Musashi's lost sumo wrestlers

 

A detail of the sumo scene attributed to Musashi - I must admit 
that I thought it was an "oni" at first.

I started out writing this blog thinking that I would simply introduce one of Miyamoto Musashi’s little known artworks – and in this case, it is, in fact, a lost artwork – but as it went on, it became clear that it would require rather more explanation than I had at first thought.

Not least of the problems is that the remaining images of this work (destroyed in a fire in 1984) are so poor in quality that any definitive judgement is difficult to make. Nevertheless, I think it’s worth a look.

Background

Miyamoto Musashi is, of course, well known for his painting as well as his skills with the sword. As regular readers will know, I am interested in both aspects, and the intersection between the two. His most famous works include his depiction of a shrike sitting watchfully on a dead branch and his paintings of Bodhidharma, and in both of these, we can see something of the concentration and intensity he must have brought to his martial arts. 

Musashi was nothing if not versatile, and he turned his hand to a number of themes, some of which are rarely seen or little known, especially in the English-speaking world.

One such theme has a far closer relationship to combat than most, and as I could find no mention of it at all in English, I thought it might be interesting to take a closer look at his (attributed) painting of sumo wrestlers – an unlikely subject, perhaps, but this was an ema, a votive tablet, that Musashi had painted when he was a guest of one Oka Heijuro (岡平十郎), at the Ogo Kannon-do temple in Aioi City, Hyogo Prefecture.)

The better of the two reproductions of the painting attributed to Musashi.

It is worth noting that although it is attributed to Musashi, it is by no means certain that he painted it. While the possibility is there, there are a few problems.

First, the dates don’t quite match up - Oka, a direct descendant of the monk Gyōan who had built the temple in the C12^th, had rebuilt the main hall of the temple (destroyed by fire in the C14^th) after he had been cured of a serious eye disease by following the directions of the temple’s deity, but this wasn’t until several years after Musashi’s death. Oga is described as a domori, a temple guardian or caretaker, who funded the rebuilding, so it seems he was a man of means, and might have hosted Musashi at an earlier date. Such disparities, however, are always something of a red flag.

In any case, so the story goes, Musashi painted the votive plaque out of thanks for the hospitality he received. It was quite large - 1.2m x 0.8m, and painted on a zelkova wood panel – a painting this size suggests Oka was a generous host.

The first, legendary sumo bout by Takeishi Keisho (1885) (Courtesy of the JSA)

Theme

The subject was the contest between Nomi no Sukune and Taima no Kehaya – the original sumo bout, (July 7th, 7th year of the legendary Emperor Suinin's reign – 22BCE) in which Taima lost his life. Nomi no Sukune is also credited with ending human sacrifice by making ceramic figures to be buried in tombs, so there is a thematic connection between him and ema, which seem – originally – to have been offerings to shrines in place of horses. Horses were not sacrificed, but they had sacred connections. However, stabling such gifts put a financial strain on shrines, so painted depictions of horses (ema) became a preferred offering.

Not surprisingly, the most common motif of these votive plaques was originally horses, but by the late Muromachi, other themes, became more common, as did increasingly large ema, some of which were produced by famous artists such as those of the Kano school. 

Muromachi period ema from the Kano school

There is one interesting example of an ema that is associated with Oishi Kuranosuke, leader of the 47 Ronin, that is tentatively dated to the Tenna era (1681-89) and shows a similar degree of deterioration to wrestler piece. Interestingly, although the colours have worn off in places, the ink strokes may be clearly seen. Though much of the dedication can no longer be read, it bears Oishi's name, suggesting that he donated it. 

This is a detail of the ema connected to Oishi Kuranosuke
(leader of the 47 ronin) showing the head of Hotei. It's difficult
to make out – Hotei's right eye is roughly in the centre of the
painting.

Although the wrestlers would be an unusual motif, it is possible that it was painted by Musashi.

Style

The deterioration makes it difficult to judge on stylistic grounds. The figures are, in some ways, relatively primitive, but the joint pose of the two figures is very similar to an Ukiyo-e print produced some 200 years after Musashi's time, suggesting that the motif may have been drawn from such a source. This, would, of course make it a much later work. Depictions of sumo wrestlers seem to be rare before the 1800s, and figure paintings generally show less bombast than the Ukiyo-e works by artists such as Hokusai and Kuniyoshi. However, ema are an exception, and there are examples of more dynamic figures in that tradition. Having said that, many, if not most, ema that feature dynamic human figures filling the frame seem to date from the 1800’s, such as this example by Kano Hogai (around the late 1840’s).

Kano Hogai - Takeuchi no Sukune casting jewels

A closer look at the painting 

Note the left arms of the two figures in this reproduction.

There are a couple of other things worth noting about this image. Despite the poor quality of the photographs, it is possible to see there are some differences between the two. In one of them, some of the lines seem to have been retouched or overdrawn. The left arm, in particular, seems to show this. In the two details above, you can see the faces look slightly different – in particular, the eyes appear to be in slightly different positions, with one looking up towards the other wrestler (with the left eye looking in the same direction), and the other, out towards the viewer (with the left eye obscured).

The nature of paintings on wood means that as they deteriorate, different aspects of the underpainting are revealed, so some parts that look particularly pale in the photograph may have been dark originally. The wrestler on the right seems to have bug eyes, but this is a result of deterioration of the paint surface and the underpainting showing through, while the face of the wrestler on the left is very unclear in both photographs.

Who is winning? That is another question. Below is a detail of an Edo period print by Utagawa Yoshitora which is very similar in some respects, although the position of the right arm and left leg is different. The figure on the left is more dynamic in the painting, and the outstretched hand looks as if he is poised for a strike, having used his left leg to prevent his opponent's attempted throw. It looks as if he is in position for a winning move.

Kawazu gake. the figure on the right is almost exactly
the same last the Musashi ema.

The print shows the technique known as kawazu gake, where the wrestler on the right applies a leg entanglement. This is part of a move that then uses a lean of the body to throw the opponent (though in this case, it looks to be a counter to an attempted throw). This throw is not often seen in sumo - it is difficult to apply - and though it exists in judo, it is illegal because of the potential damage to the opponent's knee.

This is the print from which the detail is taken.
Kawazu gake is illustrated in the top right corner of this print

To get an idea of what it would have looked like in its prime, we can look at surviving pictures and prints of wrestlers. There are a few dating from around Musashi's time, perhaps the most well-known being the Sumo Yurakuzu Byobu (Yurakuzu is a genre depicting various recreations – here, sumo), which is famous for featuring a black wrestler. 

There are a few other paintings from around this time (and a bit later), but as a genre, depictions of sumo did not become common until the ukiyo-e prints of the 1800s. It is there that we can see the characteristics that are most familiar, and these stylized images are certainly vigorous and visually arresting, with the figures forming the greater part of the composition. By contrast, early figure paintings tend to feature figures as part of a scene, and often quite a small part.

A typical ukiyo-e scene (by Utagawa Kuniyoshi) which shows  
more stylised, dynamic wrestlers.

In this case, the Musashi picture falls somewhere between the two. Its poor condition makes it difficult to make any hard and fast judgements about its authenticity, but stylistically, the indications point towards a later date. 

So is this really a Musashi painting? We can't tell for sure, especially now that it has been destroyed. As an ema, it is in a category sufficiently different from Musashi's other paintings that the dissimilarity does not disqualify it from being his. At the same time, the depiction of the figures, particularly the similarity to a later ukiyo-e print, does raise questions. It remains an interesting and little known possibility.

Miyamoto Musashi: yokai fighter and monster hunter

There are plenty of questions (and, indeed, legends) surrounding Musashi’s life – where was he born? What, if anything, did he study as a child? Did he fight in the Battle of Sekigahara? Why is there no real record of Sasaki Kojiro? – to name just a few. However, in the fiction of the Edo period, he had another career – slayer of monstrous beasts.

These stories are clearly fictional (unlike his relationship with the monk Takuan, for example, which is believable although untrue); they fall into a genre which sees famous figures from history triumphing over a variety of monsters, some supernatural, some gigantic versions of actual animals. Those familiar with the prints of Utagawa Kuniyoshi will, no doubt, have seen many of these.

The heavily forested mountains that cover much of Japan were, from earliest times, seen as places of mystery, the abode of spirits as well as being home to dangerous wild animals and lawless elements of society. People did not wander through them lightly, and they formed a suitable realm of the unknown for all manner of strange and wonderful things to occur. Japanese folklore is rich in supernatural entities, and to this day there is a tacit respect for old customs that touch on this. Evidently, it was fertile ground for stories that stretch belief.

There might be more to it than that, however. Censorship in Edo period Japan (when these prints were being made) was strong, and overt criticism of the government could bring heavy punishment. Print makers and playwrights would get round this by changing the names of historical figures, so as not to fall foul of the censorship laws – many prints have names that are slightly changed from their historical models, and there are some notable prints that are recognized as overt criticisms of current events in a historical guise (and you only have to look at the recent spat over the use of film of Reagan criticising tariffs to see that governments can still be sensitive to this kind of thing).

But I digress…Musashi has appeared battling such creatures in a number of stories, and even a cursory glance online brings up many examples. Unless otherwise noted, these prints are from the Boston Museum of Fine Art.

The ghost of Himeji Castle

Miyamoto Musashi and Princess Osakabe
From Claremont Colleges Digital Library.
Artist: Chikanobu Yoshu 1886

Story and background 

This story seems to have originated in a novel of the late 19th century, and a similar version appeared in a serialised lecture titled Miyamoto Musashi, printed in the Osaka Mainichi Shinbun (Osaka Daily News) in 1915. A version of this is now seen as folklore in the Himeji area, and it’s this that you are most likely to come across in English (if you come across it at all):

Musashi (under an alias) is working as a guard at Himeji Castle, where there have been reports of strange lights and noises coming from one of the towers. He volunteers to investigate the happenings. He climbs the tower and on the third floor is suddenly assailed by roaring flames and an unearthly cry. Undaunted, he places his hand on his sword hilt and advances – the flames and sound disappears. He climbs to the next floor, and the same thing happens. Climbing to the top floor, the guardian spirit of the the tower - a princess, no less – appears and thanks him for driving away the malicious spirit that was haunting the tower. She rewards him by presenting him with a famous sword. Everyone is happy and Musashi has saved the day!

The original was a little more involved, and has a sting in the tale. Rather than a grateful protector guardian, the spirit at the top is a fox spirit who has set the whole thing up so Musashi will be caught with the stolen sword and executed. Musashi manages to get out of the trap and eventually kills the fox spirit after another attempt on his life.

Here we are clearly into the world of legend, so let’s see if we can glean something useful from it.

For the more practically minded, this could be seen as an illustration of various characteristics associated with accomplished martial artists – calmness, presence of mind, indomitable spirit, and also saya no uchi, which is often explained as the ability to win without drawing the sword – largely through the foregoing abilities. Note how Musashi was able to defeat the spirit without drawing his sword. 

As you might expect, a country rich in esoteric and supernatural traditions might well have a little more to say on the matter. Many traditions of bugei touch on this area, and some respected voices have spoken further on it. Otake Risuke, for example, recounts an anecdote relating to exorcism based on the teachings of Tenshin Shoden Katori Ryu. Perhaps, the practice of an art that is based on ‘divine’ or ‘true’ principles the spiritual strength of the bugeisha is of the same nature, to some degree, as that of the supernatural, and thus can be a potent protection against supernatural phenomena.

Tengu

This print (and most of the others) is by Utagawa Kuniyoshi

Tengu have a long connection with swordsmanship, not merely in legend and literature, but likely because of the connections with esoteric religious practices connected with yamabushi and their martial traditions (and hence wandering swordsmen), and in this connection, they are often presented as teachers.

However, they also have a negative reputation - in Buddhism, for example, they are often seen as beings that seek to lead people away from the true path. This tengu is obviously not the teacher type.

Utagawa Hiroshige

Tsukioka Yoshitoshi

Interestingly, I chanced across a similar (albeit far less dynamic) print on the theme, but with a different swordsman – Yagyu Jubei. 

artist unknown

Wild Beasts

After I had written this post, I found out that the Edo period novel (by Hiraga Baisetsu) that most of the animal encounters below (and, indeed, the tengu one above) are drawn from is now available in translation by Eric Shahan. They also appear in a variety of stage plays and stories presented to audiences by professional storytellers. Novels, ukiyo-e and theatre were all linked, so I am not sure if the novel collected stories which were already going around, or if it was the novel from which everyone else drew their inspiration. If you find this kind of thing interesting I suggest you take a look. Below is a link to his Amazon page: 

Miyamoto Musashi : Two Swords: An Illustrated Tale of Bravery

This illustration is also by Kuniyoshi

At one time, I thought of the dangers of wild animals in Japan to be minimal. Yes, there are poisonous snakes, and you wouldn’t want to get bitten by a monkey or get on the wrong end of a wild boar, but by and large, you would have to go out of your way to look for trouble (watch out for the “murder hornets”, too.)

But not so – there have been a growing number of bear attacks, mostly in the northern half of Honshu, including 13 deaths so far this year (out of more than 200 reported attacks), so it would be wise not to be complacent. 

Musashi was not fighting bears, but there are a few prints that depict him battling creatures that are more or less natural.

Wolves

Utagawa Kuniyoshi

This triptych depicts a scene from the play Kan'ei Miyamoto Musashi Den. Musashi is laying about him in the midst of a pack of wolves - largely extinct by the time the print was made, but perfect as a foil for someone wielding two swords. Sitting watching him is another famous bugeisha, Sekiguchi Yataro (1640-1729), whose school survives to this day. They were near contemporaries (Musashi died in 1645), and Sekiguchi was a popular character in stories that bore little relation to his actual life.

Bats? No, flying squirrels…kind of

Utagawa Kuniyoshi

You would be forgiven for thinking Musashi was fighting a giant bat, but it is actually a nobusuma - possibly a giant flying squirrel (the name means something like ‘wild blanket’) and some pictures depict it as such. Other law says that when bats reach a certain age, they transform into one of these, so perhaps it is a bat after all, but a supercharged one.

Tsukioka Yoshitoshi

Giant lizards

Utagawa Kuniyoshi

Kinchoro Yoshitora

Sharks are often depicted as crocodile-like creatures in Japanese prints – the scales certainly make for a more detailed motif – but these are meant to be mountain dwelling creatures.

A whale

Utagawa Kuniyoshi

It looks as if Kuniyoshi is taking a leaf out of Tarzan or The Savage Sword of Conan in this print. Of course, Kuniyoshi’s piece was much earlier, so this is pure coincidence. What is he doing there? I don’t know, but it is certainly a dramatic composition

Early summer rains – water and weather in swordsmanship

Travellers sheltering from the rain

‘This endless rain’ wrote Ki no Tsurayuki in the 10th century in a poem about the rainy season. This is a sentiment shared by many in Japan at this time of year, although as that season, exceptionally short this year, ended more than two weeks ago, perhaps less so than usual. Nevertheless, I seem to have been dodging sudden downpours ever since – what is known here as guerilla rain – culminating in heavy rain last week on the very day of the Gion Matsuri procession, when richly decorated wooden floats, some weighing several tons, are pulled through the streets of downtown Kyoto. I’m sure many of those involved in the festival could sympathize with Ki no Tsurayuki’s feelings.

It rains elsewhere, of course, but Japan seems particularly well supplied in this respect. The country is criss-crossed with streams and rivers (often concreted over in the cities) with many, like the gentle Kamogawa which runs through Kyoto, transformed into raging torrents after heavy rain. In times gone by, people must have been acutely aware of the power and danger of these natural forces.

My local stream on a rainy day

It is hardly surprising, then, that they worked their way into the martial disciplines of the time, serving as metaphors for changeability, flow, power and softness. Miyamoto Musashi wrote of water as representing the clarity of his teachings, as well as the key principle of adaptability. In this case, he used the example of the way water can adapt to the shape of its container, as well as the many forms it can appear in. ‘Take water,’ he said, ‘as the model for my school of strategy.’

Although a closer reading doesn’t offer much more specifically on the topic, it is this kind of passage that is suggestive of the depth of his studies and the way in which he intended them to be applied. We can infer that the subsequent techniques are really strategies or tactics that should be applied in a range of situations. And given his statement that he didn’t believe in inner and outer teachings, which is to say ‘secrets’ that were taught to some of his students and not to others, these may be seen as key aspects of his art. 

A detail from a print by Toyokuni showing Musashi fighting
the evil monk, Kainen (from the popular novel A Tale of Two
Swords - Sasaki Miyamoto Eiyo Nito den). Note the water themed background.

To take this further, we have to look at the way concepts are embodied in kata practice in other schools. There is a tendency in Japanese culture not to explain, but to have students repeat their actions until they get it – or not, as the case may be. Those who are familiar with Japanese arts and crafts may well have seen this – it is not limited to martial arts – and there seems to have been a general feeling that this combination of dedication and single-minded striving is the ‘correct’ path to developing skill. It enables practitioners to feel the skill in their body. If that is the way you have developed it yourself, it is probably not easy to conceptualise it verbally, especially in a culture given to vagueness and allusion in its language.

These arts contain a range of strategic and tactical principles that are largely hidden within the movements of the kata. Master practitioners might embody these principles naturally, or they might have been revealed more explicitly to students at the higher levels.

Musashi, then, in observing the nature of water, it’s clarity, mutability, and ability to take on the shape of its container, tells us that the spirit of his art, or his art itself, is present in every move. His pointing to the clarity of water indicates that these deeper principles are there to be seen, not hidden in the kata (unlike, he suggests, most other schools of his time).

It is tempting to read into Musashi’s words that his approach was to explain the concepts as he introduced the techniques to his students, and this might, indeed, be so. One thing that we can be sure about, however, is that he would have required a lot of unforgiving practice to ensure these principles were really reflected in the techniques.

While water is related to flow and change, related phenomena such as mist or fog (kasumi) and thunder also figure in martial lore. Mist indicates things that may be hidden or unclear – in a country as full of mountains as this, often partially obscured by mist or approaching rain, perhaps it is no wonder that this was used as a metaphor (though by no means universal); lightning refers to techniques that strike with extreme speed, usually directly downwards, a cutting through of distractions or barriers.

Familiarity with these elements was a kind of cultural literacy, useful as an aide memoire, but perhaps more so in pointing towards the deeper secrets of the energies of the natural world, energies that were surely recognised and utilized in the disciplines of war. Though these were largely concepts involving patterns of movement, rhythm and mindset, they could also be more esoteric. One of the more interesting techniques involved a way of reading the ki of a situation based on visual clues. This is illustrated in old manuals like mist rising above the mountains or enemy encampments, but the details of how this was perceived and trained remain obscure. 

 

This text shows two kinds of ki - the one on the left is roki – if 'smoke' is broken and and does not rise gradually ... it is defeat; it is weakness; it is evil. The other, ritsuki, shows the 'smoke' rising straight, without a break. the commentary explains that this is a great blessing for all things. Although the text talks about 'smoke', this is not meant literally.

Those techniques may have been lost, but weather continues to feature strongly in Japan’s cultural consciousness. Rain has been used to particularly good effect in the film world, where it is used both to highlight and increase emotional tension, and here, Kurosawa is the master. The final battle in The Seven Samurai is a case in point, but it also goes beyond the creation of heightened drama to create its own distinct aesthetic. It plays an important part in other movies of this genre - Rashomon comes to mind, but more familiar to many in the western audience would be the scene in The Last Samurai where Tom Cruise is soundly beaten by Hiroyuki Sanada, and in doing so, earns his grudging respect. While the aesthetic effect is not as strong as in Kurosawa’s work, its use to heighten tension and mark the significance of an event is similar.

From Rashomon, Kurosawa's first use of rain as a dramatic element

Now, as we approach August, and the heat of summer is truly with us, we might wish for a bit more of that rain from time to time. But not too much of it – the typhoon season is only just around the corner!