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.

Hojo Tokimune - The Lions' Roar

Kamakura Period (the time of Hojo Tokimune

and the Mongol Invasions) kara shishi (courtesy
of the Metropolitan Museum of Art)

The lion, of course, is not native to Japan, or anywhere in East Asia, come to that. The stories and imagery were brought along the Silk Road from western Asia, and preserved (principally) in the teachings of Buddhism.

It seems that the aspects of strength, courage and righteousness, in particular, came to be the defining aspects of the lion in Japan – similar, indeed, to how lions were viewed in the west. Rather than being associated chiefly with the ruling powers (eagles and tigers have that distinction) it kept its associations with Buddhism. There is some crossover, however. Most notable is the case of Hojo Tokimune, the defacto ruler of Japan at the time of the Mongol invasions.

Hojo Tokimune, depicted as a Zen Abbot

Tokimune was an early adherent and supporter of Zen - an influential one, given his position – despite the fact that he died quite young. On hearing of the second Mongol invasion, he went for an audience with his teacher, the Chinese priest Mugaku Sogen (posthumously awarded the title Bukko Kokushi).

'The hour of my trial is now at hand,' declared Tokimune.

'How will you respond?' replied Sogen, at which Tokimune replied with a mighty 'Katsu!' (the shout used in Rinzai Zen to demonstrate understanding, and also, if taken literally, the Japanese for victory or 'I will win'.

Sogen replied, 'It is true that the son of a lion roars as a lion.'

D.T. Suzuki says more about Tokimune, comparing him to Yunmen's golden haired lion, directing operations against the Mongol invasions from Kamakura, hundreds of miles from the action. He expresses his admiration for his ability as a leader during this time of crisis (which lasted over 10 years), and his ability to take upon his shoulders the responsibility for the whole country. This not only required great understanding, but also great application, and was a demonstration of his spirituality (whatever that is), as that is the characteristic that underlies understanding. Suzuki had a tendency to hagiography and was a tireless proselytizer for Zen – his writing was very much of his time, but it contains points of interest, too.

Manjusri riding the Golden-Haired Lion
(Muromachi period)

The golden-haired lion was an image used by Fazang, a patriarch of the Hua Yen school of Buddhism, to illustrate the relationship of form (a lion statue) to principle (the gold from which it is made). The lion's body is embodied in each hair - an infinity of infinities. Suzuki, as he often did, neglects to mention the origin, but relates it directly to Zen -Yunmen (J. Ummon) referred to the golden lion in one of his koans. (Fazang predated Yunmen by 200 years).

Suzuki's point, I suppose, is that Tokimune's complete awareness was present in each of his duties. To be realistic, it is worth pointing out that commentators have noted that Tokimune's role was probably much less vital than is often made out - several of his advisors played crucial roles, but we must give Suzuki credit here, as he was probably not aware of this.

More on Mugaku Sogen


An example of Sogen's calligraphy (Courtesy of Tokiwayama
Bunko Foundation)

Sogen was a man of parts, an accomplished calligrapher and painter, known for his courage and self-possession, which seems to have matched well with the spirit of the bushi.

He was 'head-hunted' from China after the first Mongol invasion, and it is quite possible that he was chosen as a result of the famous incident in which he outfaced the Mongols who came to his temple to slaughter the priests. He was found alone by a Mongol warrior. According to the story, he either composed a four line poem or calmly wrote it as the warrior stood, sword ready. Impressed, the warrior left him alone.

The poem has become quite well known, and the last line, 'A flash of lightning in the shadows, a sword cutting the spring wind' became associated with an indifference to death. Yamaoka Tesshu chose it as a name for his dojo, Shumpukan (shumpu is spring wind; kan is hall), and I have also seen it written on a flag of a kamikaze pilot - the historical connection being very appropriate, I suppose.

The poem in full goes:
   

  Throughout heaven and earth there is not a piece of ground where a single stick could be inserted;

  I am glad that all things are void, myself and the world:

  Honored be the sword, three feet long, wielded by the great Yüan swordsmen;

  For it is like cutting a spring breeze in a flash of lightning.


(It may be noted in passing that this was a reworking of a much earlier poem (c.414 C.E.) by Seng Chao, who composed the poem below while in jail, waiting for execution.
He was, indeed, executed:

The four elements essentially have no master.
The five shadows are fundamentally empty.
The naked sword will sever my head
as though cutting the spring breeze. 


This takes nothing away from Mugaku's work, as Chinese poetry was an art that made much use of borrowing from older works. Mugaku's poem was, in turn, used by the noted monk and poet Sesson Yubai as the basis for a poem when he found himself in extremis.

Tokimune was particularly concerned with the question of fear, and Sogen set him the question 'Where is my fear located?' as a koan. His response, as Sogen indicated may be seen as a kind of 'Lion's Roar', a term which goes back to the very origins of Buddhism, denoting the truth of the teachings of the Buddha and his disciples. Sogen was to use the image of the roaring lion again in his death poem:

A lion appears before ten billion ignorant fools
The lion roars before the ten billion ignorant fools

Torei Enji
Hossu with the
verse mentioned
above

Once again, this provided fodder for at least one later poet, the monk Torei Enji (1721-1792), a pupil of Hakuin. His rather witty take was this:

A million ignorant fools
A million lions appear 








But of all Sogens's verse, I like the following best:

The bow is shattered; the arrows are all gone.
At this critical moment 
Cast aside all doubt.
Shoot without the slightest delay.
 

Fantastic Beast - Rosetsu's Kara-shishi

Nagasawa Rosetsu (1754-1799)(?)

The shishi (or karashishi), the lion of Japanese art, is a mysterious beast. It is half mythological, often brightly coloured – typically blue or green – and has deep associations with Buddhism and Shinto. The guardians on either side of shrine entrances are normally shishi, or sometimes a shishi paired with a koma-inu (Korean dog or lion dog). In this case, the koma-inu will have its mouth closed and also sports a single, unicorn-like horn. The koma-inu looks quite leonine, and there is not much to tell between the two, probably because they evolved from the statues of lions in front of Buddhist temples in India, a custom which arrived in Japan and was transferred to shrines.

In Buddhism, they have the connotation of justice, and the strength to see that justice is done. They are also protectors of the Buddhist law. Their anger is proverbial, and I have seen the term shishi fundo (lion's rage) equated with techniques in budo that particularly utilise force and ferocity. As a motif, it was utilised by the Kano school most notably Kano Eitoku and later Kano Sanraku, to underline the majesty of their patrons. Unlike the tiger, however, which had whole rooms devoted to it in several decorative schemes, (Nijo Castle, Manshu-in, Nanzen-ji, Nagoya Castle, to name a few) I am not aware of any similar schemes involving shishi.

Kano Eitoku (1543-1590)'s lordly shishi

Their depiction was generally quite stylised, and rather than ferocity, typical depictions appear playful, as in these paintings by Kano Tanshin (the son of Kano Tanyu) and Hokusai.

This work by Nagasawa Rosetsu is quite another thing.

The writer Maruyama Kenji in a column in the Nikkei Shinbun newspaper (Jan. 22 2016) was also struck by it. He had this to say:

This should not be. Although you thought you had renounced your showy displays of anger, in the light of the full moon your dark and ferocious glare shows your confusion. After such total dedication, you did not abandon yourself to quiet madness or lose yourself in painful struggle – that it’s not a look of barbaric rashness or cold anger is proof of this. In the chaos of a society returned to ruin, your eyes shine with the light of justice, to see right done by whatever means possible, even at the cost of your life. Showing your determination to save those who had no choice in their upbringing, cowed by the threats that hung over them, you symbolise readiness to confront an old enemy on behalf of individual freedom. That is the kind of look it is. If not, your glance would not strike home in the breasts of those who have lapsed from mere vulgarity, attracted by the charm of appearances, and whose minds are now poisoned by hedonism. Forceful and revitalising, filled with the power to return to life, showing the supreme authority that lies only within yourself – a look that is open and true.

(my translation)

The broad, fierce brushstrokes depict the furious intensity of the beast very differently from how it is usually shown. It is also quite different from anything else of of Rosetsu's. I was surprised to learn that it was his when I first saw it, and only found out as I was writing this that there is some doubt as to whether it was actually painted by him (see here for more) – the gold leaf was certainly a later addition (Rosetsu's teacher, Maruyama Okyo had some works that suffered similarly) and the signature has been added at a later date (over the gold leaf and an original signature). Particularly unusual is the strength of emotion in the work, something that obviously struck Maruyama Kenji. Comparing it with Eitoku's work (above) it is almost exactly the same pose as the left-hand shishi – it is interesting to think that it may be a direct reworking from that original model. It would be nice to think it was genuine, but even if not, it is an impressive work, and painting it may have given the artist the means to enthuse his work with greater feeling than a more traditional rendering would have allowed.

Through the Tearoom Window - on the aesthetics of tea

Tea as 'culture' - a poster advertising travel to Kyoto.

The tea ceremony as reflected in the photographer's eye – calm, severe beauty – a single image that conjures up a whole aesthetic, or even a whole culture…But this is not quite the aesthetic of tea. It is the aesthetic of the designer, the graphic artist. For tea, the aesthetic is only part of the story, but as an outsider, it is the part I will consider here.

I must start with an admission – I am not an aficionado of tea, but exploring the world of Japanese art and aesthetics, before long, you find yourself coming back to it. Since the end of the Momoyama period, back in the late 16th century, through to the modern day, it has attracted the powerful and the aesthetically minded, and continues to offer fascination as a window onto this culture as something peculiarly Japanese (although one should be aware that it has been promoted in just such a role in the post-war period).

As 2015 is the 400th anniversary of the death of Furuta Oribe, the daimyo tea master who succeeded Rikyu, and like him, was forced to commit seppuku, there is a surprising richness of tea utensils on display this year.

It is too rich a subject to do it full justice, but there are certain points that make it interesting, even if one is not overly enamored with the spirit of wabi-sabi and the performance of the ceremony itself.

The tea ceremony as it is practiced today in all its major variations is centred around this concept which gained popularity from Rikyu – and gave its name to the tea he practised – wabi-cha. Wabi, together with a related term, sabi, are key to the aesthetic promoted by Rikyu, and has continued ever since. They are explained well in this excerpt from the omotesenke webpage:

The unique atmosphere and environment of chanoyu are often called 'wabi and sabi'. They refer to a tranquil and serene world, and an elegant simplicity of environment.
This calm and somehow lonely condition, or the taste for elegant simplicity which is a denial of colouration has been developed as an aesthetic which is perhaps unique to Japanese culture.
The word 'wabi' is derived from the verb 'wabu', meaning 'dejection, bitterness, being reduced to poverty'. Sabi is derived from the verb 'sabu', meaning 'to get old, to be discoloured'. The origin of the word 'wabi' is 'the bitterness of things not turning out as we want them to' and of 'sabi' 'the weakening of the vital powers'. So both of them are among words expressing negative feelings.
However, these words for negative emotions were actually given a positive value and were used on the worlds of chanoyu and of haiku as 'terms used to express beauty'. It could be said that this is where Japan's unique aesthetic sense and attitude towards culture lie.

While I respect this aesthetic, I think it has been overworked and overstated… having grown up in a household decorated with the fruit of much careful hunting in jumble sales and junk shops, I certainly don't find it unique to Japan. Perhaps it was necessary to give it a specific designation to achieve recognition in a society that places high regard on precedent and propriety (and it must be noted that despite the high level of arts and craft that are produced in Japan today, the average person seems to have far less sense of interior decoration than one might suppose). Choosing things that are odd or imperfect, common or old-looking may have come as a shock to Rikyu's contemporaries in the 16th century, but to some, it's commonsense. However, to use something because you like it, rather than because it is good (or made by a famous maker) is a concept that is foreign to many here even now.


The aesthetic aside, the practice of tea is laden with rules, some of which may be based in good sense, others of which are rather arbitrary. It is the following of these rules that bring some of the benefits of the practice, the situating of oneself within a ritual which becomes 'home-ground', and also the challenge and the discipline of the practice. Rules also serve to bind the ephemeral nature of the ceremony, to enable its transmission, giving a form to an experience. They also, of course, help with the perpetuating of a role for the tea master, especially in this day and age, when the teaching and performance of tea has spread around the world.

Raku tea bowl made under Rikyu's direction by Raku Chojiro

Aesthetics is a personal subject, and judging by the stories about Rikyu, not only was he a leader in this respect, but as we expect artists to do today, he strove to develop and refine his expression of his particular brand. Likewise his successor Furuta Oribe developed his own particular aesthetic, favoring wares that now bear his name. This may have been part of their strength, but such individualism was not in step with the times. As Hideyoshi and then Tokugawa Ieyasu worked on unifying the country and stabilizing the social structure into what was to become a rigid hierarchy, tea masters defied that order. They emphasized the primacy of taste over precedence and propriety, with a certain liking for the unpredictable and sometimes the downright non-sensical. They had the ability, it seems, to keep their patrons wrong-footed, surprising and sometimes annoying them by their disregard for the standards that these very men were learning and preserving.

Perhaps, in fact, it was for this reason that the tea ceremony was developed – as an outlet for aesthetic sensibilities in a culture that was dedicated to preserving old forms and expressing oneself in their terms. With its emphasis on simplicity and awareness of what is happening at this very moment, the influence of Zen is clear. Rikyu himself studied Zen at Daitoku-Ji Temple in Kyoto, but there seems to be a contradiction in the art. While acceptance and appreciation of the beauty of the ordinary and commonplace requires a certain detachment, the search for exquisite simplicity, the lengths tea masters went to orchestrate their gatherings, and the value placed upon objects that were made cheaply for every day consumption (rustic Korean tea bowls) belies that non-attachment. This is especially true in the case of tea masters, who exercise their cultivated taste in the collection and assemblage of objects. Even for the trainee, there is just as much attachment in the unquestioning following of their school's pronouncements on aesthetics.

What is the use of tea?

Apart from it's attraction as a means to personal development and contemplation, and the partaking (and promotion) of a national culture, tea has served a number of purposes in the past. Perhaps the most notable of these was its role in politics. Oda Nobunaga made particular use of it, both as a chance to bring his generals together and as a means to dispense favors in the form of valuable tea utensils, and Toyotomi Hideyoshi followed his example.

It seems that this aspect, rather than disapproval of his increasingly austere aesthetics, was the reason for Rikyu's death (he was ordered to commit seppuku by Hideyoshi). Rikyu had become one of Hideyoshi:s most important advisors, together with Hideyoshi's half-brother, Hidenaga. Despite his important position, as a member of the merchant class, he had no power base, and fell foul of powerful interests (probably Ishida Mitsunari) after Hidenaga's death.

Clog-shaped tea bowl - owned by Furuta Oribe

Furuta Oribe, although of Daimyo class, was also a victim of politics – the reasons are not entirely clear, but commentators have noted that the total wealth of those Daimyo who were keen adherents of the tea ceremony (and thus intimates of Oribe) equalled that of the key Tokugawa vassals. Had Oribe been so inclined, he might have been able to mount a credible opposition to the Tokugawa hegemony. Oribe's own taste was particularly outre, and could be seen as a tacit challenge to the hegemony the Tokugawa clan were busy in consolidating. Anyway, Tokugawa Ieyasu wasn't taking any chances and ordered him to commit seppuku.

From the next generation, Oribe's successor, Kobori Enshu instituted a more refined style which combined elements of the grace and luxury the ruling class was used to, and took on the role of performing the tea ceremony for the ruler, rather than teaching him. Tea was no longer necessary as tool for alliance brokering, and dropped back into the role of cultural pastime.

For the practitioner, tea is more than aesthetics; it is a marriage of space and performance. Set in a dedicated space, it removes the practitioner – and the guest, if there is one – from the everyday. What one experiences is, perhaps, it's own reward, and certainly, that must differ from practitioner to practitioner. However, for whatever reason, it continues to exert a powerful pull on the imagination, and remains as a strong theme in Japanese culture.