Original
Posting: 26 September, 2000
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Prepared by: Steven Boutcher
Two important sets of scroll paintings, illustrating the Tale of Genji (Genji-monogatari) and the three legends of the monk Myoren (Shigisan-engi), executed in styles signally different from each other, herald the flowering of this type of secular painting. In addition to these, there are still other works of the twelfth century, whose style and subject matter weII reflect this transitionaI period.
Like the Shigisan scrolls, the three Ban-dainagon scrolls (Ban-dainagon-ekotoba) in the Sakai Collection, Tokyo, illustrate a tale full of surprises in an ingenious series of compositions. The subject, however, is a purely profane and historical one, turning on a political intrigue enacted against the background of the struggle for power among the different aristocratic clans in the ninth century. One night in the spring of 866 the main gate (Oten-mon) of the imperial palace was burnt down. Tomo-no-yoshio, secretary of state (dainagon) and known simply as Ban-dainagon, promptly accused his political enemy, Minamoto-no-Makoto, of having set it on fire. The latter was about to be condemned by the emperor when proceedings against him were suspended on the advice of Prime Minister Fujiwara Yoshifusa. Summer passed and in the month of September the son of a butler in the imperial palace quarreled with the son of Ban-dainagon's book--keeper who, presuming on the political power of his master, seized the butler's son and gave him a thrashing. Indignant at the violence done to his son, the butler in his rage cried out that he knew the great secret of Ban-dainagon. This aroused the curiosity of the crowd and was soon reported to the imperial court. Summoned and questioned, the butler confessed that he had seen Ban-dainagon and his son steal out in the night and themselves set fire to the Oten-mon gate. So the truth came out thanks to this eye--witness, and Ban-dainagon, who had basely sought to discredit his political rival, was exiled with his family to a remote province of eastern Japan. This marked the downfall of the Tomo (Otomo) family, one of the oldest of the aristocratic clans, and greatly strengthened the position of the Fujiwara family. These memorable events left their impress on the entire Heian period and several legends connected with Ban-dainagon figure in contemporary collections of folk tales. It is interesting to note that this story gave rise to the production of some important scroll paintings in the second half of the twelfth century, at the very time when the Fujiwara family in turn was losing its ascendancy. A great fire in the imperial palace, moreover, in II76, may have recalled the events of the ninth century, so that the illustration of these scrolls was linked up with the curious destiny of Ban-dainagon.
Particularly striking in these scenes is the dynamic sequence of compositions following one another uninterruptedly. With the opening scroll, showing mounted policemen (kebiishi) riding off at a gallop, we are caught up in the urgency of the matter at hand. A mounted nobleman and his retinue, together with officials and monks, are rushing pell-mell to the left. Pouring through one of the outer gates (Sujaku-mon) of the imperial palace, the crowd pulls up short, jostling and elbowing one another as they recoil from the heat of the fire, which is fast consuming the main gate (Oten-mon). (illustration page 81) On the other side, further to the left, courtiers are looking on with alarm and dismay. All these scenes unfold without a break, forming a continuous composition over twenty feet long. The two hundred and twenty-seven figures taking part in it are treated with a more delicate brush than those in the Shigisan scrolls. The facial expression and gestures of each figure are tellingly individualized. Ink outlines, admirably sharp and supple, delineate forms with a rhythm and sense of movement that are skillfully heightened by the vivid colors of costumes, trappings and flaming buildings. The genius of the artist is well displayed in the famous scene of the second scroll, the "Quarrel of the Children," in which the different phases of the incident develop in a circular movement symbolizing the unexpected outcome of the quarrel.
A detailed study made by Suzuki Keizo, a specialist in ancient costumes, has shown that the dress of both noblemen and commoners is represented with scrupulous exactitude. The portrayal of the police officers (kebiishi) corresponds in every particular with the regulations in force at that period, as we find them recorded in official documents, even down to certain details which at the time were kept secret. This being so, we conclude that the artist who painted this masterpiece must have belonged to the atelier of the imperial court. As a matter of fact, there are grounds for attributing these three scrolls to Tokiwa Mitsunaga, an important member of the Painting Office (E-dokoro) attached to the imperial court, who between II58 and II79 produced an extensive series of sixty illuminated scrolls entitled Annual Court Ceremonies (Nenchu-gyoji). Although the original scrolls of this series were destroyed in the great fire at the imperial palace in I66I, copies of seventeen of them are still extant in the Tanaka Collection in Tokyo; a few other copies also survive, whose stylistic features and composition are closely akin to those of the Ban-dainagon scrolls. Mitsunaga is known to have been working in II73 on wall paintings in the palace hard by the Saishoko-in temple, under the supervision of the courtier Yoshida Tsunefusa, a man who had a thorough knowledge of the police regulations. This might explain the minute and scrupulously accurate portrayal of police officers in the Ban-dainagon scrolls.
For these wall paintings dedicated to the ex-emperor Goshirakawa and his wife, Mitsunaga enjoyed the collaboration of another outstanding artist: Fujiwara Takanobu (II42-I205), who revived and renewed the art of portraiture. A courtier and member of the aristocratic Fujiwara family, he was highly appreciated as a writer of waka (a Japanese poem in thirty-six syllables) and above all as a portrait painter. As the work carried out at the Saishoko-in in II73 largely consisted in representing the solemn visits of the ex-emperor and ex-empress to the Buddhist monastery of Koya-san and the Shinto shrines of Hiyoshi and Hirano, Takanobu was commissioned to paint the faces of the courtiers taking part in the processions, while Mitsunaga, a professional painter, executed all the rest of the composition. The portraits made by Takanobu were so realistic that the courtiers were shocked by them and had the sliding doors on which they figured folded over in order to hide them from view. Fujiwara Kanezane, minister at the time, wrote in his diary that he was delighted to have missed these three visits and to have thus avoided figuring among the portraits in this painting.
The attitude of these courtiers is significant. It shows that the realistic art of Takanobu lay quite outside the earlier tradition of Japanese portraiture, hitherto purely religious in character (portraits of the great monks; see for example page 52) or purely ritual (posthumous and commemorative portraits). So alongside the rise of scroll painting, which depicted lively incidents of real life, a parallel trend in the field of portraiture arose in the second half of the twelfth century. Luckily we can form an idea of Takanobu's genius from three portraits preserved in the Jingo-ji temple at Kyoto. From the temple records we learn that Takanobu painted portraits of the ex-emperor Goshirakawa and four of his courtiers, Minamoto-no-Yoritomo, Taira-no-Shigemori, Fujiwara Mitsuyoshi and Fujiwara Narifusa. The three portraits still extant are considered to be those of the first three courtiers, all shown seated, in a black ceremonial robe, wearing the court headdress and holding a thin piece of wood (shakqu, a kind of scepter) which symbolizes the dignity of high office. The sabre hilt decorated with gold and a broad strip of precious cloth (hirao) stands out beautifully against the black of the robes.
Posture and layout are similar in all three portraits, though Shigemori and Mitsuyoshi face to the left, while Yoritomo faces to the right. Reproduced here is the portrait of Taira-no-Shigemori (II38-II79), whose mild and sincere personality left an enduring mark on Japanese history, in striking contrast with the unbridled despotism of his father Kiyomori, dictator of the Taira family. (illusration page 82) Unfortunately the lower part of the picture was badly damaged and roughly repaired with a strip of cloth, thus eliminating both the crossed legs, covered with a white garment, and the high decorative edge of the dais. The rather angular, geometric treatment of the robe contrasts with the realistic portrayal of the face, with its fine black lines heightened by pink shading. The effect of the colors is simple but forcible. The vast, bluish black, rectilinear planes formed by the robe, whose folds are barely discernible, set off the light flesh-tints of the face and the dab of red visible on the back of the collar. In the portrait of Shigemori, and in those of the other two courtiers, the whole composition is imbued with a spiritual dignity well in keeping with a sensitive and spirited expression of the sitter's personality.
This realistic trend of portraiture was continued by Takanobu's son, Fujiwara Nobuzane. A courtier (of medium rank) and poet like his father, Nobuzane gained a great reputation as a painter. He made many portraits of men living or dead, singly or in groups, and his art is designated by the word nise-e (i.e. lifelike painting, or realistic portraiture). His descendants were also painters; practising the same style, they formed a distinctive school which lasted throughout the thirteenth century.
Alongside the varied output of the court painters, the painter-monks of the great monasteries also produced illustrated scrolls on both Buddhist and secular themes. The most famous are the four Choju-giga scrolls (Animal Caricatures) preserved since the thirteenth century in the Kozan-ji temple, in the mountains northwest of Kyoto. These ink outline drawings have no unity of either subject or style. Moreover, in the absence of any accompanying text, it becomes difficult to grasp the meaning of each scene and to connect the four scrolls as a whole. Several different interpretations have accordingly been proposed for them.
The first scroll, consisting of a long sequence of compositions, represents the antics of monkeys, rabbits and frogs parodying human actions--swimming, practising archery, horseback riding and wrestling. (illustration page 84) In all these contests it is invariably the underdog who The rabbits, having beaten the monkeys at swimming, are in turn outwrestled by the frogs. Some art historians regard these scenes as social satire alluding to the decline of the aristocracy after the rise of the warrior class. The end of the first scroll is devoted to a religious ceremony conducted by a monkey dressed as a Buddhist dignitary, solemnly praying before a statue of the Buddha in the guise of a frog seated on a lotus leaf. This is plainly an ironical "dig" at the clerics of the day. In this first scroll, full of movement and amusing touches, the frolicking animals are vividly rendered with deft and telling strokes of the brush--always in ink. The same highly skilled technique of ink outline drawing occurs in the second scroll, also of various animals, not humanized now but represented naturalistically: horses, dogs, cocks, etc. Fifteen kinds of real or imaginary animals are treated with naive exactitude and liveliness. While the scenes of the first scroll are unmistakably satirical, there is nothing of this in the second; these animals have a purely pictorial significance.
The style of the drawing and details of the costumes worn by the humanized animals warrant us in assigning the first two scrolls to the second quarter of the twelfth century--a date still within the lifetime of the monk Kakuyu (I053-II40), better known as Toba-sojo, to whom tradition has always attributed the four Kozan-ji scrolls, although there is no positive proof in support of it. There is this to be said for it, however: that the source of this remarkable technique of ink monochrome drawing is in fact to be sought for in Buddhist art.
As already noted at the beginning of the third chapter, the esoteric sects, attaching great importance as they did to the plastic and pictorial representation of divinities, numbered the art of painting among the accomplishments essential to the great monks. Furthermore, by dint of copying and recopying iconographic models, the artists in the studios became thoroughly proficient in the art of making rapid ink sketches. This Technique is seen at its best in the twelfth century when several extensive collections of Theological commentaries were compiled, accompanied by iconographic drawings whose deft and supple linework is very close to that of the Animal Caricatures. So it is not surprising that the Kozan-ji temple, which was one of the main centers of Buddhist painting and collected a large number of iconographic drawings in the thirteenth century, should be found in possession of animal pictures of this kind, the work of some monkish painter of more or less professional standing.
The third scroll of the series represents monks and laymen at play (first part) and animals again parodying human actions (second part). (illustration page 85) The expression is quite as spirited and whimsical as in the first scroll, and the touch equally light; but the finer, less emphatic linework points to a different, slightly later artist, probably of the late twelfth century.
The difference of style is more marked in the fourth scroll, which is wholly confined to figures whose actions are relentlessly caricatured: antics of monks and laymen, scenes of Buddhist ceremonies, the construction of temples, etc. But the humorous extravagance of these drawings is carried to the point of outright vulgarity, and the linework is often so free as to sacrifice accurate form to the expression of violent movement. This scroll was presumably added to the series in the early thirteenth century, some time before the year I253 inscribed at the end of the third scroll.
While the four Kozan-ji scrolls satirize the conduct of the clergy in the face of sweeping social changes, the monks themselves have left other scroll paintings which testify to their zeal in saving souls and to the compassion aroused in them by the evils of this troubled period of Japanese history. These are the analogous scrolls of the Hells (Jigoku-zoshi), Hungry Demons (Gaki-zoshi) and Diseases (Yamai-no-soshi). If these series of scrolls are not the product of a single collective effort, it was, nevertheless, the same Buddhist philosophy and the same social outlook which attracted public and artists to this bleak vision of death. To the people of this period, banking so earnestly on a future life in the Paradise of Amida, these glimpses of the terrors of hell must have come as a salutary warning, the more effective for being prefigured under their very eyes by the ravages of civil war.
To keep the people in the strait way of salvation, the monks confronted them with pictures of the different phases of hell, inspired by the Buddhist sutras and accompanied by written or oral commentaries dwelling extravagantly on the eternal torments in store for offenders. Three such scrolls are still extant in the original, together with copies of two others.
Instead of a long sequence of pictures telling a story, as in the Ban-dainagon scrolls, the five Hell scrolls are all composed of relatively short scenes of fixed sizes; they are invariably about IO inches high and about 20 (occasionally IO) inches wide. Preceded by a commentary, each scene represents one of the many phases of the Buddhist hell, where the damned are subjected to various ordeals commensurate with the misdemeanors they were guilty of in their earthly life. Despite the similar handling of the scenes, the hands of different artists can be distinguished in these five scrolls. The most remarkable, from the purely pictorial point of view, is the scroll formerly in the Hara Collection (now owned by the Commission for Protection of Cultural Properties, Tokyo), of which seven scenes survive; the two illustrated here convey a fair idea of this masterpiece of infernal art. According to Buddhist doctrine, there are eight principal hells; attaching to each of these are sixteen subsidiary hells (bessho, in Sanskrit utsada). The Hell of the Iron Mortar (Tetsugai-sho) is one of the subsidiary hells where those guilty of wickedness and theft are pounded and crushed in a huge mortar. (illustration page 86) Against a gray background symbolizing the eternal gloom of the underworld, four hideous demons are grinding the damned. Red, orange and violet-brown stand out from the surrounding darkness with an effect of powerful contrast which emphasizes the cruel, contorted faces of the demons. The one on the right, emptying out the victims' bones, looks like a spiteful old hag; his gaping mouth and leering eyes forbode nothing but evil. In the illustrations of a sutra copied about III9 for the Chuson-ji temple in northern Japan, we find a similar composition representing three demons around a mortar. So it is clear that the painter of the Jigoku-zoshi scroll had earlier models at his disposal on which to base the different hell scenes which, throughout the Heian period, figured not only in temple paintings but also on the screens and sliding doors of palaces. Nevertheless, the dynamic expression of the Hell scroll rises far above all previous works on the same theme, and we feel here the apocalyptic unrest of the disrupted society of the late twelfth century.
This deep-seated anxiety is expressed in an even more symbolic manner in the scene of the Giant Cock. (illustration page 87) According to the accompanying text, men guilty of cruelty to animals are condemned to be torn and mangled by a large fiery cock. And this fiendish creature dominates the whole scene, against a somber background where the shadowy figures of the damned can be dimly seen moving convulsively amid the flames.
The gaki (pretas in Sanskrit) are condemned to eternal hunger and thirst. Since their realm of being (gaki-do) is located between the world of men and the underworld of hell, the gaki, being invisible to the living, can mingle with men unawares and eat the food offerings given to them out of charity by good Buddhists; failing this, they are forced to feed on human excrement. In the two scrolls of Hungry Demons (Gaki-zoshi), one in the National Museum, Tokyo, the other owned by the Commission for Protection of Cultural Properties, Tokyo, several scenes therefore depict the world of men, treated with keen-eyed and, indeed, ironical realism, while others deal with continental subjects, like the story of Mokuren (Mangdalyana), the Buddhist disciple who relieved the hunger of his mother in hell. While the Gaki-zoshi deals incidentally with real life, the scrolls of Diseases (Yamai-no-soshi) deal with it exclusively. These curious works depict some of the many ills that flesh is heir to. Twenty-one scenes survive, divided between several collections, while another series is known to us through different copies of it. The tone of both text and illustrations treating of these clinical phenomena is fairly objective, and faintly tinged with irony, without the usual Buddhist interpretation of causes and effects. The similar layout of the scenes, however, also certain pictorial elements and the style of the calligraphy, make it clear that these three series of scrolls (Jigoku-zushi, Gaki-zoshi and Yamai-no-soshi) actually form a single group. The hypothesis advanced by Professor Fukui Rikichiro, who identifies the group thus formed with the series of IIIuminated Scrolls of the Six Paths (Rokado-e), often described in thirteenth century records, has lost none of its weight. The "six paths" are the cycles through which the souls of the living must pass in accordance with karma, from Heaven (ten) to Hell (jigoku). While certain details of these seven or eight scrolls cannot be explained by the doctrine of the Six Paths, and while they cannot be regarded as the product of a single collective effort in a single temple or palace, these demon paintings nevertheless bear witness to the social upheavals of the late twelfth century. Small wonder then that these works, which antedate the fantastic art of Hieronymus Bosch and other Flemish painters by over two hundred years, seem to us today particularly striking for their plastic power and mystic dynamism.
The restless souls of that troubled age were ministered to by several innovating movements which injected new life into Buddhism in the late twelfth and early thirteenth century; reformers appeared and new sects were founded. By their saintly way of life these men, the "great monks," attracted many followers, who were grouped together in brotherhoods. As a means of tightening the spiritual ties between the faithful and propagating the new doctrines, painting was called upon to play a leading part, chiefly in the form of illuminated scrolls setting forth the origin of the sect or narrating the life of its venerable founder. Each important monastery thus maintained a group of artists, and this fact characterizes the painting of the Kamakura period, which was as a rule the work of painter--monks and intended for a vast religious congregation.
The monastery most remarkable for its paintings is the Kozan-ji, re-established in I206 by Koben, a monk better known by the honorary name of Myoe-shonin (II73--1232); its art reflects the new trend of the Kamakura period. After being initiated in his youth into the esoteric doctrines, Myoe-shonin entered the Todai-ji at Nara, center of the Kegon sect. With a view to reforming and renewing this ancient sect, he spent over ten years in metaphysical contemplation in mountain hermitages and finally re-established the Kozan-ji, in a region of great natural beauty northwest of Kyoto. Outstanding among the treasures of the monastery is a series of six illuminated scrolls now entitled Kegonshu-soshi-eden, or more simply Kegon-engi, which tell the life story of two Korean nks, Gisho and Gengyo, who in the seventh century introduced the Kegon sect into Kingdom of Silla (Shiragi) in Korea. The first four scrolls (to take them in their original order) tell the touching story of Gisho and the Chinese maiden Zemmyo. Going to China to pursue his Buddhist studies, Gisho (624-702), in the course of his pilgrimage, meets a Chinese girl of a well--to--do family who falls in love with him. Gisho explains the truths of religion to her and converts her to Buddhism. When the time comes for the Korean monk to return to his native land, Zemmyo prepares a handsome present for him takes it down to the harbor--but his boat is already under way. In despair she throws the box containing the gift into the water, whereupon it begins to follow the boat of its own accord. Encouraged by this miracle, Zemmyo herself leaps into the sea, vowing to serve ever after as the monk's divine protectress. (illustration page 90--91) Forthwith changed into a dragon, she conveys Gisho's boat to Korea on her back. Zemmyo then becomes a goddess and continues to protect and patronize the Kegon sect.
These dramatic scenes follow one another uninterruptedly. In the third scroll Zemmyo and her attendants are shown on the shore in three different pictures. The alternation of this figure group with the ship leads up to the climax and produces an almost cinematographic effect. In all the scrolls, whether they deal with Gisho or Gengyo, we feel the ties of sympathy binding the artist to the legendary figures his is depicting. The supple linework, whose accents are always natural, and the use of thinly coated colors, which allow the underdrawing to show through, are highly characteristic and sharply distinguish these works from those of an earlier day, like the Shigisan scrolls. Here we find a new style: that of the Kozan-ji studio, presumably influenced by Chinese painting of the Sung dynasty. Myoe-shonin in fact is known to have imported a large number of contemporary Chinese paintings and it was he who formed a studio of trained artists in his monastery. Umezu Jiro of the National Museum of Kyoto has pointed out the close relation that existed between the monk Myoe and the two heroes of these scrolls, for the Japanese reformer of the Kegon sect always venerated Gisho, for whom he felt a strong personal sympathy. And in a book of his own entitled My Dreams (I22O), Myoe tells how he dreamed that he was Gisho and found himself in the presence of the benign and beautiful Zemmyo.
After the civil war of Jokyu (I22I), the last counter-attack of the imperial court against the military government, Myoe gave help and protection to many refugees, above all to widows of courtiers killed in the fighting. The convent of Hiraoka, built for these widows by Myoe in I223, was dedicated to Zemmyo, as tutelary divinity, and a polychrome statuette of the beautiful Chinese girl much resembles her features as portrayed in the Gisho scrolls; this being so, this series of four scrolls was presumably executed after I223.
In several works written toward the end of his life, Myoe attaches particular importance to the other Korean patriarch, Gengyo, for his part in propagating the Komyo-shingon doctrine (the mantra of divine light). Following the biographies of the two Korean patriarchs as recorded in the Chinese book Sung-kao-seng-chuan (Lives of the Great Monks), Myoe himself wrote the text of these scrolls and called on his favorite artist to illustrate the story. This was Enichi-bo-Jonin, Myoe's best loved disciple and a painter of high repute.
To Enichi-bo-Jonin we also owe several portraits of his master, one of them still extant in fine condition at the Kozan-ji. (illustration page 93) This is a long hanging scroll, drawn in ink and lightly heightened with colors, like the Kegon scrolls. Myoe is shown in solitary meditation in the mountains near his monastery. The striking thing about this portrait is the painter's profound insight into the natural scenery and wild life surrounding the saintly monk. Though elements of Chinese style are present, the slender trees and the animals frolicking in the branches express the characteristically Japanese response to just such a landscape as may still be seen today in the neighborhood of Kyoto. And this tie between man and nature may well be a reflection of the bond of sympathy linking Myoe and his favorite disciple, painter of his portrait and of the great Kegon set of scrolls.
Almost at the same date as the Kegon scrolls, another set of illuminated scrolls, executed this time not in a Buddhist but in a Shinto monastery, gives expression to the new spirit of the Kamakura period in a much more dynamic style. This is the Kitano--tenjin--engi which, in eight scrolls, tells the story of Sugawara Michizane, to whom the Kitano shrine at Kyoto was dedicated.
Shinto, the native religion of Japan, was an animistic cult in which all living things in nature were regarded as spirits, and ancestors were worshipped as deities. The Shinto religion was originally opposed to plastic and pictorial images. But in the Heian period under the influence of Buddhism, Shinto deities began to be represented in both painting and sculpture. In the thirteenth century Shinto art was enriched with illuminated scrolls relating the miraculous lives of the founders, and with miya-mandara, giving a bird's-eye view of the shrines regarded as the very symbol of the deities. One of the subjects most frequently represented was the life of Tenjin.
Sugawara Michizane (845-903), a statesman and poet venerated as a deity from the tenth century on, enjoyed the favor and confidence of the emperor Uda. He had risen to the ministerial rank of U-daijin when his political rival Fujiwara Tokihira (87I-9O9), head of the powerful Fujiwara clan, slandered and misrepresented him in the eyes of the new emperor Daigo, with the result that Michizane was exiled to Kyushu, where he died of grief and rage. Shortly after his death, the imperial palace was repeatedly struck by lightning, causing the death of several courtiers; Tokihira himself died prematurely. These events were interpreted as being due to the avenging spirit of Michizane, in its resentment against the emperor and the Fujiwara family. And to appease his soul a shrine was built in 947 at Kitano, north of Kyoto, where he was deified under the name of Tenjin (god of heaven).
Tenjin came in time to be regarded as the patron of scholars and men of letters, by virtue both of his own genius as a poet and of the literary tradition that ran in the Sugawara family. The cult of Tenjin gained steadily in importance throughout the Heian period and, at the end of the twelfth century, legends (engi) began to be written about the origin of the shrine and the miracles wrought in behalf of the faithful. The oldest extant engi goes back to II94, and this text, expanded between I2I3 and I2I8, gave rise in I2I9 to a monumental series of illuminated scrolls generally known by the name of Jokyu--bon (version of the Jokyu era, the year in which it was executed) kompon--engi (fundamental engi).
The size of these scrolls (20 inches high) is larger than usual in this period, because here, for the first and last time, paper was used in vertical sheets as the support for the paints. The first six scrolls tell with gusto the story of Michizane's life: his precocious childhood, his brilliant career, his lonely exile, his tragic death, and his mysterious and terrible revenge. Giving free rein to his imagination in the last two scrolls, the artist represents the pilgrimage of a monk named Nichizo through the Six Paths leading from Hell to Heaven. The concluding section of the engi text concerns the foundation of the temple and the benefits accorded to the faithful; but none of all this is illustrated by paintings. Still extant today, however, are some fifteen leaves of uncolored drawings pasted on the back of the scrolls and corresponding to a few scenes in the last part of the engi; these go to form the ninth scroll of the series. How is it that the artist failed to complete this final part, so important for the propaganda of the Tenjin cult? Why, instead, did he devote two entire scrolls to representations of the Six Paths? To these questions there is still no answer.
The superlative style of these illuminated scrolls is unique in Japanese painting. In each scene the story unfolds with a fine dramatic sense of the events recorded, and all the figures come vividly to life. Faces and gestures are convincingly realistic, but a little overdone, often to the point of burlesque. The brilliant colors are unfailingly harmonious and full of charm.
(illustration page 95) The opening scene of the first scroll shows the entrance to the palace of Sugawara Koreyoshi, the hero's father. A long prelude solemnly ushers us into the palace and leads up to the actual beginning of the story. At the same time, our attention is arrested and curiosity aroused by the servants bustling about the carts of their masters, outside the gate. (illustration page 97) Ponderous oxen released from their yoke gaze at us with an intent and symbolic expression. (illustration page 96) Inside the palace, which opens on a park in springtime, the young Michizane miraculously appears (according to popular belief he was not born, but suddenly appeared) and astonishes his father with his precocity. The bright colors worn by the two leading figures harmonize with the flowers in the garden; the deep-blue waters of a stream winding through the park produce a fine decorative effect, while a broad band of dark brown (the roof of a corridor) forms the diagonal axis of the composition. Pigeons dot the roof with patches of color devoid of contours, adding a blithe note to the balmy spring atmosphere of the scene. Elsewhere the artist shows pigeons in different attitudes, taken straight from nature, thus proving that, despite the many exaggerations of his style, he had a sensitive and observant eye. The peaceful scenes of the first scroll gradually lead toward the tragic turn of the story and the final bolt of the lightning god.
It is extremely difficult to trace the technical and stylistic filiations of this unique work among the extant vestiges of the period. The highly realistic handling of faces, those of nobles above all, often brings to mind the art of realistic portraiture (nise-e) developed at the beginning of the thirteenth century by Fujiwara Nobuzane, son of Takanobu. But the artist of the Kitano-tenjin-engi is not to be sought for among the court painters, for a categorical reason: the imperial palace, as represented in these scrolls (and it appears frequently), is too remote from reality, overcharged with decorations of a distinctly Chinese type. Suffice it to say that here we have an unknown artist of genius, probably of lower-class origin, working for the Kitano-tenjin brotherhood, who gave poignant expression to the mood of the period, to the hopes and anguish of a distracted age, and did so in a complex style imbued at once with violence and delicacy.
From I277 on, another version of the engi in three illuminated scrolls was executed in the same shrine. The anecdotes illustrated in this new series are more carefully ordered, from the life of Michizane to the miracles of the divinity. Traditionally attributed to the brush of Yukimitsu, a court painter, these paintings are in a stricter, better balanced style. Finished in I282 (Koan-bon), they were copied again and again both in the Kitano shrine and in the other Tenjin shrines built throughout Japan in the course of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. At the end of these Iater copies of the Tenjin-engi, most of which were based on the I282 version, anecdotes were often added relating to the foundation of the shrine where the particular copy originated; such is the case with the scrolls of the shrine of Matsugasaki-Tenjin at Shimonoseki, executed in I3II.
In addition to the painted scrolls on Buddhist and Shinto subjects, which served to propagate the two cults in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, there arose another kind of painting, purely secular, giving direct expression to the heroic spirit of the Kamakura period, which saw the warrior class establish its political authority and even extend it into the cultural sphere. This art dealt largely in fighting scenes illustrating the exploits of the great military families, in the form of handscrolls giving scope for a dynamic development of the narrative.
Among works of this kind, which must have become popular by the beginning the thirteenth century, the earliest and most monumental example now surviving is the great set of scrolls illustrating the Heiji--monogatari, which describes the civil war that broke out in II59, the first year of the Heiji era. This episode, together with an earlier clash of arms in the Hogen era (I I56), inaugurated the ruthless struggle between the two warrior families of Minamoto and Taira, which firally brought the Minannotos to power. About I22O two novels of an epic character, in a precise, plain--spoken style, were written about these two civil wars: the Hogen-monogatari and the Heiji-monogatari. To the text of these two war novels, new anecdotes were added little by little, and in the second half of the thirteenth century they were illustrated with an extensive sequence of pictures, which must have run to about fifteen scrolls for each novel. Three of the original scrolls of the Heiji-monogatari have come down to us: the Attack on the Sanjo Palace (Boston Museum of Fine Arts), the Death of Shinzei (Seikado Collection, Tokyo) and the Escape of the Young Emperor confined to his Palace (National Museum, Tokyo). In addition to these, some fifteen fragments of the original scroll of the Fight at Rokuhara, together with a copy of the scroll illustrating the Fight at the Taiken-mon Imperial Gate, have also survived. All these scrolls are characterized by a skillful sequence of compositions full of action and movement, yet well balanced throughout. The artist has lingered over harness, armor and accouterments, which reached their highest degree of perfection in the Japan of this age, and he has represented them with loving care, obviously delighting in the beauty of their workmanship. While displaying the common features of a single studio, these five scrolls also reveal some slight but distinct differences of expression which incline us to surmise that the execution of the complete set may have extended over half a century or so.
The Boston scroll dates to the third quarter of the thirteenth century, and its long compostition representing the attack on the palace is the most striking of all. (illustration page 98--99) It deals with the coup d'etat organized by Fujiwara Nobuyori with the army of Minamoto-no-Yoshi-tomo. In the night of December 9, II59, the Sanjo palace was taken by storm and the ex--emperor Goshirakawa made a prisoner in a sector of the imperial palace. The scene begins with a bustle of carts bringing noblemen and their valets to the palace at the news of the nocturnal attack. The Sanjo palace, already burning, is surrounded by the Minamoto warriors who, acting on the orders of Nobuyori, compel the ex-emperor to get into the cart which is to carry him away. Within the palace walls, there is bloodshed on all sides: imperial guards beheaded, courtiers hunted down and killed, ladies-in-waiting drowned in a well, as they flee distractedly from the fire, or trampled to death by fierce warriors running amuck. The horrors of war are delineated uncompromisingly, as seen through the eyes of an objective, realistic-minded artist. But the harmony of colors and forms, set to an agreeable rhythm, gives the scene a sheer pictorial beauty which deservedly ranks this scroll among the world's masterpieces of military art. Less metaphysical than the Hell scrolls, less calculated to move and harrow us to the depths, this war picture nevertheless appeals directly to the eye, and its epic beauty precisely corresponds to the position occupied by these novels in Japanese literature.
The realism and objectivity characteristic of thirteenth century painting are still paramount, at the very end of the century, in I299, in a set of scrolls narrating the pilgrim's life of the monk Ippen (I239-I289). After studying the doctrines of the Tendai and Jodo sects, and meditating on them in solitude for many years, Ippen developed the theory of self-sacrifice in the charity of Amida, founded the Ji-shu sect, and spent the rest of his life traveling through the length and breadth of Japan, converting over two and a half million people. Shortly after his death, the story of his life was written by Shokai, his favorite disciple, who had faithfully accompanied him in all his wanderings. The painter En-i, who no doubt was also a fellow pilgrim of the great monk, illustrated his life in forty-eight scenes mounted on twelve scrolls. Contrary to the practice of the time, when paper was the usual support for scroll paintings, this work is carefully executed on silk, which goes to show the importance attached by the brotherhood to the life story of its founder. As the scrolls are unrolled, we almost seem to be following the itinerary at Ippen's side, in the small company of his favorite disciples, visiting the famous places and leading temples of each province. So closely do the landscapes and buildings represented resemble those still in existence today, that we are forced to conclude that En-i drew these scenes on the spot in the course of his pilgrimage and based his work on these drawings. This procedure gives his paintings an unusual style and flavor, faithfully reflecting the varied aspects of Japan's natural scenery, from region to region and season to season. At the same time he draws a complete picture of the age: nobles and warriors, tradesmen and peasants, and even beggars and vagabonds, are recorded by the artist with such a wealth of detail that these scrolls hold the mirror up to Japanese society in the Middle Ages, comparable in this respect to the masterworks of Western miniature painting of the same period.
(illustration page 101) We reproduce here a winter landscape, in Mutsu province, seen under a light fall of snow. In the eighth scroll we follow Ippen on his journey through northern Japan, beginning with a spring scene of cherry blossoms in the hill country and ending with this bleak snowscape. White hills, an ice-bound river, clumps of frozen reeds—all this vividly conveys the nip of cold clear air in the dead of winter. The expressive lyricism, enabling us to share the moods and mentality of the figures represented, reflects the long tradition of Japanese secular painting, elaborated from the Heian period on, while this vision of steep river banks and snow-covered mountains points to the recent influence of Chinese painting of the Sung dynasty. It will be sufficiently clear by now, from the various examples already reproduced here, that the scroll paintings (e-maki) of the twelfth to the fourteenth century form one of the richest sections of Japanese art. Over a hundred different sets of scroll paintings have come down to us; these may be classified under the following headings, in accordance with subject matter, technique, and the purpose they served.
I. Secular scrolls of a purely artistic character:
a) Illustrations of novels.--These illustrations, conditioned by aristocratic tastes, were produced throughout the Kamakura period, keeping all the while to the conventional mode of expression described and discussed above in connection with the Genji scrolls. Their style became increasingly stereotyped, either with stolid coloring or with a peculiar monochrome technique consisting solely of very fine black lines. The illustrations of such works as Murasaki--shikibu-nikki (Diary of the Lady-in-Waiting Murasaki--shikibu, author of the Tale of Genji) and Makura-no-soshi (The Pillow Book, a collection
of essays) present the same characteristics.
b) Folk tales and historical narratives. --This type of work, exemplified by the Shigisan--engi and Ban--dainagon--ekotoba, enlarges on the subject while reflecting the popular life of the time. For example the Eshi--no--soshi scroll (the story of a painter) in the Imperial Collection narrates with bitter irony the life of a court painter whose social position is made increasingly precarious by the rising power of the military.
c) Illustrations of poetry.--Poetry competitions (uta-awase) and portraits of famous poets (kasen-e) were always highly appreciated in aristocratic circles, but from the fourteenth century on the ancient and modern court poets were often replaced by parodical figures of tradesmen and artisans in several versions of Shokunin--uta--awase (poetry competition between the different crafts).
d) Illustrations of military novels. --Military novels, a genuine literary creation of the thirteenth century, gave rise to several illuminated scrolls on epic themes, like the Heiji--monogatari.
II. Secular scrolls serving a practical purpose, usually documentary:
At the court, ceremonial scenes and portraits of emperors and ministers were often painted in the new technique of nise-e, which gave a lifelike portrayal of the features of each personage. Military men, moreover, had paintings made of their exploits in this or that battle, either to commemorate them in their own home or to present to their leader as a token of their prowess. For example, two scrolls entitled Moko--shurai--ekotoba (Invasions of the Mongols), now in the Imperial Collection, were executed about I293 to the order of Takezaki Suenaga, a warrior of the Higo province (Kyushu), to commemorate his bravery during two Mongol attacks on northern Kyushu in I274 and I28I.
III. Edifying scrolls of a religious nature:
The fact is that the development of scroll paintings whose field of inspiration extended to popular life was largely due to the religious milieux, both Buddhist and Shinto. Beginning with illustrations of sutras and doctrinal commentaries like the Hell Scrolls, the engi (origin and miracles of the temples) and lives of the great monks, patriarchs and founders of sects came in time to be abundantly illustrated.
After the masterpieces we have already dealt with, later scroIls of an edifying nature tended to include an ever larger number of scenes. The Honen--shonin--eden (Illustrated Life of Honen) of the Chion-in temple depicts the life of the founder (II33-I2I2) in a series of no less than forty-eight scrolls, each of which, on an average, measures thirty feet in length. A detailed study of it made by Shimada Shujiro has shown that this set of scrolls, begun at the emperor's behest in I307, was twice added to and finally completed--or brought to the stage at which we now have it--toward the second half of the fourteenth century.
Another extensive series is the Kasuga--gongen--kenki (Miracles of the Shinto Deities of Kasuga), running to twenty scrolls, now in the Imperial Collection. Fujiwara Kinhira, minister of the left, commissioned the work from Takashina Takakane, head of the court atelier, and presented it in I309 to the shrine of Kasuga at Nara, as a testimonial of fidelity and gratitude to the deities, the divine patrons of his family. It is the painstaking work of a master painter who, in these twenty scrolls, has achieved a synthesis of the various traditional techniques practised by the court painters.
The creative power of the art of scroll painting rapidly declined from the fourteenth century on. Thereafter we look in vain for the verve animating the figures in the great works of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, in vain for the skill and invention that conveyed in the earlier handscrolls so wonderful a sense of space and time. Repetition of the same subject in religious scrolls deadened the style and vulgarized the expression, while the political and economic decline of the old aristocracy centering on the emperor handicapped the court artists, whose leadership from the fifteenth century on fell to the Tosa family and its descendants. Scrolls on literary subjects finally came to constitute the more popular art form called Otogi-zoshi, grouping illustrations of novels and tales of a very naive inspiration. Artistic supremacy seemed to be passing into the hands of painters practising a new style, which will be dealt with in the next chapter. But, in the present writer's opinion, the long-standing tradition of secular painting in the Japanese style which gave rise to scroll painting, transmitted its vitality, along with its lyrical and decorative esthetic, to the popular painting of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries rather than to the court ateliers, and from this subterranean source sprang, in the early seventeenth century, the genius of Sotatsu and the early masters of the Ukiyo--e school.
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Bibliography