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 

The Last Maple Leaves - a spot of samurai tourism and historical impressions of the passing season

Detail of a pair of screens showing the 4 seasons © The Trustees of the British Museum  

The last of the leaves of the cherry trees have dropped, the light is sharper, and the chill of winter is here. Even so, traces of autumn remain - drifts of yellow leaves below the ginkgo trees and the deep crimson of the maple leaves serve as reminders of the passing season. Traditionally, Japanese aesthetes hint at the coming season in their choice of hanging scrolls or flower arrangements, but with a season as beautiful as autumn, it is hard not to look back.

 

It is a season that has particular resonance in poetry, and it is no surprise that the nobility of Japan, the cultured elite who had spent long hours in the study of poetry and appreciation of fine turned words as much as the scenic beauty of the season, made the most of seasonal allusions in their work. Very often, they used images that brought a sense of loneliness, of the shortening days and the growing chill that seem in stark contrast to the beauty of the season's foliage. These included flying geese, the autumn moon, and the mating call of deer.

This is a typical example by Minamoto no Shitago (911-83)

This world –

to what may I liken it?

To autumn fields

lit dimly in the dusk

by lightning flashes.

 

  

The warrior class also took pleasure in this season, though their means of enjoyment were a little more active. A screen painted by Kano Eitoku (rediscovered in 2005) is a fine example of this. It shows the pleasures of spring linked to Uji, to the south of the capital, and those of autumn being enjoyed in the Sagano area, which now lies on the north west edge of Kyoto. Small groups of figures can be seen enjoying pass times such as visiting temples and falconry.

The Sagano area is a prime destination for tourists today, too, and the screen shows the Togetsukyo Bridge, still a major draw. The pleasures of travel have long been enjoyed in this country, with those who could afford it indulging in many of the same behaviours as we do now - particularly, or so it seems from this account, whirlwind visits to famous places:

 

 Off to the right we passed by Shūryūji, where Hosokawa Hyōbu Daibu (Fujitaka) had his castle; next we went to Matsuo Shrine, then to Hōrinji, near the gravesite of Lady Kogō; next to Arashiyama and Tonase Waterfall. We then crossed the Ōi River and reached Tenryūji, in front of which we found a memorial stone stupa for Lady Kogō under a cherry tree...

 

From Shimazu Iehisa's entry in his travel diary for 26th May 1575 (from M.P. McKelway, Screens for a Young Warrior, Impressions no. 30)

 

The enjoyment of autumn leaves has a long tradition, too. Momiji-gari (hunting maple leaves - although the hunting is to be understood as a leisurely walk) was a popular autumn pass time of the nobles and samurai classes, trickling down to common folk at a later date. It was also the title of a Noh play (and subsequent reworkings in other forms) dating from the late 15th century, in which Taira Koremori dallies his time away with a beautiful woman in the mountains, only to be put into an enchanted sleep from which, his companion does not intend him to wake. A divine messenger appears in his dream, alerting him to his danger, and with the help of a magic sword, he is able to dispatch the woman, now revealed to be a fire-breathing demon. There are several variations of the basic story, but the play on words in the title is interesting, as the female protagonist (she is actually a kijo, or female oni) is called Momiji (Maple Leaf).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this print by Utagawa Kuniyoshi the reflection of the oni's face can be seen in the sake cup at the bottom of the picture in a common variation of this story. In the top right of the picture is a reference to Chapter 7 of The Tale of Genji, in which Genji attends a maple viewing party and takes part in a dance (hence the small hand drum).

 

Above all, the autumn foliage is something that should be enjoyed in company, perhaps as an antidote to the solitude and melancholy also associated with the season, so I will leave the last word to Murasaki Shikibu (the writer of The Tale of Genji):

‘A sheaf of autumn leaves admired in solitude is like damasks worn in the darkness of the night.’