The Book of Five Rings…but which one?

An imaginative recreation of Musashi in the cave at Reigendo where he wrote Gorin no Sho.

Miyamoto Musashi’s Gorin no Sho is one of the most famous books in the field of martial arts. Since the first commercial translation in 1974 (Victor Harris, Overlook Press) there have been a host of others, all of which have their own strengths and weaknesses – the publication of another translation in 2018 (Alexander Bennett, Tuttle) makes it worth considering the merits of some of the most significant of these.

Reigendo, the cave where Musashi lived for the last two years of his life.

Written in the last two years of his life when he was living in the cave Reigendo, in Mount Iwato in Kyushu, he finished it a few days before he died on the 19^thday of the 5^thmonth, 1645. he passed it to his student Terao Magonojo. The original five scrolls, bearing only the titles of the elements, (rather than the name Gorin no Sho) were destroyed by a castle fire less than fifty years later – fortunately several copies had been made.

When it comes to translations, it is difficult to say one version is better than another; personal taste plays a major role here – the writing style of one translator may just sit with a reader better than another does. 

So, what is it that I look for in a translation?

Primarily, fidelity to the original – in content and in tone. You might think this is pretty much a given – surely all translators try to be accurate in their work? Translation requires more than linguistic skill, and some translators make it a virtue that their work is more approachable than the original (or previous versions). But for me, this may well make it less useful.

The brevity of Japanese gives translators a great deal of leeway, and although all of the significant translations of Gorin no Sho are, for the most part, accurate (anyone can be forgiven for a minor error), for a text like this something more is required. Words and phrases in either language have a value or effect beyond their outward meaning. Some words are stronger, some more subtle, they have rhythm and energy. Some have additional connotations; a translator’s sensitivity to  these is important, particularly if they are translating a document as something that speaks to us now, rather than a historical curiosity.

Perhaps, then, it ismerely a matter of personal opinion. There are certainly inconsistencies, infelicities of language and even inaccuracies in even the best of translations, but each of those currently available have something to offer. Personally, I like to be able to hear the voice of the original writer coming through. It is true that some of Musashi’s instructions can be difficult to follow, but if I cannot begin to imagine what he was actually saying from reading the translation, I think something has been missed.

As a word or warning – don’t believe the editor and fanboy reviews you may find on Amazon or elsewhere for some of these versions. I don’t consider any of them to be more definitive than the others in any substantial way. Nor do I feel that the authors’ experience in martial arts or lack of it necessarily makes a difference…it can do, but even those practising traditional martial arts may be a long way from the kind of art Musashi was writing about.

There is also the question of familiarity: I first read Gorin no Sho at the age of about 15, and over the years, certain phrases have become familiar. Subsequent translators will naturally write in their own style; though perfectly accurate, the difference may not be to the reader’s liking if they are already familiar with the text. Alternatively, the reader may find a new translation speaks to them in a different voice and what was previously opaque becomes clearer. 

Finally, the prospective reader might also consider the design of the book. How big is it? How has it been laid out? What illustrations are there? What additional background, notes, introduction etc. the author has seen fit to include? Some books are just more pleasant or easier to read and use as reference. Others have more useful or interesting notes and explanations. It depends on what the reader is looking for, but there are significant differences.

Having laid out these brief considerations, I will look at some of my favourite versions in the next few posts.

Sekigahara - the question of Musashi's role in the decisive battle

Musashi and Matahachi stagger off the field of Sekigahara
– as the movies saw it.

October 21st 1600 saw one of the most decisive battles of Japan's history – Sekigahara.

This was where Tokugawa Ieyasu and his combined forces faced the so-called Western Alliance under Ishida Mitsunari. It was touch and go at first, but some well-timed treachery on th epart of one of Mitsunari's allies handed Ieyasu the victory, allowinghim to consolidate and extend his control across the whole country and ushering in the Tokugawa era, which was to last for more than 260 years.

This battle forms an important part of the story of Miyamoto Musashi as told in numerous novels, films, TV series and serious accounts of his life, telling how, as a young man, he fought at Sekigahara, survived the hunting down of the defeated forces (it is always assumed he was fighting on the side of Ishida Mitsunari) and went on to fame and fortune.

However, there is some doubt as to how accurate this version of events might be. As more of the sources for the story of Musashi become available in English (and the story is researched more thoroughly in Japanese), there is serious cause for questioning the veracity of this story. Although Musashi did, indeed, fight during the time of the Sekigahara campaign, it seems most likely that it was in the fighting that occurred in Kyushu at the same time.

The Kokura Hibun

The evidence is, at the very least, contradictory. Although the story is so familiar, it is hard to know where it comes from. The Kokura Hibun (1654), the monument raised by Musashi's adopted son, Iori, does not specifically mention either location, merely stating that that 'During the plot of Toyotomi's treacherous vassal, Ishida Jibu-no-sho..... (Musashi) was renowned for his valour and skill with the sword.' – in fact, the lack of specificity in this instance has caused assumption that he fought on the side of the rebels, though there is no evidence to support this supposition.

The Honcho Bugei Shoden (1716) does mention he fought at Sekigahara, but there is no mention of the source for this information. (Hinatsu Shigetaka, who compiled this fascinating collection of tales of bugeisha, seemed to have collected and collated everything he could find about his subjects, but where this information comes from is unclear. He quotes the Kokura Hibun, and it is possible that he made the assumption that Musashi fought at Sekigahara based on this. It seems likely that the Sekigahara Campaign, being much more important than the one in Kyushu, was the first one that anyone would think of in this regard; it may also be that the Kokura Hibun purposely allows the reader to think of Sekigahara, as that would confer greater esteem on Musashi (as if he needed it).  Of the other main sources, the Bukoden (1755) and the Bushu Denraiki (1727), the Bukoden mentions the battle, but does not specifically place Musashi at the battle, whereas the Bushu Denraiki gives specific details of the Musashi's involvement, but places him firmly in the Kyushu campaign. The Nitenki, which was written a few years after the Bukoden (1776 in fact) and largely based on it, does place him at Sekigahara, but once again, there seems to have been no hard evidence for this. It was the version in the Nitenki that Yoshikawa Eiji relied on in writing his epic work, and the majority of subsequent versions follow him to a lesser or greater degree.

Map showing Kyushu c.1600

It also includes a couple of small vignettes about his actions during the battle, both of which paint a picture of a boastful, daring youth convinced of his own indestructability. Given he was only 16 at the time, but had already proven himself in duels with adults, this is not too surprising. In one of these stories he jumps off a small cliff into a clump of bamboo stakes but emerges unscathed; while in the other, he is injured in the thigh as he storms a wall, but calmly waits till the offending spear is poked through the arrow slit, grabs it behind the head, and putting his leg to it, breaks it in two.

So, who to believe? Interestingly, the Kyushu story was drawn from Kuroda Clan documents, and William de Lange mentions the discovery of recent documents which corroborate it. As is well known, Musashi's own writings make little specific mention of any of his battles, but it seems far more likely that the experience of a short but successful campaign like that in Kyushu, especially under the comand of the noted strategist Kuroda Josui, would have influenced him in the direction he was to take - of seeing the fundamental similarities in large and small scale combat - than the slaughter at Sekigahara would have done.

Kuroda Josui (from a portrait in the Fukuoka City
Museum)

It is interesting to note that Josui gathered together a somewhat irregular force, consisting of any volunteers he could get his hands on - the main body of Kuroda troops having been already despatched to fight on Tokugawa's side - (his son would be praised by Tokugawa Ieyasu for his role at Sekigahara - Josui's reaction was characteristic, - I mentioned it here) - and thus the 16 year old Musashi would have been warmly welcomed into such a force.

Josui took a series of castles in Buzen, moving up to Chikuzen Province, where he joined forces with Kato Kiyomasa to lay siege to Yanagawa in Chikugo. Ieyasu rightly suspected signs of ambition in this, and respecting Josui's abilities, sought to deter any further action. Josui, realising the cards were stacked against him, declined the offers of position offered by Ieyasu, and retired, leaving his newly promoted son as head of the clan.

 In the Hyôdôkyô, written five years later, when he was still only 21, Musashi writes of how to storm a gate and take prisoners. While it doesn't preclude this reference being to the Sekigahara campaign (during which Musashi is claimed to have participated in two sieges - attacking and defending Fushimi and Gifu castles respectively, although once again, the evidence for him taking part in these sieges is slim) - he would certainly have been able to garner more experience in Josui's army, particularly due to its small size and irregular composition.

I think the Kyushu campaign sounds more likely, but the weight of tradition leans heavily the other way – perhaps new evidence will come to light. Certainly, Josui will be in the limelight over the next year or so – the 2014 NHK year-long Taiga drama is based around his life. It might give extra impetus for proving the Musashi connection.

Hyoshi: timing, rhythm and translation

The cover of the Victor Harris translation

This is a slightly expanded version of a post I made on the forum at sonshi.com with reference to a question about the difference between background timing and distance timing as mentioned in The Book of Five Rings. This seemed to ring a bell with me, and a quick look at the old Victor Harris translation confirmed that it was from there. The section concerned (from the Earth Book) reads:

'...and from among the large and small things and the fast and slow timings find the relevant timing, first seeing the distance timing and the background timing.'

Translation can be a tricky business. In this case, the trouble is, Musashi did not actually write this.  Much as I like the Harris version, some of the subsequent versions, particularly those by William Scott Wilson and Kenji Tokitsu, are generally more accurate. Wilson’s is generally reckoned a solid translation; Tokitsu's is the most transparent, as he goes into some length about the reasons for various aspects of his translation (as well as much else).

In this case, the section that most closely matches the one the questioner was referring to is this one. What Musashi actually wrote was:

...daisho chisoku hyoshi no naka ni mo, ataru hyoshi wo shiri, ma no hyoshi wo shiri, somuku hyoshi wo shiru koto

There is no pairing of background and distance timing/rhythm. In fact, there is no term relating directly to background rhythm as such.

Wilson translates this section as: 

‘Within the rhythms of large and small, slow and fast, know the rhythm of contact, the rhythm of spacing and the rhythm of resistance to rhythm.’

This is a good, straightforward translation. However, Wilson is not a swordsman, and doesn't always catch the subtleties of technical terms. ‘The rhythm of spacing’ is actually a little problematic. 

The classic scene from The Seven Samurai when Kyuzo
shows the importance of finesse in timing.

Although ma has something of the meaning of distance/spacing, it is more correct to see it as interval – it is capable of referring either to space or time (i.e. the time between two things happening or between two things happening). In this case, the sense of ‘time’ is probably meant rather than ‘space’; if this is so (there are other instances in Musashi’s writings that suggest it is) the meaning is thus closer to ‘rhythm between actions’, e.g. the time between the opponent finishing one move and starting another. At a deeper level, the ma would be much smaller than this suggests, a tiny gap in perception rather than action.

I would translate it as:
Within the rhythm of large and small, fast and slow, you should understand the rhythm of striking, the rhythm between actions, and the use of counter rhythms.

..which is not perfect, but does address ma no hyoshi. It is also worth noting that in his 35 Articles on Strategy, Musashi has a section on hyoshi no ma (the gaps in rhythm) in which he deals with more or less the same issue.

Having said 'more or less', I should note that the Gorin no sho is open to interpretation due to the way it is written, and that once translated, this problem is magnified. Musashi certainly meant his strategy to be widely applicable, but while he could generalize, he could also be quite specific. In fact, the ability to make fine distinctions was crucial to his art.
Though he might be glad that readers of his work were pondering deeply on the difference between the different hyoshi he mentioned, he would, of course, be quick to point out that this understanding should be based on practice, not mere cogitation.

More on Musashi's Monkey

Not by Musashi, but by a contemporay; Kano Sansetsu (1589-1651) indulges
 his humorous side with this monkey.

I have written a little on Musashi's monkey design (& Part 2) before, but seeing Kano Sansetsu's version of the theme was too good an opportunity to miss. It reminded me of the mention Musashi makes of the shuko, or Autumn monkey. 

The admonition he gives in the sections in both Gorin no Sho and Hyoho 35 Gokajo (35 Articles on Strategy) is not to stretch out the arms in striking, and so the natural assumption (and one followed by the first few translators of A Book of Five Rings) is that it referred to the a short-armed monkey, such as the native Japanese macaque. 

I thought so too, but the puzzling question was the use of the term 'Autumn monkey', and several theories have been advanced as to the reason for this. None of them are entirely convincing, but as it was obviously a reference to a short-armed monkey, that didn't seem to matter all that much.

But when it comes to symbolism, all is not as it seems. Although there is a rich tradition of monkey lore in Japan, much of this is related to Shinto traditions, and is quite explicitly attached to specific deities enshrined in particular locations.  Given Musashi's links with aspects of culture related to Buddhism, and especially Zen, it seems more likely that he would be drawing from this tradition. His paintings at Toji Temple in Kyoto date from quite early in his career, long before his time in Kumamoto, and it is possible that he had seen or at least heard of the paintings by Hasegawa Tohaku.

Tohaku's 'Monkey Reaching for the Moon'
in Konchi-in

There are several similar versions of these works, held by different paintings around Kyoto. The only one still in situ is in Konchi-in in the Nanzenji temple complex, and it was moved there some time after the painter's death.  Others are owned by Ryosen-an and Shokokuji. 

The fur of the monkey was painted with a brush with split bamboo 'hairs' to create the scratchy, fuzzy appearance, and in this we can see his indebtedness to the work of Mu Qi (Mokkei), the Chinese painter, whose works had been brought to Japan (and kept at Daitokuji Temple in Kyoto) some two hundred+ years previously.

Mu Qi

Hasegawa Tohaku

We have evidence of Musashi using the image of a gibbon reaching for the moon in his art (in the fittings for a sword), so it seems possible that this is the shuko, rather than the short-armed type. Given the fate of the monkey that stretched out for the moon (it came to an unhappy end) this can clearly serve as a warning of the dangers of so doing. But still, the use of the term Autumn monkey was puzzling. Why Autumn? The answer is, of course, obvious if you think a little more widely. If any season was associated with the moon, it would be Autumn; after all, this was when the yearly moon viewing festival was held. In some circles, the viewers, like the monkey, would view the moon's reflection in the surface of a pond. It makes far more sense to associate the Autumn of Musashi's Autumn monkey with the moon, than with seasonal aspects of monkey behavior.

This suggests that a broader reading of symbols is important if we are to understand the range of meanings they hold. Much of the creativity in Japanese art is to be found in the way in which well-known motifs are reinterpreted, and the richness and layering of meaning is one of the pleasures of art – however limited one's knowledge may be, there is a little thrill when you identify the origins of an image. Oblique references are common and are part of the way knowledge and experience are presented – being able to unpack references enriches the experience of art, offering new and alternative meanings, additional subtleties, and allows the receiver room for creative interpretation.

Traditionally, in Japan, clothes, accessories, plates and bowls, hanging scrolls etc. are all matched with the time of year, according to the motifs of the season – season being not just the major four seasons, but specific times of year, such as cherry blossom time or Boys Day. This is a well-recognized aspect of haiku, for example, but still features in everyday life as well as more artistic pursuits. Unlike the heavy-handed approach we see with festivals such as Halloween and Christmas, when it comes to seasonal decoration, these motifs were seen as the proper work of serious artists, and the cleverness and skill with which they used well-known motifs is a source of enjoyment throughout the year. Even at a simple level, this use of natural motifs is something that Japanese culture is attuned to in a way that western culture is not.

Sansetsu's monkey is also reaching for the
moon, but it is just out of the picture here.

So, for Musashi, using the image of a monkey as a teaching aid would have been the re-stating of a well-known image to students/readers who were used to seeing just such symbols in various guises. The majority of western readers have little familiarity with the original image – (although, indeed, the same assumptions have been made by Japanese commentators on this passage)... so sometimes the helpful gloss by the translator may not be so helpful after all. 

 

In Business - The Book of Five Rings

Corporate Kendo - Tips for the Marketplace (from Samurai Businessman, New York, June 29, 1981)

Back in the 1980’s, The Book of Five Rings was partly popularized by selling it to the business crowd – touted as the secret of Japan’s economic success, managers and executives of all stripes were encouraged to read it and benefit from the insights their competitors’ thinking.

I came to Musashi myself through a teenage interest in the exotic, of which martial arts were part, and this was certainly pretty far from its use for business, but Musashi’s popularity in the USA was, indeed, business driven. An article from a 1981 edition of New York Magazine makes for interesting reading, explaining that one of the early proselytizers, the advertising executive George Lois said:

"I have some advice for American businessmen who are trying to figure out why the Japanese excel in business. Buy and study a copy of Musashi's A Book of Five Rings."

It also includes the corrective from a senior correspondent for the Nihon Keizai Shinbun, who said that Japanese businessmen were “far too concerned with the future to be rummaging around in the past.” (Flippo, C. (1981) Samurai Businessman, New York, June 29, 29-31).

Interestingly, he was turned on to it by Kaneda Masaichi, a famous baseball pitcher. (perhaps it was in the air - Oh Sadaharu, a contemporary of his, practiced batto (drawing and cutting with the sword) to improve his batting).

I recently came across an article addressing historical sources of East Asian strategy and their application to business. It dealt with Gorin no Sho, the Three Kingdoms and Sun Tzu, highlighting connections between them and giving guidelines for using some of the key concepts they contain in business.

Here are the main points it presented with respect to Gorin no Sho:

1) Grasping relationships and multiple perspectives… To gain new knowledge or find innovative solutions, the student must avoid unilateral thinking and the limitations of a one-track mind.

2) Seeking knowledge and information. Victory may be achieved when the “rhythm of each opponent” is known.

3) Being patient. It is best to wait for the opponent to make the first move, according to Bushido (the way of military men).

4) Training and disciplining oneself.

5) Disguising emotions and intentions. “(A)lways be the same way in any situation, and keep your mind in the Middle Way attitude,” wrote Musashi… Furthermore, people should never reveal their honne (real intentions) and always “ act in such a way as to not reveal the depth of your spirit to others, “ Musashi stated.

6) Possessing flexibility. Despite Musashi’s advocacy of the middle-of-the-road approach, he emphasizes physical, psychological, and emotional flexibility during a confrontation.

7) Using diversion. Wrote Musashi: “Once you have distracted {your opponent}, gain the advantage by following with your attack.” While promoting patience, Musashi also advocates swift action at the opportune moment… (here the author goes on to expand this point rather than talking about diversion).

8) Divide and conquer. “(W)hen you have seen that the ranks of the opponents have been disarrayed… push in and strike strongly without allowing any time to lapse.”

9) Assessing the terrain. Musashi’s analysis is analogous to Sun Tzu’s statement that “it is of utmost importance to force the opponent into a disadvantageous position.”

Tung, R.L. (1994) Strategic Thought in East Asia, Organizational Dynamics, Vol 22(4), 55-65.

This brings up a couple of interesting points.

Firstly, I’m not sure I would be able to reduce my understanding of Musashi’s work into only nine or ten points, but I find it interesting to see the ideas of someone who has done so, if only because examining someone else’s view of a work enables you to reassess your own view of that work. It gives you a tool to measure or assess your own understanding.

Secondly, it calls into question the value of works such as Gorin no sho, that were clearly written with regard to specific contexts, for a specific audience, and referenced things with which the average reader no longer has knowledge of. The concepts outlined above are not particularly profound – whether or not they are particularly useful in a business context, I am not qualified to say. I suppose they might provide some food for thought, especially for those involved in business with East Asian companies, who were not familiar with the culture.

Sun Tzu, which was also discussed in the article, is referred to much more commonly – despite the lack of a familiar context, it seems to have become a much used text in a variety of contemporary business and military contexts. There have been far more incisive and focused texts on strategy and tactics in these areas, but it has remained one of the most often cited works, famously quoted by Gordon Gecko and assigned as reading by the USMC for officer training. Perhaps the very fact it is so general that it allows for creative interpretation for its readers and broad applicability across a variety of fields and situations.

In Japan, too, Sun Tzu has been written about in a business context, but a quick perusal of the book shelves suggests that it is less often used as inspiration than The Romance of the Three Kingdoms and other, home grown sources. In this latter category, it is not Musashi who features most often, but the generals of the Sengoku period, the Age of the War.

Yes, there's plenty of interesting material there!

The Return of Vagabond

Pre-publication advert for the return of the Vagabond strip
(Courtesy of Kodansha Press)

Last month saw the return of Inoue Takehiko's manga Vagabond to the pages of the manga 'Morning' after a break of some one and a half years.

For those who don't know it, this is an immensely popular work based around the life of Miyamoto Musashi, using Yoshikawa Eiji's novel as a starting point. With an intricate plot and detailed back stories, it diverges from Yoshikawa's novel on many points, and is fully worthy of being treated as a major work in its own right.

Cover of the May 16th edition of Morning
(Courtesy of Kodansha Press)

Inoue, who commented in interviews on the difficulty of continuing a story that continually threw characters he had so closely identified with into dark and violent situations, stopped writing in mid-story, citing his physical condition as the reason.

In the meantime, he busied himself with other projects, including raising money for victims of the Tohoku earthquake, and a major work painted in situ for the Higashi Honganji Temple in Kyoto.

After an official announcement this March, May saw the first installments of the continuation of Vagabond. Although Inoue said he would take it easy and work at a slower pace, I'm all sure all his fans are happy, just so long as he continues.

From the May 5th edition of Switch

In an interview in the May edition of the magazine Switch, he explained that he had been looking for a way to continue that involved something more than hurrying to a predetermined conclusion, combining the enjoyment and energy of the exhibitions he mounted with the manga strip.

I hope he finds it.

Happy Year of the Dragon

A very quick post wishing all of a you a Happy New Year, and a thank-you for your support and kind comments. I hope that you will continue to read and find what I put up here interesting...

As some of you know, the Japanese New Year is a mix of the Chinese and western styles, taking the Chinese horoscope and applying it on a western calendar, which means that 2012 is the Year of the Dragon!

This is a detail of a dragon (I should say the dragon) by Musashi - a very fine example of his work, but not very well-known.

A Deeper Reading of Musashi's Painting

I always say, if anyone asks me, that in order to appreciate art, you should try and see work in the flesh. It took me quite a while to come to this conclusion, until after my time at university anyway, when I started travelling to a few different countries and seeing what had, until then, been simply pictures in a book. The difference is startling - some works really grew in stature, others diminished. The most disappointing are those which look exactly like their reproductions. You wonder why you bothered to come to a museum to see them. Then there is the problem of over familiarity. If you have stared at an image for long enough, it can sometimes be quite difficult to see anything new in it.  There are also certain venues which add an incredible amount to the whole experience.

Of course, this is not limited to any one genre or regional style of art, and I dare say that every type benefits in its own way.

Japanese sumi-e painting benefits immensely from seeing it for real. It has its own atmosphere and sense of physicality which rarely comes across in reproductions. Although it's only ink on paper, it has texture and three-dimensionality (which is occasionally lacking in heavily restored works where the original paper is little more than a thin veneer on the backing paper).



One of Hakuin's
gibbons. It's not really
possible to tell from this
if the arms were painted in
one stroke or not.



One aspect I find particularly interesting is seeing the way the artist used the brush. It is not all that difficult, once you are tuned into it, to see the different kinds of strokes, and find where the stroke was broken or paused, and which strokes were laid over which. naturally, this has far greater relevance if you are practicing the same kind of art yourself.

Sumi-e suffers from a fair amount of nonsense being written about it. Perhaps most common is the idea of a single stroke. This is very far from the truth. Even (or perhaps especially?) an old Zen hand such as Hakuin often painted in pale ink before going over it in darker, stronger strokes, and the longer strokes are usually made up of a series of smaller ones. In one of his paintings of the monkey reaching for the moon which I saw recently, the long arms of the gibbon were each clearly painted in several strokes.

The same is true of Musashi's paintings. I was lucky enough to see his triptych of Bodhidarma flanked by a couple of ducks at an exhibition of the Matsui Collection just over a week ago. They are striking paintings, and if you let your mind wander over the possibilities, I think it is very likely that Musashi was  playing some quite complex visual games. Many painters, especially those towards the literati end of the spectrum included layers of meaning and reference in their work. Some of these were symbolic, while others were connected with the technical means employed by an artist within a work.

The type of stroke an artist uses - wet or dry, for example - can be linked to the subject. A wet stroke might be suggestive of spring or summer, while dry one might be used to indicate autumn or winter. Although the idea is simple, the nuances can be extremely sophisticated and are often linked to a deeper awareness of the subject, especially in further cultural and literary references. Likewise, a broader, wetter stroke can indicate ease and fullness, while a drier one suggests astringency and sensitivity. Some of this is aesthetic, but some of it is linked to an appreciation of the physical qualities, especially those concerning fluidity, of the medium.

In the case of Musashi's ducks, several of these kinds of references can be observed. It it exhibits the tensile, energetic strength so characteristic of his mature work, while using the brush and ink in several distinct ways.

Looking at the composition of the picture, there is a dynamic contrast between the tall figure of Daruma, and the ducks who are low down, close to the water-line. Daruma is painted as light and insubstantial (as befits someone balancing on a floating reed), his robes swirling around an empty centre, while the ducks are solid and assured in their duckiness. Wet, as well, which also suits their affinity to the water; and while they look happy, Daruma is all scowls and worry, his life's work many years from completion.

And these ducks are supposed to look happy - the one on the right features in another painting, together with the following verse:

It's soaring flight

Forgotten,

The duck

Delights in the ripples

Of a mountain stream.

It is hard not to see evidence of a personal comment on Musashi's life in this work. He had, after all, finally settled down in a position of relative ease and favour as a guest of Lord Hosokawa Tadatoshi in Kumamoto after a life of hard work and wandering. Perhaps he saw himself as being in the same position as the ducks, thoughts of his former life forgotten, perfectly adapted to his new role. At the same time, a student of the bugei, not to mention someone who had gained such a degree of mastery as Musashi, is inevitably marked by the long years of hard training. That hard seriousness is not negotiable - it is part of the personality that training has forged.

Although it may not be possible to offer a precise interpretation with any assurance of its accuracy, I think it is safe to say that the paintings are concerned with these issues, and thus help us to see deeper into the character of this man than his most famous work, the sharp-eyed shrike, will allow.

Momiji - Autumn Leaves and their symbolism

This is the season of momiji or koyo - the brilliant autumn leaves of the maples.

It is one of the principal images of autumn in Japan - appearing in plays, poems and paintings. In fact now is the peak of the maple leaf viewing season in Kyoto - the popular sites are heaving with crowds of tourists engaged in momijigari - maple leaf hunting.

Momiji Uchi - The red leaves cut
Those interested in swordsmanship will probably be aware of its use in Miyamoto Musashi's Gorin no Sho - in the Water chapter is a section describing the Red Leaves Cut. As noted by Victor Harris in his translation, "Presumably Musashi is alluding here to falling, dying leaves." As the technique refers to knocking down the enemy's sword, knocking it out of his hands in fact, this seems very likely.

It seems that Musashi was not the only person to use this term to denote a technique. According to the respected researcher and historian Watatani Kiyoshi, it was used in the Kyo-hachi-ryu... a term that is generally thought to refer to the 8 principle schools taught in the Kyoto area during the Muromachi period, and probably including the Yoshioka school, which, as we know, Musashi and his father both had dealings with. In fact, Watatani identifies it as being specific to the Kyoto area - as Musashi spent some time in the city, this makes it quite likely that he adopted a term already in use.

This is fairly common practice - many schools share terms for similar and sometimes quite different techniques. Some of these clearly share a common origin, while in others, the connection is not so clear.
However, the common name suggests the possibility that the name itself shared a common referent, and possibly included an additional layer of symbolism.

Momiji Kasane - the art of layering

                                                              

For us, the connotation of autumn leaves might very well be that they will fall from the trees - my image of autumn leaves strongly features piles of them lying on the ground. In Japan, I have the feeling that the primary image is of them being on the trees. The striking colours of their foliage are best seen before they fall, and artistic and poetic images consistently depict them in this way. Indeed, they are far more arresting, and the eye barely glances at the dried, fallen leaves on the ground while the bright reds, oranges and yellows are still on the trees.

Momiji-gasane... the colours are pretty close
to the photo at the top of the page

This was reflected in their use as a symbol for layering. A prime example of this is the multiple layers of kimono that were worn by women in the court. These had a variety of names, depending on the colour combinations, but several of them were referred to by the term momiji gasane.

This term is also used in Heki-ryu kyudo, where it refers to the te no uchi or grip of the left hand, which holds the bow. More specifically, it refers to the way the grip is formed, with the fingers layered on top of each other, moving independently to form the ideal grip (presumeably combining strength and pliability). Interestingly, this school also had its roots in Kyoto, so it is possible that it shares the meaning of the term with sword schools.

Forming the grip - momiji kasane - in Kyudo.
From the Il bersaglio di paglia blog (which is well-worth
checking out, if you have even the slightest interest in kyudo).

This suggests the possibility that the use of momiji in sword teachings may have an additional meaning, beyond that of knocking the sword down - it could refer to the way the sword is 'layered' on top of the opponent's weapon in the same way that the beauty of the autumn leaves is enhanced by the layers of different colours.

Then again, I may be grasping at straws, but even so, I was struck by the use of the same symbol in several different ryu.

More Kumamoto - more Musashi

Poster advertising the current display at the Eisei-Bunko Gallery

Kumamoto - more of Musashi in the Prefectural Collection 

The Shimada Museum was the first stop on this whirlwind tour of Kumamoto, but not the only one. I was interested in seeing sites connected with Musashi, but more than that, it was artefacts that interested me. Time was short, so I chose the Prefectural Museum as my next stop. This had the added attraction of being situated in the castle grounds.

Kumamoto-jo (Kumamoto Castle) 

I am not exactly a castle buff, but the promise of the sight of one never fails to bring me eagerly to a train window - even the post-war reproductions are impressive: they have a unique beauty, often towering over the surrounding buildings. Just the foundations or a single tower still have an impressive grace. 


Living in Kyoto gives me access to several castle views with a minimum of effort. Nijo Castle is situated in the city itself, and one of the train lines running from Kyoto to Osaka gives you views of three castles inn the journey between the two cities. Then of course, there's Himeji Castle not so very far away - generally reckoned to be the most graceful of all the surviving castles in the country. As well as all of these, there are a few other castles that I have visited or seen in my travels around the country, so I can say I have seen a fortification or two.

Kumamoto Castle was a completely different experience from these. For a start, it's grounds are huge, and unlike Osaka castle, for example, which is surrounded by the modern high-rises of the city, it stands apart from everything in a grassy park which contains or is close by several other related facilities. The other thing that stood out immediately was that, unlike the castles in Kansai, which are almost all white, it is clad in dark, weathered wood, giving it a very different feel.

Eisei-Bunko… The Hosokawa Collection

So, my first stop in these grounds was not the castle, but another museum. To be more precise, the Kumamoto Prefectural Museum, which also houses the Kumamoto Gallery of the Eisei-Bunko Collection.

The Eisei-Bunko Collection is the result of some several centuries of careful acquisition, patronage and preservation by the Hosokawa family. As well as Kumamoto, there is an Eisei-Bunko Museum in Tokyo. In addition, parts of the collection go on tour from time to time, both nationally and abroad. Of course, as the Hosokawas were also Musashi's patrons, it is no surprise that several of Musashi's works of art are held in the collection. However, as the displays are not permanent, you never know what you will find on any particular visit. 

Nothing of Musashi's on this particular visit, although a touring exhibition of the collection's treasures is coming to Kyoto next month (lucky me) so I have another chance to see more of the collection. For anyone wishing to visit the museum in Kumamoto, my advice is go! Although there are only two rooms in the Eisei-Bunko Gallery, the standard of the collection is superb, and it is likely the you will see the work of artists seldom exhibited elsewhere. I was introduced to the work of the Yano school - I am only an interested amateur, perhaps, but I had seen none of their work before, as I recall, and the standard was clearly equal to that of the more famous Kano School. 

There was more of the Yano School next door in the Prefectural Museum proper. (It is possible to see only the Eisei-Bunko Collection.. for the grand price of 400 yen, or get a ticket allowing entry to the main part of the museum as well). 

Kumamoto Prefectural Museum

A very pleasant place, with the sensible placement of the child-centred exhibition on the B1 floor to quickly syphon off the deluge of parents and small children from the coffee shop/restaurant on the ground floor. The food was very nice, the staff friendly, and the view across the park towards the castle was perfect.

Anyway, back to the art. There were three galleries for the permanent collection - however I assume this really refers to a regularly changing display of works from the permanent collection - if I went back in 6 months time I probably wouldn't see the same things as I did this time. One had 'traditional' works from the Muromachi through the Edo period; the second displayed work from the Meiji period through till roughly pre-WWII; the last had 'modern' and western art. 

Overall, the quality of works on display was very high. The western artists included Picasso, Matisse, Renoir, Durer, Rembrandt, Bougereau - all represented by good pieces… a wood cut and an etching in the case of Durer and Rembrandt. The 2nd gallery included some excellent lacquerwork by artists that I had been researching previously, but whose work I hadn't seen before.

The general, the swordsman and the lady - calligraphy and character

The 1st gallery contained some interesting works, all linked with Kumamoto. Once again, some very fine paintings from the Yano School, and some mounted calligraphy from some famous people, including Kato Kiyomasa, the daimyo who built much of Kumamoto castle, Hosokawa Gracia, the wife of Hosokawa Tadaoki (who was Musashi's patron) famous for being a Christian, and the model for the Mariko character in James Clavell's Shogun, and Musashi's Dokodo, another version of which I had already viewed in The Shimada Museum, an hour or so previously.

I find the calligraphy of famous people is quite fascinating - one fancies there are all kinds of secrets to be revealed by a careful study. Whether or not this is true, I don't know, but comparing the styles of people you know something about is an interesting exercise.

See what you make of these (answers at the bottom of the page). They were written by the three people above:
Miyamoto Musashi, Kato Kiyomasa and Hosokawa Gracia, and each of them displays quite different characteristics. Are they just aesthetic, or do they reflect the characters of the writers? (They are all letters, by the way).

 

What you might be looking for are the strong, unaesthetic characters brushed by Kiyomasa, a man of action used to controlling armies, running campaigns and building castles;  Musashi, also a man of action, whose life had depended upon his judgement of fine tolerances, and instantaneous explosion of force, but who combined this with a contemplative, intellectually searching mind; Hosokawa Gracia's style is different yet again, displaying the aesthetic demands required by one of her class and accomplishments.

Just for the sake of comparison, here are some pieces by Hosokawa Tadaoki himself, and another by his wife Gracia, writing in a different style.

Hosokawa Tadaoki from the Waseda University Library Collection - (click on the image to get a better view)

Gracia Hosokawa from the National Diet Library

As you can see - there was variation even within the writing of a single person. For calligraphers, there is much to be learned from looking at these kinds of pieces. I have been around calligraphers quite a bit, and studied for long enough to realise i didn't have the time to practice enough to make it worth my while continuing, and I feel that, even without understanding the words, you can get something from them - a glimpse into someone's character in quite an intimate way.

Musashi's Dokodo,
from Kumamoto Prefectural Museum

Even simple things give you some feeling of the humanity of these famous figures from the past. In Musashi's Dokodo at the Prefectural Museum, it is easy to see the attention he gave the characters, even as he was on his death bed, and the strength and precision they retained. You can also see how he charged his brush before each new precept, unlike in a letter, where the ink would gradually run out and the brush dipped in again wherever it happened to occur in the letter, mid sentence or no.

And the castle...?

Well, the castle will have to wait... but it was there that Musashi lived while he was a guest of Hosokawa Tadaoki.. so I'll say some more about it next time.

Answers (with links to the sites they came from):

Top: Kato Kiyomasa

Middle: Gracia Hosokawa

Bottom: Miyamoto Musashi