Original
Posting: 21 September, 2000
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Prepared by: Steven Boutcher
Despite the wonderful flowering of art that took place there, Nara did not long remain the capital of Japan. In 794 the emperor Kammu transferred the seat of government to Heian-kyo (the "Peace Capital"), present-day Kyoto, some twenty miles north of Nara. His reason for moving the capital was to escape the domineering influence of the monasteries and the political interference of the powerful Nara clergy. This change of capital is regarded as ushering in a new era in the history of Japan, the so-called Heian period, which lasted to the end of the twelfth century.
The better to consolidate the imperial power, it was the policy of the early emperors in the new capital to foster cultural relations with China. This led to the introduction into Japan of the two Buddhist sects, Tendai and Shingon, which exerted a shaping influence on art. In 804 two monks, Saicho (767-822) and Kukai (774-835), accompanied a Japanese embassy to China. Saicho, who had never been fully satisfied with the formalism of the old Nara doctrines, had spent twelve years in a hermitage on Mount Hiei, north of Kyoto, and at the end of a long spiritual quest it was brought home to him that the source of Buddhist truth lay in the Hokkebyo, or Lotus Sutra of the Good Law. He pursued his studies in China, and upon his return to Japan in 805 he founded the monastery of Enryaku-ji on Mount Hiei, which became the center of the new Tendai sect. His doctrine, which proclaimed the equality of all living beings before the Buddha, was bitterly opposed by the established clergy. But thanks to the support of the imperial family and to the unremitting efforts of Saicho himself, his monastery was in time officially empowered to confer ordination on new monks and it unquestionably gave a new lease of life to Japanese Buddhism.
The other great religious teacher, Kukai, had studied in the T'ang capital Ch'ang-an, where he initiated himself into the purely esoteric Shingon sect (Chen-yen in Chinese, mantra in Sanskrit). He returned to Japan in 806 and in 8I6 founded the Kongobu-ji monastery in the fastnesses of Mount Koya, far from the capital. In 823 he was put in charge of the official To-ji temple (or more correctly, Kyoogokoku-ji) at Kyoto and it became another center of Shingon Buddhism. The mystical theology of this sect, which held every being in the universe to be a manifestation of the bodhi, the Wisdom of Buddha, attached great importance to plastic representations of divinities, whose numbers were vastly increased in the doctrines of esoteric Buddhism. This hieratic world of divinities grouped around the central deity Dainichi-Nyorai (Vairocana) is represented by pantheons (mandara, in Sanskrit mandala), in which the gods are arranged in concentric circles (Taizo-kai, in Sanskrit Garbha-dhatu, world of reason) or in a rectangle with nine subdivisions (Kongo-kai, in Sanskrit Vajra-dhatu, world of wisdom). While studying at Ch'ang-an, Kukai received from his master Hui-kuo two large polychrome mandara painted by several artists of the imperial court, among them Li-chen. Brought back from China by Kukai together with many other esoteric pictures, these mandara were copied several times in the To-ji and other Shingon monasteries; on them was based the esoteric iconography of the sect. At the Jingo-ji in Kyoto there still exist a pair of large mandara executed between 824 and 833, not in colors but in gold outlines on dark violet damask. The equilibrium of forms and the well-knit design show that the Japanese artists had promptly mastered the new Chinese style. Among the polychrome paintings, the Juni-ten images (the twelve deva) in the Saidai-ji at Nara most clearly reflect the style of esoteric painting adopted in the ninth century. Each picture is wholly taken up with the bulky figure of the deity flanked by two attendants. Colors are unsophisticated but forcible. Modeling is done in pink, and these effects of volume are carried to the point of chiaroscuro. The whole technique conspires to impart a sense of mystic vigor to the twelve deva, which are only incarnations of the principal elements of nature: sun, moon, fire, water, etc.
Since the Shingon sect regarded images as embodying the actual deities, painters working for it had to be more than mere craftsmen; they themselves had to be adepts with a thorough knowledge of Shingon doctrines. In the Nara period, sacred images hai been executed by artists attached to the official studios of painting. Now, in the Heian period, they were executed by the monks of each monastery. This was also true of the Tendai sect which, under the immediate successors of Saicho, tended to absorb the esoteric doctrines of the Shingon school of thought.
From the tenth century on, a change came over the aristocratic life of Kyoto. The political triumph of the Fujiwara family and the suspension of diplomatic relations with China left the nobles of the period free to lead an elegant life of peace and pleasure. ln dealing with secular painting in the next chapter, we shall have more to say of this evolution of taste in the direction of a more genuinely Japanese style.
The same trend toward a more indigenous art also occurs in Buddhist painting. The decoration of the five-storey pagoda of the Daigo-ji, near Kyoto, built in 95I at the behest of the emperor Murakami, well exemplifies the transitional style. On the first loor of the pagoda, which occupies an area of five hundred and thirty square feet, the eye is caught at once by a large, colorful composition full of deities arranged in four vertical panels (each about IO2 by 27 inches) around the central pillar. (illustration page 38) These are the main elements of the two fundamental mandara of the Shingon sect: the Taizo-kai on the west, north and south panels, the Kongo-kai on the east panel. Seen against a dark blue background spangled with golden stars, their size varying in accordance with their position in the celestial hierarchy, the gods are portrayed on lotus seats with unfaltering technical skill, surrounded by aureoles of different colors. The most highly refined expression is reserved for the sixteen-armed Shichigutei Bodhisattva (Cundibhagavati and this figure, as it so happens, is also the best preserved. (illustration page 38) The main outlines, in black, of the god's body were filled in with light yellow; then contours and features were drawn in red. The rather heavy modeling of the ninth century has disappeared, and colors are brighter and more harmonious. The lightness of the red outlines contributes to the effect of clarity which so sharply distinguishes this work from the esoteric paintings of the previous century, imbued as they were with the late T'ang style. The decoration of costumes, however, remains very simple and the prevailing patterns (the S-shape on the scarf, for example) still resemble those which decorate the polychrome statues of the ninth century. The secondary gods of the two mandara are continued on the four inner columns (two of which no longer exist) and on the upper half of the eight side panels-the Talzo-kai arrangement always remaining on the west side, the Kongo-kai arrangement on the east. The small divinities on the side panels are handled in a very free style. (Illustration page 41) Sanshuku (Ardra), one of the seven stars, has a particular grace born of serene color and linear rhythms. Here we feel that the esoteric gods of Indian origin must by now have been thoroughly assimilated for the Japanese artists to be able to represent them in so familiar a way.
On the lower part of the side panels figure the portraits of the eight patriarchs of the Shingon sect, from Ryumo (Nagarjuna), its Hindu founder, to Kukai. Comparing the portraits of the five monks active in China with the works which were brought back from China by Kukai and which probably served as models for the Daigo-ji wall paintings we detect in the more intimate, more serene expression of the copy the same toward a more genuinely Japanese style.
Early in the eleventh century, with the rise to power of Fujiwara Michinaga of the ministerial family, head of the aristocratic culture of the age reached its apogee. Noblemen vied with each other in building Buddhist temples as a means of ensuring their personal salvation. Ceasing now to play its national role as a bulwark of defense against moral and material evils, Buddhism became a private religion, a pledge of happiness and long life for believers. Buddhist painting accordingly changed character, passing from austerity to intimacy, from power to delicacy.
What contributed most to this evolution of sacred art was the transformation of Amidism (the cult of Amida) and the hold it gained over the Japanese mind. The Amida Buddha (Amitabha) had been worshipped since the seventh or eighth century as one of the leading gods of Buddhism, and the dogma of rebirth in his paradise, Saiho Jodo ( the Pure Land of the West), took form in the course of the tenth century in the Tendai doctrine. But it was Genshin (better known under the name of Eshin-sozu), a learned monk of the Enryaku-ji monastery, who in his book Ojo-yoshn, published in 985, worked out a theological system of salvation through Amida, based on the Kan-muryoju-kyo sutra. Exhorting the faithful to despise earthly life and aspire to the Pure Land of Amida, his doctrine first attracted the attention of the educated middle class, which was debarred from the affluence enjoyed by the great nobility and could find no consolation in the current esoteric doctrines, too much vulgarized now to appeal to them. The worship of Amida spread to the entire nobility in the eleventh century. In hopes of prolonging their luxurious way of life in the next world, the nobles addressed their prayers to this merciful savior and commissioned paradise scenes picturing the beatitudes of the life to come. The image of Amida descending from heaven with his divine retinue to receive the believer's soul became the subject most frequently represented, under the name of raigo-zu.
The most complete monument we have of the cult of Amida is the Phoenix Hall (Hoo-do) in the Byodo-in temple at Uji, seven miles south of Kyoto. The building was commissioned in I053 by Fujiwara Yorimichi who, having succeeded his father Michinaga in the office of prime minister, founded a temple for the salvation of his soul in the grounds of his palace at Uji, famous for the beauty of its landscape.
One of the gems of Japanese architecture, the Phoenix Hall miraculously sr the devastation of the civil wars, which played havoc with the other buildings of the temple area. From the central sanctuary housing a large, gilded wooden statue of Amida, two-storey galleries extend on either side; projecting behind the central sanctuary is yet a third gallery. Purely decorative elements determine a layout, intricate but always symmetrical, which recalls the figure of a phoenix with wings and tail. On the topmost ridge of the main roof, moreover, two bronze phoenixes dominate the whole structure whose graceful lines are reflected in the waters of a pool.
The interior of the central building is entirely decorated with paintings. On the panels of the five doors and on the inner walls figure nine versions of the Descent of Amida(raigo), corresponding to the nine degrees of salvation to which the dead may accede, depending on their good or bad behavior. Best preserved are the scenes on the two side doors and those on the two doors on either side of the facade; these paintings show the style of this golden age at its most authentic. (illustration page 43) Take, for example, the divine procession on the south door. Instead of the hieratic representations of deities in the esoteric paintings, devoid of any indication of space or time, Amida surrounded by music-making Bodhisattvas here approaches the dying believer, hovering over a landscape typical of the Kyoto region. Though the panel is damaged and the colors have faded, we can still appreciate the supple linework suggesting the rhythmic movement of the divine procession. A recent restoration brought to light, beneath the wooden frame, the unexposed borders of the paintings which had preserved the original colors in all their pristine freshness, thus giving some idea of the sterling beauty of the work when first produced nine hundred years ago. The bodies of the gods were painted bright yellow; the deft outlines, which have now blackened, were originally red. Their robes and floating scarves were purple, orange, blue and light green. On the aureole there still remains a decoration of floral arabesques cut out of gold leaf--a technique which the Japanese call kirikane. Though it goes back to the eighth century, this technique played no very important part before the end of the tenth century; thereafter it enjoyed a remarkable development and became an indispensable decorative element in Japanese Buddhist painting.
Something more will be said of the Hoo-do paintings in the following chapter, when we come to deal with the landscape backgrounds of these divine processions. But it should be noted here that the combination of sacred images with natural beauty imbues Japanese Buddhist painting with a warmth of feeling that made even the mythical gods of esoteric art more appealing.
While the Descent of Amida at the Hoo-do is treated objectively, like a scene taking place before our eyes, that of the large Hokke-ji triptych at Nara is composed in such a way as to convey the impression that, as they descend toward us, this imposing company gods is coming to save our own soul. (illustration page 44) In the central scroll, seated in front view on a red lotus flower, Amida gazes directly into the spectator's eyes. In this well balanced, almost symmetrical composition, only the white clouds surmounted by the deity serve to indicate the motion of Amida. (illustration page 44) Colors are simple and the red robe is undecorated except for the inconspicuous pattern of swastikas drawn in dark red. All these elements together lend the god a majestic dignity and bring to mind the more traditional style of the ninth and tenth centuries. Yet, when we scrutinize details, like the delicate handling of robe and flowers, and the serene, quite unmystical expression of the face, we cannot help noticing a nicety and discrimination which definitely point to a date within the first half of the eleventh century--a dating borne out, moreover, by the style of the calligraphy the two cartouches. The two scrolls to right and left of the central deity represent a youth carrying the celestial banner and two Bodhisattvas, Kannon (Avalokitesvara) and Seishi (Mahasthamaprapta); they were apparently added afterwards to give the dying man the impression of actually being received by the Great Savior.
Another important relic of Amidist art is the large composition preserved in the monastery on Mount Koya. (illustration pages 46-47) Originally executed on Mount Hiei, birthplace of the cult of Amida, it was transferred in I57I to the center of the Shingon sect to safeguard it during the civil war. At the very heart of the composition appears the great figure of Amida, with gilded body, majestically descending toward us. His robe is also decorated with kirikane, and the gilding of the aureole is like a symbol of the light emanating from Great Savior. He is accompanied by a stately procession of Bodhisattvas, with Kannon presenting the lotus seat for the dead man's soul and Seishi in the pose of an orant; both advance to the foreground, thus forming a triad with the central divinity. Seated in attitudes of devout prayer, the five Bodhisattvas flanking Amida--three of them dressed as monks--are well in keeping with the solemn composure of the god himself. Behind and to either side of the central group, celestial musicians grace the procession and announce the advent of salvation to the believer. The brilliant colors of the Bodhisattvas' costumes and the musical instruments, above all the bright purple and dark blue, contrasting with the gilding of the Buddha, add a felicitous touch to the composition. Now light brown, the clouds must originally have been colored mauve to imitate the "violet clouds" mentioned in the sutras. Thanks to the spirited rendering of the clouds upholding the entire procession, the thirty-three deities form a harmonious whole and infuse a dramatic element into the scene of salvation. The procession passes over a lake, beside a mountain in autumn represented on the lower left; this landscape is not unlike the view of Lake Biwa from the top of Mount Hiei. The artist working in this mountain monastery no doubt took inspiration from the clouds drifting over the lake, tinged with golden haze and mellowing colors of the setting sun. An old tradition attributes this picture to the monk Genshin (942-IOI7), who spread the cult of Amida in Japan. But the style and technique, above all the over-sharp outlines in red and the emphasis laid on colors, point rather to a date subsequent to that of the Phoenix Hall paintings (IO53), perhaps the early twelfth century.
The eleventh century has bequeathed some other masterpieces of Buddhist painting, treating a variety of subjects. Both in the esoteric sects and the old Nara sects, the cult shaka-muni (Sakyamuni) as the founder of Buddhism had never lost its importance. It was the custom to commemorate his death (nirvana) each year, on February I5, by presenting in the center of the sanctuary a large picture of the event, which was called nehan-zu (nirvana scene). Among many vestiges of this type of picture, a large kakemono (hanging scroll) in the Kongobu-ji temple on Mount Koya deserves special mention. (illustration page 48) In the opinion of the present writer, it represents the apogee of Japanese Buddhist painting in this period.
Lying on a richly decorated bed in the center of the composition is Shaka-muni, who has just died in a grove of sala (the sacred tree). His body, colored bright yellow, is covered with a white robe delicately tinted with pink and patterned with cut gold leaf (kirikane). The effect of these light-hued colors is to make the Buddha seem aglow with a supernatural light which focuses attention on his transfigured face. The death-bed is surrounded by the denizens of the Buddhist world: Bodhisattvas, arhats (disciples), devas, kings, ministers and even animals. The Bodhisattvas seated around the head of the Buddha are represented with extreme elegance. A few are colored, like Shaka himself, in bright yellow with outlines in red, while the others have white faces drawn in black with delicate strokes. And the alternation of these color effects gives a peculiar intensity to this part of the composition. The Bodhisattvas preserve their serenity despite the sorrow of their great bereavement, while the arhats and devas give way to their grief. The sobbings of the latter are accompanied by an extravagant grimace; the somber colors dominating this group strike a contrast with the bright hues concentrated around he Buddha's head. On the lower right is a lion in an agony of grief. The Nirvana pictures of later periods contain animals of many different kinds; but by confining his allusion to the animal kingdom to a single lion, the author of this kakemono sensibly safeguards the unity of his composition. At the top of the picture, above the flowering trees, appears Lady Maya, Shaka-muni's mother, coming down to the scene. In the background is the valley of Kusinagara referred to in the sutras; as described there, of course, it was an Indian landscape, but here it takes on an unmistakably Japanese character full of poetic charm. The fact of its being dated--to I086, inscribed on the lower right--greatly enhances the value of this scroll. It proves that thirty years after the building of the Phoenix Hall, Japanese Buddhist painting had successfully achieved a style of its own, with delicately shaded colors and richly varied decorative patterning, while losing none of the dignity and grandeur of the past.
The warm feeling for nature pervading Japanese Buddhist painting is particularly apparent in the series of panels portraying the sixteen disciples of the Buddha (rakan, in Sanskrit arhat) from the Raigo-ji at Shiga, now in the National Museum in Tokyo. At the Buddha's request, the sixteen rakan consented to remain in the world in order to protect and uphold the Buddhist law. Nagasena (Nagassina), who symbolizes mercy, lived in the mountains in the company of birds and animals. (illustration page 50) In this charming picture of him seated amidst flowering trees, he is shown feeding a stag from his alms bowl. The composition, though no doubt of Chinese origin, is already very much in the Japanese manner; whereas in Chinese paintings the figure of the disciple often assumes strange shapes, here it is entirely natural and mild-mannered. Much more hieratic is the figure of another arhat, Nakura (Nakula), symbol of divine power, shown with his two demon-acolytes. (illustration page 51) Bamboos and a tree in bloom, however, add an appealing note of intimacy to the picture. Judging both by the style of the painting and the writing in the cartouches, this series of works can plausibly be assigned to the late eleventh century.
The faces of the disciples are treated in a naturalistic manner reminiscent of the portraits of the period. One of these, a monumental work also of the eleventh century, has come down to us: the portrait of Jion-daishi (Kuei-chi) in the Yakushi-ji at Nara. (illustration page 52) He was a Chinese monk (632-682) highly venerated in the T'ang and Sung periods as the founder of the Hosso sect. In Japan, from the tenth century on, homage was paid to his memory each year in a ceremony held in the great temples of the sect at Nara. The portrait, whose composition is probably based on a Chinese original, well conveys the spiritual vigor of the great monk, whose attitude suggests that he is engaged in some theological discussion. The sumptuous patriarchal costume, the handling of the body with its pink modeling, the beautifully decorated ink-stone beside him--all these are details characteristic of the T'ang tradition. At the same time, the harmonious, light-toned colors reflect the Japanese taste of the eleventh century.
The same stylistic change came over esoteric painting in the eleventh century. With its complex and mystical iconography, it had introduced in the ninth century the ponderous, powerful expression of the late T'ang style; one hundred years later the wall paintings in the Daigo-ji pagoda already reveal a new tendency toward a lighter, more delicate vein of expression. But it was in the eleventh century, at the height of aristocratic culture, that images of various esoteric deities were produced in large numbers and given a greater refinement in keeping with the taste of the nobility.
The Shingon sect and even the Tendai sect had by then almost lost or forfeited their original philosophical character and their mystical ceremonies had been enlisted in the service of the earthly desires of the faithful. Monks of both esoteric sects were continually eing called in by the imperial family and the nobility to heal the sick, to allay the epidemics that often ravaged the country, to bless women in childbirth, to intercede favor of office-seekers, and even to pronounce anathemas against political opponents or rival lovers. In the esoteric pantheon, where each deity filled a particular function, it was chiefly the "angry gods" who played an important part in these ceremonies and mystical prayers. According to the Shingon doctrine, the Buddhas (Nyorai, in Sanskrit tathagata), who generally have a kindly, peace-loving aspect, manifest their anger when they attack the enemies of the Good Law in the frightening and even diabolical shapes of the Myoo (Raja).
Two remarkable paintings of the eleventh century are extant which represent the most characteristic deities of esoteric Buddhism. The first is the Dai-itoku-myoo (Mahajetas) in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. (illustration page 54) Brought to the United States by Tenshin Okakura (I862-I9I3), who gathered together the Japanese collection of the Boston museum, this picture is regarded as one of the most important Japanese paintings in a foreign collection. The god, with his dark blue body, three heads, six arms and six feet, is seen astride a green bull. The glowing eyes and open mouths of his three faces show him to be in one of his angriest moods. Ringed with flame, he brandishes weapons in four of his hands to frighten away evil spirits, while the two clasped hands in the middle symbolize the divine dignity. In this well balanced composition, the artist convincingly expresses anger and dynamic power without lapsing into the ungoverned excesses of the early works of esoteric art. But it is above all in the details that we find the distinctive features of the eleventh century: the supple black outlines of the god's body and particularly that of the bull; the polychrome flower patterns on the costume and the rug; the use of fine cut gold leaf to represent hair and enhance the decorative designs.
These decorative methods are even more elaborately worked out in another masterpiece of the same type, the Fudo-myoo (Acala) in the Shoren-in temple at Kyoto. (illustration page 55) The god Fudo-myoo is a manifestation of the fury of Dainichi-nyorai (Vairocana), supreme god the esoteric pantheon, and he has been deeply venerated in Japan since the ninth century. Though usually appearing in the midst of four other Myoo (Raja), he is also often represented singly both in painting and sculpture. In the ninth century a monk named Enchin (better known under the honorable title of Chisho-daishi), who introduced many esoteric elements into the Tendai doctrine, had images made of Fudo-myoo under the peculiar aspect in which he had seen the god in his mystical visions. One of these images is the Ki-fudo (yellow-bodied Fudo), still piously preserved in the Onjo-ji monastery. Unlike the mystical, exotic representation of the "yellow Fudo" standing in mid-air, the Shoren-in painting conforms to the customary iconography of the god: his body is blue and he is seated on a rock between his two attendants, Kongara (Kinka-rah) and Seitaka (Cetakah), who look like young boys. The triangular grouping of the three figures gives a classic stability to the composition, while the sublime power of the god is expressed by the swirling tongues of flame which, carefully studied, suggest the symbolic forms of the Karula (Garuda), the Buddhist mythical bird. But the beauty of this painting lies above all in its harmonious combination of pure and delicate colors. The dark blue silhouette of the god tells out against a background of red and orange flames; he wears a bright orange scarf and two skirts, a green one and a longer, purplish brown one. The pink figures of the two attendants, one light, one dark, re-echo the god's aureole and balance the base of the composition. Costumes are decorated with patterns instead of kirikane. These various stylistic features, together with the extreme finesse and suppleness of the black outlines, enable us to date the picture to the mid-eleventh century.
The spiritual power and majesty which still imbue the Fudo-myoo, and which are so well in keeping with the decorative effect of the forms and colors, gradually disappeared in the twelfth century. By then, political power had passed from the Fujiwara family into the hands of the joko, the emperors who, though officially in retirement, were acually still the political masters of the country. Devout and even fanatical Buddhists, these ex-emperors erected large temples and commissioned a considerable number of Buddhist images, sometimes for use in a single ceremony. Buddhist art was at this period concerned above all with delicacy of execution, and compositional power was sacrificed to agreeable color effects enhanced with kirikane. A series of twelve deva (Juni-ten) and five raja (Godaison), still preserved in the To-ji, can be dated to II27 and provide an invaluable chronological landmark for the study of Buddhist painting in this period, of which we reproduce two signal examples. (illustration page 58)
The red-robed Shaka-nyorai (Shaka-muni) of the Jingo-ji at Kyoto is prized for the beauty of its colors, above all for the peculiar brightness of the red robe. Seated on a richly decorated, "seven-storey" pedestal, the Buddha makes the gesture of the preacher. The golden glow of his two aureoles is patterned with flower designs. In a more schematic form, executed in kirikane, flower designs sparkle on his robe. The bright yellow body shows no trace of modeling. The flat flesh-tints, which convey no sense of actual life, are harmoniously played off against the delicate colors of the costume and the pedestal; the effect they produce is that of an almost purely abstract beauty.
The National Museum in Tokyo owns two masterpieces of twelfth-century Buddhist painting: the Fugen-bosatsu (Samantabhadra) on a white elephant and the Kokuzo-bosatsu (Akasagarbha) formerly in the Mitsui Collection. (illustration page 56) Kokuzo-bosatsu, dispenser of wisdom to mankind, appears here in a lunar disk supported by a rock. Very different from the warm coloring of the image of Shaka-muni, the cool tones that dominate this painting, together with the thin sheets of silver added here to the kirikane patterns of the costume and aureole, evoke the silvery gleams of moonlight. The lines marking the god's impassive features are of an extreme finesse. The subtlety of this work is highly characteristic of the aristocratic, effeminate taste of the late Heian period. Grandeur and dignity have been almost wholly sacrificed to a decorative effect whose evanescent beauty seems to symbolize the decline of the nobility at the end of the twelfth century.
As a result of the political and social changes of the second half of the twelfth century, the warrior class came to power in Japan. These men were originally no more than small landowners or local stewards of estates owned by the nobility, or even local tax collectors. But as they steadily increased their power in the provinces, they formed private armies of their own in each region, where in time their word became law. Their rise to power seriously jeopardized the economic resources of the nobles living in the capital. The leaders of this warrior class came from two great families, the Taira (Heike) and the Minamoto (Genji), whose members were then beginning to occupy more ar more of the key posts at the imperial court. After the two civil wars of Hogen (II56) and Heiji (II59), it was the Taira family that made itself supreme at Kyoto and set the style of a luxurious way of life in keeping with aristocratic tastes. Its short-lived power (II67-II84) was broken by the opposing clan of the Minamoto, whose head, Minamoto Yoritomo, founded in II84 a military government called bakufu (shogunate) at Kamkura, in eastern Japan. The official appointment in II9I of Yoritomo as commander-in- chief of the military establishment throughout Japan opened a new era, known as the Kamakura period (thirteenth and fourteenth centuries), during which a feudal society came into being. Nevertheless, the imperial court of Kyoto, supported by the tradition nobility, was still a cultural force to be reckoned with and the whole period was strongly marked by the parallel influence of the two intellectual centers, the Kyoto nobles on the one hand, the Kamakura military on the other.
The two following chapters will be devoted to two important aspects of the art of this age: the flowering of scroll painting and the introduction of monochrome painting from China following the rise of the new sect of Zen Buddhism.
In the domain of religious iconography the Kamakura period seems to have brought about no fundamental change either of style or subject matter. The religious life of the day was nevertheless being infused with a new spirit which, in the event, gave an increasing realism of expression, and an increasing humanity, to the Buddhist gods. Just as Zen was being introduced into Japan, Amidism was being reformed by Honen (II33-12I2), founder of the Jodo (Pure Land) sect, which aimed above all at absolute self-surrender in the worship of Amida by means of prayer. This doctrine took a still more radical turn in the hands of Honen's disciple, Shinran (II73-I262) who diffused the cuIt of Amida among the people, particularly in northern and eastern Japan. For these two reformers, the plastic representation of Amida was much less important than it had been in the aristocratic Amidism of the Heian period.
The faithful, however, required a tangible image of their promised savior, particularly in the scene depicting Amida descending to earth to welcome human souls into his paradise (raigo). The great Zenrin-ji painting is one of the largest of such scenes. (illlustration pae 61) Dating from the first half of the thirteenth century, it represents a golden-bodied Amida solemnly appearing beyond two mountains, like the full moon of autumn. Making the sign of Supreme Salvation (jobon-josho) by raising both hands before his chest, the Great Savior gazes into the eyes of the dying believer, beside whose death-bed this picture was meant to hang, to vouchsafe him a mystical vision of the approaching procession of gods. Two Bodhisattvas, Kannon (Avalokitesvara) and Seishi (Mahasthamaprapta), standing on clouds, are already moving toward the mountainside, and two divine figures below carrying a banner herald the arrival of the procession; four celestial guardians, two on either side, contribute their stately presence to the scene. (illustration page 59) Disposed as they are in strictly symmetrical order, all these divinities harmonize with the beauty of a landscape that is typically Japanese.
The clean-cut, rational design of the composition and the realistic portrayal of each figure are, in our opinion, the essential features of Japanese painting in the thirteenth century. A mood of rather cool rationalism is impressed on the picture, down to the smallest detail, by the alternating colors of the symmetrical figure groups and by the scrupulously careful application of gold leaf cut out to form geometric designs. The landscape too is imbued with the taste of the period. Earthly and heavenly motifs are here more skillfully combined than they were in works of the eleventh and twelfth centuries; but their combination now lacks the paradisaical charm of the earlier art, and this shortcoming is characteristic of the Kamakura period.
The very same spirit makes itself felt in the figure of Jizo (Ksitigarbha) in the Dan collection. (illustration page 62) This god, regarded as the merciful savior of souls consigned to hell, was deeply venerated in this period under the influence of the doctrine of rinne (the mystical circuit of the souls of all beings through the six spheres). Jizo, usually in the guise of a young Buddhist monk, went to the rescue of distressed souls on a cloud whose shape suggests a descending movement. (illustration page 62) Particular care was taken in the execution of the picture; leaf, cut out and patterned with consummate workmanship, glows and sparkles everywhere, on the costume, on the staff, on the two lotus seats, and on the cloud. Yet, for all the refinement of its execution, the picture has already lost the serenity of the Heian period, and the colors are not so bright. A composition too closely calculated and expression so clear-cut and realistic prove to be, one cannot help feeling, incompatible with spiritual and visionary beauty which must form the essence of religious painting. And so with these works of the late thirteenth century, hieratic painting in Japan exhausted its creative power and thereafter produced only lifeless and conventional figures of the different gods.
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Bibliography