Musashi’s iconic portrait – with comments by Draeger and other experts

 

The Shimada Museum of Art in Kumamoto is the the place to go if you want to see works of art by Miyamoto Musashi, as well as other objects closely connected to him. (You can read about my visit there almost ten years ago here). Most of the items are on permanent display, and the small, intimate scale of the museum means that you will probably be able to stay and look as much as you like. Among the works on display is the famous ‘self-portrait’ of Musashi – a striking piece that is imbued with the spirit of the master.

 

Amongst the portraits of Musashi, (there are several other works based on this one) and, indeed, Japanese historical portraits in general, this one stands out for its power and the unique insight it gives into the subject’s personality and his (martial) art. This one was passed down in the Terao line of Musashi’s teachings and is traditionally regarded as a self portrait. 

 

It has been used as a standard model for the depiction of Musashi, both for paintings during the Edo period and for more recent works, such as the statue of Musashi on the Yodobashi (Bridge) over the Yoshino River and the signboard in the Musashizuka Park in Kumamoto showing the kamae of Niten Ryu (see below).

The Musashi statue on the Yodo Bridge

Signboard in Musashizuka Park

 

In all likelihood, it was not painted by Musashi, but that only slightly lessens its interest. It has drawn commentary from a number of well-known authorities in the Japanese martial arts, some of which make for interesting reading. As is so often the case, these may say more about the writer than the painting (or the subject). Before getting on to them, let’s take a look at what the Shimada Museum has to say:

 

Portrait of a Master Swordsman
Highlights include a famous portrait of Musashi in the last years of his life. It is known to be a posthumous portrait because the subject is painted with the left side of his face facing the viewer. According to the conventions of Japanese painting, this generally indicates that the subject is deceased. The artist seems to have been familiar with the real Musashi and his philosophy. The swordsman’s facial expression and posture are captured at the moment of confrontation with an enemy, just as described in the “Water” chapter of Musashi’s Book of Five Rings. 

(Kumamoto Official Guide: Shimada Museumof Art)

 

So much for the official introduction. Now let’s take a look at what some other people have made of it:

 

Donn Draeger

Draeger needs no introduction – his love for and experience in the Japanese martial arts are well known. Given this, his comments on Musashi might seem to be unusually harsh:

 

Qualified authorities today regard the artifacts allegedly made by Musashi such as the tsuba, or sword guard, as not made by him, but possibly designed by him. That famous self-portrait is suspect. The reason is that the face shows, among other things, tension, rage, and defiance. These are all qualities that good swordsmanship proscribes, and are contradictory to what is considered a good budo face. Certainly they are directly contradictory to the concepts expressed in the Gorin no sho. Only the equally famed painting of the shrike on a branch may be legitimately from his hands.

 

Extracts from letters written by Donn F. Draeger to Robert W. Smith. Letters in the Joseph R. Svinth collection, reprinted courtesy of Robert W. Smith and Joseph R. Svinth. Copyright © 2000. All rights reserved.

https://ejmas.com/jcs/jcsdraeger_musashi.htm

 

Firstly, I am not at all certain that the painting does show all (or any) of the attributes Draeger has attributed to it. Certainly, I cannot see any sign of rage, or even anger. Tension and defiance, are, I think, quite subjective, and although there is certainly ‘emotional content’ as Bruce Lee might have said, I can’t agree with Draeger on its nature. Musashi was famous for the forcefulness of his stare, and I think that is what is depicted here.

 

Draeger’s comments on the authenticity of Musashi’s artworks are not entirely accurate either – although there are questions about some of the works ascribed to him, the attribution of many others is not in doubt. Neither does the fact that the tsuba were the result of a collaboration with skilled craftsmen rather than handworked by Musashi himself diminish their value. Crafts of all sorts typically involved the work of experts in different areas. The famous Yagyu tsuba were also the result of such a collaboration, initially between Yagyu Renyasai and artists/craftsmen in the Owari area where he lived.

 

It must be noted that Draeger’s opinions on Musashi seem to show the influence of his own teacher, Otake Risuke of the Tenshin Shoden Katori Ryu. Otake has spoken critically of Musashi’s lifestyle and legacy (constant duelling, no family, for example) as well as pointing out (as Draeger did) that he was one expert swordsman amongst many (and that others were more skilled). This is fair comment, although I suspect Musashi’s disparaging comments about the Kashima and Katori schools did not help create a good opinion. 

 

Hino Akira 

Others think more highly of Musashi. An interesting description of the portrait can be found in Hino Akira’s book Kokoro no Katachi (The Image of the Heart). Hino is an interesting figure. Coming from a ‘rough’ background, he has gone into the area of ‘budo research’ – rather than follow a particular style or teacher, he is involved in researching and developing aspects of the deeper skills in traditional Japanese martial arts, involving timing, positioning, ‘inner power’ and so on. He is/was also a jazz drummer and dancer, and teaches dancers as well as martial artists. It is an interesting combination, and he has some interesting insights to offer.

 

In the case of Musashi’s portrait, his description is quite individual and worth considering:

 

In the portrait, the head of Musashi is a little stooped forward, his spine is loose, his weight is on the whole of his feet, and the sword in his left hand aims directly at the neck or the eyes of his opponent. His left eye is in sync with his opponent’s consciousness, and his right eye hides any indication of his intention by focussing intensely on the opponent.

 

This pose is so-called the (sic) “machi” pose. His machi is for “sen-no-sen”. We can see “the image of Musashi’s heart” clearly in his attitude that he invites his opponent to attack him in order to perfect his machi.

 

Also, his way of standing is one that confuses the opponent’s sense of distance, and at the same time it allows him to move in any direction.

 

The portrait tells a lot.

 

(Footnotes in the original explain machi as “waiting”, and sen-no-sen as “the attack in the moment when the intention of attacking occurs in the opponent’s consciousness”).

 

Hino’s comment on the eyes is interesting, but I have no idea of his basis for that observation. I haven’t heard of any teachings which separate the function of the two eyes. His description of the portrait itself seems more accurate than Draeger’s. Of course, there is some interpretation when it comes to ‘We can see “the image of Musashi’s heart”’ – a different translation (‘we can see Musashi’s approach’) might offer some clarity…the second part of the sentence is a little confusing – is he practicing or is he fighting. Are they the same thing? Bearing in mind the title of his book (The Image of the Heart), there is an obvious link.

 

Roald Knutsen

Knutsen is a veteran kendo practitioner who also has broad experience in a number of bugei. He has written several books which present his perspective on the traditional martial arts. He has a deep interest and respect for all areas of the arts and is definitely one of the ‘old school’ in his attitudes towards practice and the depth of learning contained within traditional martial disciplines. 

He also has professional experience as an artist and believes that a wealth of information is contained in the illustrations that are a part of many of the mokurokuand other documents passed down by masters from the past. Thus his reading is also that the portrait of Musashi may be read for insights into Musashi’s arts. The anecdote he recounts is not about his own experience, but that of a senior kendo teacher:

 

…A famous kendo master explained how, after a long study of Musashi’s portrait, he realized that the swordsman’s balance was wholly on the ball of each foot, not on either set of toes or either heel. Despite this, the foot placement looked ‘normal’. Based on this realisation the ku-dan hanshi practised this seriously for several years before mastery.

(The endnotes read ‘Yunō Masanori Hanshi, in personal instruction, Tokyo, 1981.’)

Rediscovering Budo: from a Swordsmans’s Perspective

 

It is interesting observation, but I am not sure if that is really a conclusion that can be accurately drawn from this painting – I don’t know if the conventions employed by the artist extended to accurate weight distribution. (I am happier with Hino’s reading…I think this much can be seen.) If the artist was Musashi himself, he would naturally have been aware of  this aspect of his kamae; if it was painted after his death, I am much less sure of it. It certainly goes against the instruction presented in Gorin no sho, to “tread firmly with heels”. Of course, kendo has developed a particular style of footwork that was not part of the older bugei (the raised heel of the back foot). Knutsen is aware of this from his own experience, but I am sure a highly ranked kendo teacher explaining in person is more persuasive than seeing it written in a book. 

Ultimately, although I admit that it is fascinating to look for clues in graphic works, I am not sure if the artist’s skill or knowledge is necessarily up to the task of showing such things.

 

Dave Lowry

I must admit that I used to own a much thumbed version of Lowry’s Autumn Lightning, and I can heartily recommend it. It is many years since I read it, but I owe a debt of thanks for the motivation it gave me. The excerpt below is from a different book – one composed of short essays in one of which he uses the portrait as a vehicle for his philosophical musings. In this case, he is looking at the concept of shikaku. He seems to be aiming his material at a general martial arts audience, and I have a few quibbles – with his characterisation of Musashi as an ‘eccentric’ swordsman, for example –  but it is a nicely written riff on the portrait. If anything, it suffers from the need to fit into the short essay format, by presenting a conclusion that is perhaps a little too obvious.

 

Gripping both his long and short swords, Musashi’s posture and countenance are electric with power. His slit-eyed stare is furious; wholly concentrated.(I think Lowry got a bit carried away here – whether or not his stare is furious, it certainly isn’t slit-eyed.)

To me, Musashi’s portrait is like some kind of koan ….. The expression on his face is, as I said, fiercely concentrated. But it does not seem to be directed at any outer enemy. It is enigmatic; fascinating the more you look at it. Musashi seems to be locked in a profound internal struggle of sorts. Perhaps it is only my imaginative interpretation, but when I contemplate his famous portrait, I see a man struggling with what must have been for someone in his profession, a fundamental obstacle. Musashi stands alone, utterly absorbed, seeking a way to overcome the limitations of shikaku. Think of it. No matter how he stands or holds the sword – even to the extent taking one for each hand – he must still contend with the dead zone. He must still acknowledge that, as a human, like all humans, he can never be completely invulnerable….Whatever kamae (combative posture or attitude) they assumed, there was always the shikaku. There was a weakness to every stance, to every position of holding the sword.

Moreover, Musashi was not merely another swordsman. He was as well an artist, a philosopher. And so I wonder if Musashi was contemplating, in this stern-eyed portrait, not just the shikaku he faced in combat but the vulnerabilities he faced in life. Was he expecting the unexpected angle of attack of an enemy’s sword? Or the surprise assaults to which all of us are susceptible: illness, heartbreak, loneliness, death?

I wonder if, in devoting most of his life to overcoming the limitations of shikaku in art of the sword, Musashi had not entered into a struggle as well on a different plane. I wonder if his training in the martial arts eventually led to a deeper understanding of the shikaku of life.

 

Excerpted from: Traditions: Essays on the Japanese Martial Arts (Tuttle, 2017) Dave Lowry

 

When I visited the Shimada Museum a few years ago, I found the portrait (like Musashi’s own paintings) to be more powerful than the reproductions. Although I haven’t any particular insights into it, my observations include the following:

 

In a typical reproduction such as this, the upper and lower inner garments look the same colour -in the actual painting, the upper is clearly grey, the lower, white. The detail of the pattern on the red haori – which is fine, but quite clear on the original,is often not visible in reproductions.

 

This detail on the haori is very visible on some of the copies that were made (see below) – obviously an important detail to them.

 

I always advise seeing art in the original as much as possible – the best art can have an effect which is not merely visual – it can affect the viewer far more deeply. In any case, you may see details which are not visible in reproductions, and at the very least, you will have a better idea of the scale, the colours, even the texture. With many Japanese paintings – those which are mounted as hanging scrolls – you will have the added bonus of being able to see the mounting, a detail seldom included in reproductions or even museum catalogues, but which adds greatly to the painting and can be beautiful in its own right. (I have included some examples here – they come from this blog: https://ameblo.jp/artony/entry-12061401999.html).

 

The final comment, however, I will leave to Musashi. These are not strictly self-portraits, but paintings of Bodhidharma by Musashi. It is not unusual for artists to project something of themselves into the faces of the figures they paint, so I do not think it is too far a stretch of the imagination to see something of Musashi in these paintings – and that may be as close to a self-portrait as we will get.

 

Senki — the spirit of battle

Senki by Miyamoto Musashi, Shimada Bijutsukan

Calligraphy held an important place in the arts in both China and Japan. Indeed, it was probably regarded as the primary visual art, certainly more important than painting. It gained by the importance of the message it transmitted, but didn't suffer from the taint of craftsmanship. Practised by emperors, nobles, priests, statesmen and generals, as well as literati of various stripes, it also benefitted by being an art with an immediate practical application, and one that allowed expression, both of skill and sensibility, without necessarily possessing artistic talent.

As Japan adopted the Chinese writing system, it is no surprise that Chinese calligraphers were regarded as the chief exemplars of the art. These calligraphers are still revered today and fine examples of their art can be seen in various collections in Japan. (A minor spat ensued earlier this year when Taiwan loaned a famous work by Yan Zhenqing (J.Ganshinkei) to the Tokyo National Museum despite pointedly refusing to allow it to travel to the mainland. See here for more details).

Like many things adopted from China, Japan added its own twists, one of these being the fashion for displaying short pieces of calligraphy — often only a few characters — a fashion commonly associated with Zen.

One of the characteristics that is often identified with the practice of calligraphy is the development of the student's character. As an art which is dependent on copying models as the primary mode of practice, it has been said that this helps the student imbibe some of the character of the model.

In a similar vein, there has long been a fashion for reading the artist's character through the shape and flow of the characters her or she produces. Modern scholarship places more emphasis on the uses calligraphy was put to in the roles and institutions for which it was written rather than this impressionistic approach, but nevertheless, when faced by the power of a piece of art, there is something to be said for such impressions. Subjective though it may be, the individual response to a work of art is at the heart of art appreciation. I have been taken aback on several occasions when coming upon a powerful work unexpectedly, particularly, I might add, in the case of Yamaoka Tesshu — he was so prolific that his works do, indeed, turn up where you are not expecting them.

Not so Miyamoto Musashi – or not often, anyway.

The piece above — Senki — is one of his more famous pieces. This pairing of the two main characters, tatakau (fight, battle) and ki (energy, spirit) seems to be unique to Musashi. The line below it is from a Chinese poem  by Bai Juyi (Po Chü-i; J. Hakukyoi), taken from the Wakan Roueishu (A Collection of Japanese and Chinese Poems for Singing), and elucidates the main two characters.

The chill current holds the moon as clearly as a mirror.

The chill current (the slow, inexorable flow of a broad river) is generally taken to represent Musashi's mindset: cold, unstoppable, and ever moving, yet which reads perfectly everything the opponent thinks or does.

There is a rather long (for this kind of thing) analysis (in English) of this work in terms of character on the website of the Japanese martial arts magazine Hiden. It is written by a calligrapher and aikido practitioner, William Reed. Although I feel it rather overanalyses, you might find it an interesting read. The following is one of the more interesting observations:

Thick strokes mix freely with thin strokes, and internal spaces are well preserved, which further reinforces the impression of a sword master who could remain calm and effective at the edge of life and death. Musashi knew how to be close enough to safely penetrate the opponent’s space and deliver a fatal strike.

In any case, the work itself deserves a close study, however you may interpret it. An interesting perspective on Zen calligraphy is that interpretation of calligraphy does not tell you about the character of the artist, as much as that of the observer. This, too, may be true, but for myself, I find the more I look, the more I see.

Miyamoto Musashi, A Life in Arms

A review of William De Lange's account of the life of Miyamoto Musashi.

Of all Japanese swordsmen, Miyamoto Musashi is the best known, and his life story has been told in one form or another any number of times, both in print and on the screen. Many of these retellings have been coloured by Yoshikawa Eiji’s fictional account, a blend of fact, creative interpretation and fiction, which continues to exert its influence, and this is despite the years that have passed and the increased availability of documentary evidence of various aspects of Musashi’s life.

Much more of this is available in Japanese than in English, although in the past ten years or so, there have been a couple of notable works in English which sought to dig deeper into his life, and although both of these took some trouble to use historical sources, the Yoshikawa story was floating there as a shadow in the background – a kind of template from which to begin.

Perhaps this is not surprising as the story is so well-known, and Yoshikawa himself researched the subject quite deeply… of course, as a novelist, he was more interested in the story than in strict historical accuracy, but in tying together the available accounts, favouring those that fitted his story while ignoring those that didn’t, he created a work that has become common background knowledge and a starting point for almost everyone in the field.

A new biography, Miyamoto Musashi, A Life in Arms by William de Lange, comes at Musashi’s life from a different perspective. Based directly on historical documents, it gives us us quite a different picture of Musashi’s life. De Lange has already published two volumes giving translations of two of the principal source documents on Musashi’s life,(reviews here and here) but this is something different. Drawing on these, as well as numerous other sources, he builds up a new version of the swordsman’s story, enlarging here, filling in there, and covering much ground that will be totally new for many.

In any work of this kind, much must be left to the judgement and imagination of the writer, and de Lange handles the details and conflicting storylines drawn from these sources with assurance, weaving them together to form a narrative that is both fresh yet also faintly familiar. Parts of the story do, indeed, form some part of the familiar tale – Musashi’s visit to Kyoto and the duels with the Yoshioka family, the visit to the spear wielding monks of Hozoin and the duel with Sasaki Kojiro – but it adds detail to these and fleshes out Musashi’s time after this in far greater detail than most accounts – I found the information on his time in the Akashi/Himeji region and his relationship with various small lords of the area particularly interesting, showing the degree of fame and influence he had obtained at a reasonably young age, and also lending ammunition to the opinion that he was fighting on the side of the Tokugawa forces both in 1600 and 1615 (although more direct evidence of this is also presented) as all these daimyo were firmly in the Tokugawa camp.

 

Meiji Period portrait of Musashi prepared
for battle. Shimada Bijutsukan, Kumamoto

The story that emerges is, in many ways, more nuanced than previous tellings. We see Musashi as a man in some demand, a swordsman who has built a reputation, partly through his service on the battlefield and the connections he made in military campaigns, but who remains determined to retain his independence. Building on his connections, including his father, with whom he stayed close until the latter’s death, he became well-known and sought after, teaching and providing a variety of other services in the military line, including looking after the heir to Lord Ogasawara during the Shimabara campaign. He was well respected, that much is certain, and mixed with the high and mighty, but like a well-respected academic who refuses tenure, he never entered permanent service.

It is the part of the biographer to offer his/her own views and insights into the motivations of his subject, although it is understood that these are, to some extent, interpretation, not fact. In this case, de Lange was working from documents that provided little or no direct indication of Musashi’s inner life, and so he has had to apply his own interpretation more liberally than would be necessary  for many other subjects. Some of these are quite insightful and provide a fresh and interesting take on the subject. He deals in some depth with Musashi’s relationship with his father, and speculates that Musashi’s refusal to become a feudal vassal owes much to the effect this state had on his father, who was ordered to execute one of his own students for a minor lapse in protocol. The subsequent sense of shame and guilt, he suggests, overshadowed the rest of his life, and engendered in Musashi a determination not to make himself beholden to any such authority himself.

At other times, although perhaps necessary for the sake of the narrative, the mixture of facts drawn from historical documents and feelings placed in the mind of the protagonist can be a little jarring, and momentarily calls into question the line between the two. Those familiar with the author’s previous books will be aware that there are plenty of contradictions between these (and other, later) accounts, and although the author has generally steered a good course between them, in this account he chooses those which suit the narrative, rather than arguing the case for his choice; if you are familiar with some of these other possibilities, their omission can, at times, seem rather glaring, but what the book sacrifices in terms of completeness, it gains in clarity. This is a minor point, however, and the well-referenced text generally clarifies the sources of most of the information.

Given the choice to rely so heavily on historical accounts. it is not surprising that the book sometimes feels a little sparse, despite its 159 pages of text and another 95 of back matter – it is not the author’s place to embroider the evidence too heavily – but that is a small price to pay for a book that lays out this hard-to-come-by information so clearly. It is certainly a valuable book, and one that has grown on me with subsequent readings. True, there are one or two places where I would question the author’s interpretation, but that does not lessen it’s value, and I would whole-heartedly recommend it to anyone with more than a passing interest in the area.

Shimada Bijutsukan - the grail of Musashi seekers

A close-up of the most famous portrait of Musashi. Even here
there's much you don't see. (Original photo here.)

Just last week I finally took my long awaited trip down to Kyushu, where one of my primary aims was to visit the Shimada Bijutsukan, which keeps a handy collection of stuff related to Miyamoto Musashi.

Kumamoto, where the museum is, was the city where Musashi spent the last few years of his life as a guest of the Hosokawas. Kyushu itself was, possibly, also an area where he had spent quite some time earlier in his life. If we are to believe the account in the Bushu Denraiki, he was involved in fighting here during the Sekigahara campaign, rather than at Sekigahara itself (which is the more common version of events). Sekigahara, by the way, is located somewhere between Kyoto and Nagoya, far away from Kyushu. Musashi's father was also down in Kyushu, and it is thought Musashi visited him.

Kyushu was also far way from the centre of power in Edo - by this time in his life it seems that Musashi had given up whatever ambitions he may have had with regard to fame and power, and so had no particular reason to remain in Honshu.

Shimada Bijutsukan
The Shimada Museum is only a short taxi ride from the main station, but already it feels like the outskirts of the city - I guess it is really, as the main station is on the western edge of the city rather than in the centre. I had imagined it to be in a more built-up area, but it's a mere stone's throw from the mountains, in a sleepy residential street with wide grass verges and little expectation of a taxi dropping by if you might need one.

It has a nice entrance-way, opening onto a courtyard of what used to be the Shimada family villa, with a very underused looking tea shop to the left and the main gallery straight ahead. It looked more like an off-season pension - friendly but needing a bit of yard work - than the repository of irreplaceable art treasures.

Of course, I was there for the exhibits, so I didn't linger outside for too long, but went inside, paying my entrance fee and heading straight for the Musashi gallery, which was a smallish room with display cabinets along the walls and one in the centre. It wasn't large, but there was more genuine Musashi memorabilia gathered there than in any other place I had seen - (which wasn't saying much, as it's seldom that more than a couple of pieces are assembled in any other venue).

Photos were out of the question, of course, but from memory, there were two of his own sumi-e works (a small landscape and a goose in flight), his famous self-portrait, a mounted section of notes written for Gorin no Sho, two swords in (probably) modern mountings, a bokuto said to be a version of his cut down oar as used for his duel with Sasaki Kojiro, but actually made in the Meiji period, a sword reputed to be Sasaki Kojiro's, several other portraits of Musashi including the famous one of him when he was a teenager, one of his namako tsuba, a version of his Dokodo, a version of Gorin no Sho (although it looked rather too modern to be one of the originals) and a case with some early Showa period comics and books etc. There could possibly have been one or two other things, but that was about it.

Someone  (not me) disregarded no photography signs to take this.

Only a small room, but it was worth the visit. Unfortunately, the glass cases got in the way of examining the swords and made it very difficult to see the koshirae in any detail (though they were clearly fine examples of Higo - that's Kumamoto area - koshirae). Looking at the paintings was quite enlightening and, as nearly always, seeing the originals was a very different experience from looking at reproductions in books or on websites. You are far more able to understand the skill and technique of the artist when you see the originals.

In a typical reproduction such as
this, the upper and lower inner
garments look the same colour -
in the actual painting, the upper is
clearly grey, the lower, white. The
detail of the pattern on the red haori
is not visible either.

I was especially struck by several features of this painting that simply do not show up on any of the reproductions I have seen. It is usually described as a self-portrait, and despite it being in a different style from Musashi's sumi-e works, there is no particular reason for doubting it. What is almost certain, however, from seeing it close up, is that Musashi had studied painting from a teacher - there are some specific techniques, particularly the pattern on the red robe, that it is very unlikely Musashi would have used (or could have used?) without instruction. Wilson barely touches on this in The Lone Samurai, and assumes Musashi signing his name in the register of Hosokawa's court artist of the Yano school was a mere formality - I question this and, as the Yanos were artists of the highest quality (as I saw in this visit) think it highly likely Musashi did take formal instruction with them. (By the way, Wilson is about the only writer who deals with Musashi's art seriously, and he is pretty good on it, so I recommend reading his book).

Of course, in Gorin no Sho, Musashi says he had no teachers, but he also says that was the first time he had written about the principles of his style, which seems to discount Heiho sanjugokajo (35 Articles on Strategy).

As with most such places, there were English titles to the exhibits, but the explanations were in Japanese. Unfortunately, they were mainly for the casual visitor, so they tended to shy away from dates and definite details and dealt in generalities. Were the koshirae of those swords supposed to have been Musashi's? Or based on some description of his koshirae? It didn't say. If this was the dokodo, what about the one I saw at the Prefectural Museum later that day? Were there two copies? And what about that suspiciously modern modern looking Gorin no Sho?

There were other galleries in the museum - it seems to show quite a lot of modern craft on a regular basis, and have seasonal exhibitions of 'samurai' related art... a big show of swords and koshirae, by modern makers, when I was there, but I didn't have time to take this in properly.

Of course, I recommend it - for Musashi afficianados, especially. A word of warning - be prepared for problems in getting away from the museum - a long walk or a long wait for the bus are likely prospects unless you are lucky. I was lucky, and while waiting for the bus in 33 degree sunshine and no shade, hailed  one of the few passing taxis and was whisked away to further sites of interest - Kumamoto castle and the Prefectural Museum.