but it was Kuroda who kept strictly to the art that was passed down to him. He has preserved and passed on the kata he was taught, and it is these that he sees as being invaluable to developing the skills of former generations of bugeisha. 

Watching him in action, his movements are clearly different from other schools of classical martial arts – the sudden change from one position to another and the very specific use of the body, for example. You can get a good idea of his concerns from an old (rather long but highly illuminating) interview by Stanley Pranin from the Aikido Journal. This is a short extract:

Since we stress kata [forms] training just as is done in other traditional Japanese martial arts, I don’t think there is anything that can be said to be particularly different in our method. I teach concrete, practical mental and physical techniques to enable students to realize the essence of the art through these kata.

A teaching called zegoku itto no koto has been transmitted in Japanese swordsmanship from olden times. When confronting an opponent one aims for a level where the movements of his mind and body control the opponent before he swings his sword. This is the highest level of swordsmanship. It seems to be a rather abstract spiritual teaching, but that’s not at all the case. It is an “invisible” technique which consists of advanced technical movements and the workings of the spirit based on these movements. All martial arts training begins with learning how to perceive this invisible element.

Kuroda Tetsuzan (2002)

https://aikidojournal.com/2002/08/26/interview-with-tetsuzan-kuroda/

The interview is from 2002, but from what I've seen, I assume his approach has not changed, however much his skills might have developed. What I think the interview gives is a sense of the importance of kata and how they can be used to develop particular skills. In these times when so much is available on video to be endlessly critiqued, when various forms of combat and combat sports are being practised and researched across cultures, when so many arguments are reduced to whether something works in sparring, it is not always easy to see the value of closely held secret methods of training or stylised kata that are not clearly (or clearly not) applicable to combat or self-defense. Some people have looked deeply into classical arts and derived real value from them, developing skills beyond the ordinary. Kuroda was one of those people.

Musashi’s Dragon Painting

Close up of the cover of the book on Musashi's ink painting (I've only ever seen one).

 

Another year draws to a close and the Year of the Dragon begins here in Japan (yes – it is a somewhat odd combination of the Chinese lunar New Year that begins a couple of months later, and the western New Year).

The imperial connections of the dragon in China are well-known; in Japan there was a strong connection with esoteric arts and Zen Buddhism in particular (at least in art) where they are seen as protectors of the Buddhist law. In this respect, they are still to be seen on the ceilings of many temples in Kyoto – some of them dating back to the late Muromachi  period (late 1500s). Some of these are on public display, some in areas only open to the public during the special openings in the spring and autumn, and some are rarely to be seen at all - perhaps only when peering through the wooden slats into the gloom. Some of these are very evocative, some less so, but they certainly have a power in situation that is difficult to reproduce in photographs.

Ceiling by Kano Tanyu at Daitokuji, Kyoto

The same may be said for the many dragons depicted on sliding doors and screens, some of them very powerful, others quite strange (or even both in the case of some of Kaiho Yusho’s paintings, where the dragons loom out of the darkness as presences quite different from the scaled creatures of Chinese lore. I wrote about some of the great dragon paintings (Master Dragon Painters), and strongly recommend seeing them in the flesh if possible. The reality of a painting is more than the image itself - the setting, the lighting, the size, the texture, the sense of antiquity, - all these add something to the experience that make it more than visual alone. With ink, the age of the paper, the way the ink has sunk in, faded or worn off – the patina of age, I suppose you could say – is part of the work. 

Kaiho Yusho on display at Kennin-ji, Kyoto

Kaiho Yusho's dragon from Kitano Tenmangu Shrine, Kyoto (close-up)

For whatever reason, I have always found the works of Miyamoto Musashi particularly powerful in the flesh (not something I’ve had the chance of doing very often, mind you), but I have not had the chance to see his dragon painting. Of course, he is better known for the more modest creatures he depicted, things he had seen with his own eyes, but at least one dragon painting survives (and there is supposed to be another, even more elusive one, too). 

It's not a good reproduction, but I hope you get the idea.

This painting is little known; it is scarcely visible on the internet, even on Japanese sites, but it exemplifies his art in several ways and is well worth closer examination. 

Like many of his paintings, it combines strong brushwork with a sensitivity to tone and depth. The brushwork is dynamic, using layered light and dark ink in increasingly powerful strokes to delineate the dragon’s head and claws. There is a dryness, almost asperity, in the use of dark ink in the claws, the teeth, and the barbels (whiskers) that extend whiplike into the empty space on the left of the composition. These echo the sharp curves of the waves and the dragon’s neck as it emerges from the blurred depths of the clouds. 

The dragon faces left into space, but his eyes look elsewhere. The look on his face is mild, even sheepish, recalling some of Kaiho Yusho’s dragons. (It is quite likely that Musashi had seen and perhaps made copies of Yusho’s work). What is he looking at? 

As I’ve written before, there is recognition now in art circles that the pairing of dragon and tiger had strong associations with military divination, and these connotations would have been familiar to many warriors. It is possible that this painting was one of a pair – I have seen it suggested there could have been a tiger, or as in the case of Kaiho Yusho’s works, another dragon. Perhaps the eyes are a clue. 

If this was painted as a stand-alone piece, Musashi was a knowing enough artist to be aware of the tension that a single element of a pair would create. Japanese (and Chinese) art emphasized the interplay between elements in a variety of ways. These might be purely visual, or they might be symbolic. The balance could be achieved in a single work, or in a pair, such as the tiger and dragon, or in the sliding doors on all four sides of a room. Sometimes, it would be in the mind of the alert viewer, where a clue might furnish the missing element, or the mere absence might give cause for consideration of what was not there.

Rhythm and the interplay of kyo and jitsu (empty and full - a kind of yin and yang pairing that was used in a variety of technical explanations) were key features of martial arts, so it should come as no surprise that Musashi would be particularly alert to such possibilities in his art. 

In this work, perhaps, the dragon is a symbol of the wisdom of both the natural and higher realms and it is the viewer who is approaching as a student hoping to gain the treasure of understanding. Here we are putting ourselves in the place of Musashi, who had spent his life on such a quest. And perhaps, in the guise of a dragon, Musashi is looking back at us.

You may also be interested in the following two posts from last time the year of the Dragon rolled around.

The Master Dragon Painters

A Deeper Reading of Musashi's painting

Also, for more on the connection between paintings and military divination: Tiger Paintings - a martial dimension