Japanese Architecture: A Short History

Japanese architecture over the years

Japanese Architecture: A Short History (Tuttle Classics)

A.L. Sadler’s 1941 book “Japanese Architecture: A Short History” is one of several books Sadler wrote to help introduce the West to the then-unknown culture of Japan. More than just a textbook or academic exercise, Sadler infuses his description of Japanese architecture with short lessons on Japanese culture and society. One cannot separate the building from the people, after all.

“Japanese Architecture” goes through each period a chapter at a time, from the Early Period (660 BC – 540 AD) up to the Edo Period (1616 – 1860 AD). He then discusses some of the special features of Japanese architecture, such as the shoji screens, the bathroom, and the ceilings. He goes into some depth of the building regulations of the Tokugawa period, which prescribed what kind of house you could live in by what class you were born into.

By “short history,” Sadler isn’t kidding. Each period gets only a few pages to cover several hundred years, which makes for quick and easy reading. Fully a third of the book is illustrations. Unfortunately, the illustrations are not spread throughout the text but collected in the back as an appendix. That means you have to do a lot of flipping back and forth as you read the book to look at the picture that Sadler is describing.

I enjoyed “Japanese Architecture: A Short History” even though the writing was a bit dry. I was happy for the short chapters, and I wish the pictures had been published next to the text instead of in the back. I don’t know if this is how the book originally appeared in 1941 or not, but that is likely. When I lived in Japan I was curious about the different types of buildings, particularly in the shrines and temples that appear everywhere but are often stylistically different. Thanks to Sadler’s book I have a better grasp of the architecture and can better place when a particular building was made by what style it is in.

Japanese Ghost Stories

Tattoo artists interpretation of traditional  Japanese ghost stories

Japanese Ghost Stories (English and Japanese Edition)

Gomineko’s “Japanese Ghost Stories” is essentially an art book. The project is the brainchild of Gomineko Press’ Crystal Morey who created a contest for her largely-tattoo artist customer base; she would present a traditional Japanese ghost story, that her customers would make artwork for, with the winner getting some free books. After the first of these contests proved successful, she followed up with another, and then a gallery show, and then finally this book showing the results.

There are four stories in this volume: “Ushino Toki Mairi” with a candle wearing woman pounding nails in a tree to gain divine vengeance for an untrue love. “Okiku,” one of Japan’s most famous ghost stories involving an abused serving girl and ten heirloom plates. “Kiyohime,” also known as “The Legend of Doji Temple” which tells the story of a woman whose forbidden lust overtakes her and she transforms into a serpent. And “Shitakiri Suzume,” known in English as “The Tongue-cut Sparrow,” involving a bird, a greedy wife, and a big box of demons. All of the text is in both English and Japanese.

Each story is more of an explanation of the story rather than the story itself. It is more of a one-page recap that tells the gist of the story and some of its variations. Each story is then followed by the customer submissions, between 15-29 per story. Each submission is a full-page, full-color illustration usually in the tattoo-style that attempts to get the feel of the story in a single piece of art.

The art varies greatly in quality, if not in style. To give you an idea of the caliber, far too many of these artists list their home page as MySpace or DevientArt) For a contest like this, I was surprised at how many of the submissions resembled each other. Because all of the artists hold the same job – they are all tattoo artists – most of the works are done in that thick-lined stained-glass style that is suitable for tattoos. I like that style of artwork. I like tattoos. But I would have liked to have seen more creativity in the interpretations. At least one submission came right off the promotional artwork for Ju-on, and a few more were almost direct copies of famous ukioyo-e prints of the same stories.

There are some standout pieces. Texas-artist Jon Claeton’s Old West interpretation of “Okiku” was inspired. Sergi Besa from Brighton, UK did an old-school sailor tattoo of “Ushino Toki Mairi” with a sweet face and rosy cheeks that was a nice change from the blood-weeping hags everyone else drew. Sara Alonso, also of Brighton, UK, did a very beautifully composed piece of “Okiku,” with each of the nine plates being a scene from the story. Horimasa, from Gunma, Japan, did a fantastically simple and effective painting of “Okiku” with nice striking reds and blacks. All in all, “Okiku” seemed to inspire the best submissions.

But ultimately the forgettable and the mediocre outweigh the good stuff. Crystal Morey had a good idea, and I applaud her efforts. I would have personally liked to have seen more balance between the stories and the art, with an attempt made to tell the stories, not just tell about them. A bit more quality-control on the art would have gone a long way as well, with fewer, better selections making for a stronger book.

Japanese Stone Gardens: Origins, Meaning, Form

A Beautiful Illusion of Gardens

Japanese Stone Gardens: Origins, Meaning, Form

The study of the Japanese Stone Garden is the study of Japanese religion. The two are as inseparable as the symbolic architecture of Catholic Cathedrals and the Bible. There are no rocks in a Japanese stone garden, but only icons of Mt. Horai, home of the immortals, or great turtles swimming in the cosmic ocean, bearing the Earth on their backs. As author Stephen Mansfield states, Japanese gardens are works of religious art.

Which is why “Japanese Stone Gardens: Origins, Meanings, Forms” is much more than a guide to the garden. Mansfield does his best to give you a crash-course on Buddhism and Shinto, on why stones in particular are of importance to Japanese religion, and how those views have been shaped by contact with China and India. He takes you on a tour through the symbology of stone, showing what to look for and how to recognize certain arrangements and what their meanings are.

The book is split into two sections. The first, “Introduction to the Japanese Stone Garden,” takes up the bulk of the book and lays out all of the religious motifs and meanings, as well as the nature of Japanese stone gardens. He is quick to point out that the term “Zen Garden” is entirely American and has no meaning in Japan; these are gardens linked with Buddhism, but rarely with the Zen sect. He also talks about some of the standard design elements of the garden, the use of borrowed scenery and framing. I particularly enjoyed the talk on modern stone gardens, and how modern materials and techniques have shaped new gardens.

The second section, “Japan’s Exquisite Stone Gardens” is a picture-tour through some of Japan’s most famous and beautiful stone gardens. The focus is really on imagery, although some text is provided for each photograph along with a brief history of each garden. I have been to several of these gardens, and I think the photographer did a masterful job of capturing their elusive beauty.

Of course, having been to several of these gardens in real life, I also know what an illusion the photographs are. While they look like visions of serene peace, and in some distant time they must have been, now they are loud, rambunctious places packed with tourists and all the support industries of food hawkers and souvenir stands. I would love to see the Ryoan-ji pictured here, austere and unembellished. In real life, your attempts to contemplate the stones are interrupted by jostling crowds and blaring loudspeakers that give a pre-recorded history of the temple and the garden nonstop.

And that is really the only complaint I have against this book (and books of this kind). While the author does mention the reality of crowds and noise in the text, I would have loved to have seen a picture of these gardens packed with tourists and sellers as they are in real life. Because anyone going to Japan seeking the serenity they find in this book will be sorely disappointed.

Daido Moriyama: Stray Dog of Tokyo

Dog’s Eye View

Daido Moriyama: Stray Dog of Tokyo

Daido Moriyama is a name I have never heard before in my life before I picked up “Stray Dog of Tokyo.” But I had enjoyed the previous two releases in Viz’s “New People Artist Series,” with Yoshitomo Nara and Yayoi Kusama, and I wanted to continue with the series.

Moriyama, it turns out, is a fascinating individual. Born in 1938 in Ikeda, Osaka (where I lived for four years, which was an unexpected coincidence!), Moriyama is of that cynical generation who were children during war-time Japan, then saw the selfish and empty society that sprang up in the aftermath. Like other artists of his generation (Oshima Nagisa springs to mind with his Cruel Story of Youth), Moriyama started making a record of the shadowy parts of his country hidden by the glaring neon-lights of pop-culture progress and a future that seemed eternally rosy.

A notorious recluse, Moriyama only opened up for this documentary under the condition that it would be done on a single camcorder, with as little possible barrier between subject and screen. I found that fascinating. Too many photographers that I know use their camera as a barricade to hide behind from the world. Shy people, they hold up huge cameras up to hide their own face and are only observers, not participants. Moriyama specifically attempts to avoid this by using small cameras, and from shooting from the hip rather than composing shots.

He says that he developed this technique as people react differently when they think they are on camera, and this way the photographer and subject can be eye to eye like people. He purposefully uses cheap cameras, picked up in used shops and markets, and it was not until this documentary that he took his first digital picture.

I loved listening to Moriyama talk about his photography. He has fascinating theories, like about how photographers should only copy, and not try and put themselves into the picture. For awhile he experimented with controlled exposures on pictures, but he was unsatisfied with this as he felt that he was then attempting to manipulate the world around him, rather than just copy it.

This was an interesting point, as photographer Nobuyoshi Araki (Subway Love) points out most photographers are creating fiction with their work. Araki makes mention of both their works involving Love Hotels, with Araki’s being largely posed and Moriyama’s (Daido Moriyama: The World through My Eyes) being raw and emotional.

The title, “Stray Dog in Tokyo,” comes from Moriyama’s own reference to himself in his autobiography Memories of a Dog, which I may just have to pick up. Thanks to Viz for introducing me to a fascinating and powerful artist!

Traveling with Yoshitomo Nara

Enter Yoshitomo’s World

I first became aware of artist Yoshitomo Nara (The Lonesome Puppy, Oh! My God! I Miss You) with his CD cover Shonen Knife CD Happy Hour. From there, it seemed any book on contemporary Japanese art, from Plastic Culture to Warriors of Art contained a reference to the popular Pop Artist. Thus I was excited to see this documentary, “Traveling with Yoshitomo Nara,” and hopefully to gain a little more insight into an artist whose work I admire.

The first in a series of documentaries by Viz Pictures covering contemporary Japanese artists, “Traveling with Yoshitomo Nara” is exactly what the title says it is. Rather than being a documentary on the artist and his works, it is more like a camera being allowed to tag along as Yoshitomo leaves Japan for overseas exhibitions in places like Korea, Thailand and the United States.

The trips are a challenge for Yoshitomo, who is an introverted and shy individual uncomfortable with being treated like a pop star celebrity. He is confronted with women calling him “handsome” and asking him why he isn’t married, and heavily pierced New York hipsters trying to make an impression when all Yoshitomo wants to do is crawl into a small, comfortable space where he can live in his head.

Each location takes him out of his element, forcing him to talk about his artwork and his ideas, and brings to him a bigger challenge when he wants to create small houses in each gallery into which he can put his art. The building of the houses forces Yoshitomo to work with a crew, and as he says himself he slowly comes to understand the values of shared experience and accomplishment. The latter part of the documentary focuses on Yoshitomo’s desire to build an entire village of his little houses, the “A-Z Village,” meaning he must assemble the largest crew he has ever worked with, and to challenge himself on a personal level in order to achieve his vision.

I really liked the style of “Traveling with Yoshitomo Nara,” and the way it allowed you to see the artist as a human being in his own natural environment, instead of trying to be a lesson on contemporary Japanese art. The documentary definitely comes from the stand-point that the viewer is already familiar with Yoshiitomo, and does not go into great detail about his style, history or place in contemporary Japanese art. It is more of a video portrait of the person.

I enjoyed this documentary even more than I thought I would, and I will definitely keep my eye out for the rest in this Viz Pictures “New People Artist Series, ” including Yayoi Kusama: I Love Me and Daido Moriyama: Stray Dog of Tokyo.

Plastic Culture: How Japanese Toys Conquered the World

4.0 out of 5 stars Urban Vinyl

Ah, what a wonderful invention plastic is! Nearly limitless possibilities, able to be shaped into almost any form, take on any color, and endure across the centuries. As functional as it is fantastic. Of course, it was only a matter of time before artists took this malleable material into their capable hands, and created something that the inventors of the plastic would have never imagined. In this case, it is toys.

“Plastic Culture: How Japanese Toys Conquered the World” supposes to tell the story of plastic, and its journey from function to fantastic, from commerce to art. Supposes to, because unfortunately the book seems to have fallen victim to a loss of focus, or possibly a conflict between writer and editor. Instead of this history of plastic, and their connection to Japanese culture, what the writer wanted to write about was an artistic movement called Urban Vinyl, originating in Hong Kong and then spreading to Japan and the US. That’s his passion, and it shows.

The first half of “Plastic Culture” is rough. It begins with a very brief history of plastic’s invention, and its use in toys across the years. There is some brief connection with Japan, introducing the Kaiyodo model makers who perfected the garage kit. There is a half-hearted section on using toys for marketing purposes as mascots, mainly mentioning McDonalds Happy Meal toys and the Olympics. Trying to swing the story back to Japan, Sanrio is covered with their successful line of Hello Kitty figures and other characters. These articles are all short on text, and heavy on pictures, jumping rapidly from section to section without much logic or interest. Its pretty boring, and not very well researched. Then, on page 43, author Woodrow Pheonix begins the section on Urban Vinyl. And it all changes.

The Urban Vinyl movement began in Hong Kong, with a couple of young talents started taking apart GI Joe figures and putting them back together street-style, dressed in the latest Hong Kong fashions and with an attitude that GI Joe never imagined. These two, Michael Lau and Eric So, exhibited their work at galleries, and inspired other artists to see toys as a medium of expression, rather than just playthings. The movement jumped across the water, to Japan with its ingrained toy culture, and then to the US underground comics scene, where artists like Dan Clowes (“Ghost World”) and Archer Prewitt (“Sof’ Boy”) began teaming up with Asian designers to produce unique figures combining all of their talents and visions. Into this comes Takashi Murakami, famed for his Superflat exhibition and one of Japan’s greatest modern artists, who sees the concept of creating original works of art in toys, rather than just reproducing existing works in plastic. Yoshitomo Nara, another prominent Japanese modern artist, follows suit. Its fascinating.

If this book had been called “Urban Vinyl,” and started with Lau and So in Hong Kong, then been given enough depth to explore the artistic movement completely, it would have been incredible. Woodrow Pheonix has a real passion for this movement, and a deep insight into what makes it tick and how the pieces fit together. His interviews with Murakami and Nara really made me reconsider the way I see toys, and it was great to here these two giants of modern art put forward such opposing yet complementary viewpoints on Urban Vinyl.

But it wasn’t, and so “Plastic Culture” is really only half a great book. That second half is really something, and worth picking up the book for. It makes me want to learn more about Urban Vinyl and hopefully someday Pheonix will get to write the book that he should have. I will be first in line to pick it up.

Ideals of the East: The Spirit of Japanese Art

4.0 out of 5 stars A poetic look at Japanese art and religion

Kakuzo Okakura, author of the legendary The Book of Tea, was a first-hand witness to the rapid changes of the Meji period, when the closed nation of Japan had its locked doors forced open by the US military, and was suddenly thrust onto a world stage of which it had previously chosen to decline.

Okakura was first and foremost a scholar; a member of the Imperial Art Commission, Okakura had been sent abroad in 1886 to study the artistic development of Europe and the US and to see how that compared to Japan’s own development. Upon his return, Okakura saw a need for a book in English explaining Japan’s artistic foundation, the religion and cultural elements that shaped that foundation, and how changes across the centuries had been paralleled by artistic development.

First published in 1904, “Ideals of the East: The Spirit of Japanese Art” is that book. Beginning in the pre-history of The Primitive Art of Japan, and following through such things as Confucian and Buddhist influences, the book then ranges through the Asuka period, the Nara, Heian, Fujiwara, Kamakura, Ashikaga, Toyotomi and Tokugawa periods before finishing in Okakura’s own Meiji period. Instead of a straight history of art, Okakura discusses the ideals of each period, the various religious beliefs and the political forces that shaped Japanese art.

Rarely have I seen such a small book packed with so much information. At only a hundred and six pages, Okakura ranges over a thousand and more years of history. Like a skipping stone flashing across a deep ocean, Okakura touches down in each era only long enough to give the true essence of the art created then without superfluous details or a listing of major works and artists. This book is, after all, about the “Spirit of Japanese Art” and not a lesson on the art itself.

Because he was a scholar, and writing for other scholars instead of the general public, Okakura presumes a familiarity on the part of the reader with Chinese and Indian art history, with important Asian art movements and the religions of East Asia. His language is in the style of the time, verbose and poetic rather than academic. Sometimes it seems like his sentences are flights of fancy and speculation, but there is a great depth inside his words.

“Ideals of the East: The Spirit of Japanese Art” is not going to be a book for casual readers. One should have a decent background in Japanese history and Eastern religions to truly get the gist of what Okakura is trying to tell. Because he skims over topics that he thinks the reader would already know, coming to the book cold might be a bit overwhelming. But if you are familiar with the topic, the book will enrich more dry, academic studies with the true passion Okakura felt for the artistic achievements of his native land.

One interesting side note: Almost no attention is paid to what has become the modern image of Japanese art, the ukiyo-e prints. Although Okakura recognizes their beauty, he writes that he is afraid that the easy-to-understand, brightly colored pieces of design would eclipse the thousand-year history of more subtle and complicated works of Japanese art. And that is exactly what happened.

101 Great Samurai Prints

101 Great Samurai Prints

Kuniyoshi’s Samurai

The title of this book pretty much says it all. “101 Great Samurai Prints” is exactly what you get, all by Utagawa Kuniyoshi, one of the last great masters of the Japanese style of woodblock printing known as Ukiyo-e, meaning Pictures of the Floating World.

Kuniyoshi was an apprentice of Utagawa Toyokuni, although he surpassed his master in both talent and fame. Kuniyoshi first rose to fame for his portrayal of heroic characters, such as his series “One hundred and eight heroes of the popular Suikoden all told” based on the Chinese book “Water Margins.” He was especially known for the individual flair he could give to the heroes, making them more than just carbon copies of each other but living images with personality and verve.

The images in this series are taken from two Kuniyoshi series, “Heroic Biographies from the “Tale of Grand Pacification” and “The Faithful Samurai.” The book is roughly the size of the original prints, being a little under 9 X 11 inches, and the colors and vibrant and beautiful. Each image is accompanied by text explaining shortly what the image is and what story it is portraying. The complete Japanese text on each image is not translated, but there is enough to let you know what is going on.

Some of my favorites are number 37, showing a pale and bloody samurai giving battle although pierced with arrows, or number 99, where a samurai of low character and smug face defends himself behind an overturned basket of charcoal, where Kuniyoshi had sprinkled actual charcoal on the image to create a more realistic effect.

This is really a great collection of Kuniyoshi’s samurai pictures. It is somewhat no-frills, but for the price you get a hundred and one beautiful images by one of the great masters of Japanese art.

The Sketchbooks of Hiroshige

 

Phenomenal collection

The Sketchbooks of Hiroshige

If you know Japanese art, then you know Hiroshige. Along with Hokusai and Utamaro he created images that are instantly recognizable. In fact, say “Japanese art” to anyone and their mind will probably be populated with scenes from Hiroshige.

But most people have ever only seen his finished works, benefiting from his full powers of design and craftsmanship. Beautiful as it is, the woodblock print does not allow for much spontaneous creativity. Only here in “The Sketchbooks of Hiroshige” do we get a more intimate look at the master’s hand, seeing his brushstrokes and soft colors, the kind of sketches that he might have drawn from life, idly sitting on a riverbank watching people at work.

The sketchbooks are divided into two volumes, both of which fold out accordion-like in an older style of binding. Both books have twenty-five plates, with some small commentary on the works in the back. In the first volume, there is an introduction to Hiroshige and the collection, although anyone interested in his sketchbooks is probalby already familiar with Hiroshige.

The quality of this collection can not be overstated. It is perfect. Every effort was made in presentation, including an antiqued and yellowed paper stock used for the images that is different from the pure white of the introduction and notes. The images themselves are, of course, breathtaking. Each one is subtle and perfectly composed, like a poem in ink. People who only know Hiroshige by his bombastic color prints will be surprised to see this level of restraint.

This is definitely a collection for those who just want to look at the art. The comments on each work are very slight, and might even be nothing more than “A scene by the Sumido river”. The editor wanted the works to speak for themselves, and rightly so.

The Art of Gaman: Arts and Crafts from the Japanese American Internment Camps 1942-1946

 

Art in Adversity

Human beings have an amazing capacity for art. In even the most dire circumstances, when it seems like they wouldn’t have the energy to do much more than lay down and die, they create. That is the story of “The Art of Gaman.”

I am old enough that I never learned about the Japanese internment camps in school. The first I ever heard about them was when I saw the film Come See the Paradise, and I was shocked. Not only that the US had also had concentration camps, a word I associated only with the nazis, but about the fact that it had been so hidden from my history books. Thankfully, that is not the case now, and people are much more aware of the suffering the Japanese people and their children, many native-born Americans, suffered during the racial paranoia of WWII.

But “The Art of Gaman” is not about the suffering. It is about the living, about the beautiful things that people did and made in order to make their situation more bearable. Forced to leave their homes with nothing more than they could carry, forbidden objects of metal, the people found themselves in cold, comfortless surroundings, far from the things they knew and loved. It started simply at first: a chair to sit in. a toy for a child. a picture to remind them of what they had lost. From there, it became a way to survive. Long hours with nothing to do were filled by making beautiful things. Those who had skills and knowledge set up classrooms to teach what they could. The making of art was even encouraged by the prison guards who saw the calming effect it had on their captives.

Few of these items survive. They were considered of little value, and when it came time to return home most of them were abandoned in favor of more practical items. But thankfully, some creations were cherished and kept, making up the collections of items found in this book. They are not all beautiful, and the craftsmen and women were not all highly skilled, but each object tells a story of the person who made it.

Many of the objects here are practical, like a Bonito Shaving Box created by Ushijima Toki on page 92. It is a simple thing, but necessary to make the dried fish-flake shavings essential to the Japanese soup dashi that would have tasted so much like home. Some, like the Senninbari Vest given to George Matsushiita on page 91, are even more evocative. Stitched by a mother to give to her son to go off to fight for a country that had imprisoned his mother. A Minnie Mouse figure fashioned from shells by Miura Iwa on page 114 shows that their was still hope in their hearts for the American dream, embodied by a familiar animated character. A Shamisen cobbled together from spare wood on yarn on page 87 shows that a love of music kept some
hearts alive.

I am glad that Delpine Hirasuna hunted down these precious objects and put together this book. I was not alive during the time when these were made, but being married to a Japanese woman I realize this in a different time, this could have been my wife and children stripped of their rights and unlawfully imprisoned. It would be nice to think that those paranoid times were long gone, but events of the last decade have shown that this simply isn’t true.

One last thing: This book is called “The Art of Gaman” to reflect a Japanese term meaning to persevere in hardship. But I see this more as “The Art of Gambaru,” meaning to give it your all and to do your best, even in the most difficult of circumstances.