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 Daimyo's use of symbols – hawks from the Kano school

Kano Tanyu's painting from Nijo Castle - a reproduction is now on display

The beautiful paintings of the Kano school were made for patrons, many of whom were the principal warlords of the day (religious institutions and members of the Imperial family were also notable patrons) and many of these paintings formed grand decorative schemes, filling all the walls of single or multiple chambers. 

In some cases, the theme was the message – tigers and birds of prey were obvious choices for military men, while flowers and birds often decorated the chambers of women of important households. Yet there was also much overlap, with many temples using the same motifs as the warlords, and the decorative schemes of castles employing multiple elements to different effect depending on the use of the room (and the type of visitors that might be expected). In fact, temples took on a number of roles and functions, and often played host to important figures when they travelled.

A good example can be seen at Nijo Castle in Kyoto. The paintings and other decorations were completed under the auspices of Kano Tanyu, the head of the Edo Kano School. He painted many of the major paintings himself, and other members of the family, and the Kyoto Kano School worked under him.

A visitor of the warrior class, on arriving at Nijo Castle, the Tokugawa shogun’s official residence in Kyoto, might be shown into a room gloriously decorated with tigers prowling through a bamboo grove, putting him in mind of the power and the potential danger represented by the shogun. If granted an audience, he would be shown into a chamber decorated with majestic pine trees in whose branches perched imperious eagles or hawks. They would have looked even more impressive in those days, as they would have been viewed from a seated position, and much of the time the visitor would be keeping his head lowered in deference to the shogun. In any case. He could not fail to identify these motifs with the powerful man before him.

Nijo Castle with reproductions of the original paintings

An imperial envoy, on the other hand, would be granted an audience in a room decorated with flowering cherry trees, showing that the shogun was also a man of culture, worthy of the position bestowed on him (by the emperor, who really didn’t have much choice in the matter, especially after the position had become hereditary).

Aimed to impress through cultural legitimacy rather than intimidation.

These motifs were certainly symbolic, though perhaps only in a general way. In some cases, the motifs were far more specific in the symbols they employed. An interesting example of this can be seen at Zuiganji Temple in Sendai, whose patron, the powerful warlord Date Masamune, maintained strong associations with the temple. The decorative scheme of one of its rooms, the Taka no Ma (The Hawk Room) is more direct. Serving as a waiting room for Masamune’s vassals, when he visited or was staying at the temples, it incorporates a number of motifs that illustrate sayings meant to instruct the vassals on behaviour proper to the bushi class.

Below are some of the paintings showing the parts in question with a short explanation of their message. The originals have been replaced with modern replicas (painted by experts in the copying of historical paintings – some art colleges still have this as a department), so they probably look pretty close to how they would have appeared in their prime, though losing much of the atmosphere of the faded originals.

All of these illustrate well-known sayings, and Date Masamune’s interest in this kind of thing may well have stemmed from the rigorous education he received from the monk Kosai Soitsu. Two of them are puns, while two of them are direct illustrations of sayings.

Bushi shouldn't allow themselves to be made fools of.  This contains a play on the word kamo, which means both duck and to be made a fool of.

Bushi should not be involved in fraud. Similarly, this contains a play on the word sagi, which means both a heron or egret and fraud.

If the pheasant didn’t cry out, it wouldn’t get shot. In this case, the pheasant has revealed itself and a hawk is in hot pursuit. Obviously a lesson on the value of keeping quiet. Even today, the proverb, ‘the nail that sticks up will be hammered down’ is often put into practice.

If you chase two rabbits, you won’t even catch one. It’s difficult to tell if there is a second rabbit from this picture (or even a first one if you don't know what you're looking for - it's the white thing directly below the eagle). Nonetheless, the meaning is clear. Note also the similarity in pose to the hawk in the Nijo Castle painting at the top of this blog. Training in the Kano school made much use of the copying of standard models – this was an important part of maintaining standards and reproducing the school's signature style.

For comparison, here is a picture of how some of the original paintings in Zuiganji looked before they were replaced. Although I appreciate the original paintings, I must admit that the venue does make a big difference to the effect on the viewer. I haven't been to Nijo Castle for a few years, but, depending on the weather, the paintings certainly didn't always show very well. Visitors couldn't get very close, and there was a constant pressure to move on, rather than stand and look. Perhaps they are better in the attached museum where the selection on view can be examined at close quarters. However, it could also be argued that there is nothing quite like the experience of seeing art in situ as it has been for hundreds of years.

After the Golden Age - the Kano school after Eitoku

Signed Kuninobu, this is believed to be by Kano Mitsunobu

1590 was an annus horribilis for the Kano school – the foremost school of painting in Japan. It was the year that Kano Eitoku, the energetic, ground-breaking head of the school, who had made himself the painter par-excellence of his generation, specializing in the bold decorative schemes favoured by the ruling warlords of the country, and patronized by both Oda Nobunaga and his successor, Toyotomi Hideyoshi,  died at the age of 48*(possibly due to the pressures of overwork) leaving his twenty year old son to follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately, Kano Mitsunobu was not the genius his father was (an epithet he bore as a youth was 'unskilled'), and the school faced challenges to its supremacy from other, arguably more talented artists. Yet within 20 years, the Kano school had mapped out the course that would see it firmly entrenched as the supreme school of art in the country for the next two hundred years.  This period of transition is highlighted in the exhibition at the Kyoto National Museum.

The Kano school was so important and powerful that it often appears monolithic – all that gold leaf, all those birds and flowers. The sheer number of artists who worked in the tradition is another problem for all but the most interested viewer - for example, the decorations of Nijo castle involved 11 members of the Kano family as well as numerous unnamed apprentices - and the names have a tendency to blend into one another, as do the works. Nevertheless, the more you find out, the more there is to know, and the monolith crumbles to reveal a pattern of myriad lives hidden behind the gilded surface.

Eitoku's death had left Hasegawa Tohaku as the premier painter of the time, and he pressed his advantage, securing several important commissions from Toyotomi Hideyoshi. (In fact, the Kano school had narrowly snatched back a commission given to Tohaku just a few months before Eitoku's death). This placed the Kano school in a position of jeopardy. While this situation has been put down to Mitsunobu's relative inexperience in the politicking necessary to gain commissions, a quick look at his paintings shows that his forte did not lie in the powerful compositions popularized by his father - indeed, there is a certain timidity in his work compared with the sure hand of Sanraku, who had been adopted by Eitoku, (on the advice of Hideyoshi), and who was certainly the strongest painter in the family at that stage. Mitsunobu tended towards compositions in which the individual elements were small in scale, lacking the power of the motifs his father used, and thus, despite being undeniably beautiful (and beautifully painted in some cases – the small birds in the works are exquisite) failing to deliver the punch his erstwhile patrons were used to. 

Kano Mitsunobu - elegant, but clearly lacking the power of the earlier
Kano painters, and the Hasegawa School

Looking at the work of his rival, Hasegawa Tohaku, it is easy to see how the power and graceful lines of the Hasegawa school, the overall integrity of the composition, (not to mention its freshness) proved to be so popular.

Hasegawa Tohaku

And yet... Mitsunobu developed into a fine painter, following the tenets of the Kano school, which believed that diligent copying was preferable to innate talent. He also picked up on the changes of the times; as the Tokugawa tightened their grip on the country the taste for decoration developed towards a lighter, more naturalistic style, away from the bombast of the previous generations, when larger than life characters wrestled for political and military power. The gentler style also reflected the Tokugawa 'story' that they were the natural rulers of a country at peace, and slowly Mitsunobu's style became accepted.

The Kano school, despite the importance they placed upon the head of the family, was far from a one-man operation which made up for any lack of genius with the breadth of talent and the size and organisational capacity of their school. They also devised a strategic approach to address the volatile situation of the times. They designated specific artists to concentrate on particular areas of patronage, essentially working on three fronts at once. Mitsunobu, as head of the school, could straddle all three areas, but other painters served the rising Tokugawa family, the Imperial and noble families, or the Toyotomi, (whose power was clearly on the wane after the Battle of Sekigahara (1600)). It is interesting to note that it was the adopted son of Eitoku, Kano Sanraku who was placed in this least politically important of relationships, despite being the school's strongest painter. As the school continued to grow in power, the importance of blood relationships was emphasized to an even greater degree, with Sanraku's successor (and adopted son) Sanraku being forced into a marginal position.

The Kano School was fortunate that the heir to the Hasegawa tradition died young (and there are rumors of foul play) which drastically reduced the Hasegawa school's ability to compete with the Kano's on multiple commissions, and allowed them gradually to regain ascendance. They were fortunate, too, that Mitsunobu did gradually come into his own, becoming a sought-after painter in his own right.

However, Mitsunobu died also died young, at the age of 37, when his son, Sadanobu was too young to take over headship of the family, so Mitsunobu's brother, Takanobu (previously assigned as a painter to the Imperial families) became the defacto head of the family. He had a surer hand than Mitsunobu, and it seems, a certain business astuteness that allowed the family to flourish. Sadanobu, Mitsunobu's son, also showed great talent, but died at the age of 26. Takanobu's eldest son, Tanyu, one of the greatest painters the school produced, and the major painter of the next generation, had already taken the position as the head of the Edo branch of the family, leaving the vacant headship of the family to his younger brother, Yasunobu. Despite this, it was Tanyu who would be the powerhouse of the family for the next fifty years, well and truly establishing the pre-eminent position of the Kano school.

Peacocks by Mitsunobu...

...and by Kano Tanyu

*Although Eitoku's death is generally remarked upon as unusual (he was 48 when he died), early death was not uncommon in the Kano family, with several notable members dying at a similar age or younger, including Eitoku's brother, Soshu (age 51); his sons Mitsunobu (37), & Takanobu (47); Mitsunobu's son Sadanobu (26);  Takanobu's second son (and Tanyu's brother) Naonobu (43), for example.

Dates of some of the most important members of the Kano Family

Kano Masanobu 1434–1530 (school founder)

Kano Motonobu 1476–1559 (son of Masanobu)

Kano Eitoku 1543–1590 (grandson of Motonobu)

Kano Sōshū 1551–1601 (brother of Eitoku)

Kano Mitsunobu 1571 –1608

Kano Takanobu 1571-1618

Kano Sadanobu 1597-1623

Kano Tanyu 1602–1674 (eldest son of Takanobu)

Kano Naonobu 1607-1650 (brother of Tanyu)

Kano Yasunobu 1613-1685 (brother of Tanyu and head of the family after Sadanobu)

Kano Sanraku 1559–1635 (adopted son of Eitoku; head of the Kyoto Kano School)

Hasegawa Tohaku 1539-1610