Ukiyo-e art brings Chinese literary heroes to life

Few art forms are as quintessentially Japanese as woodblock print. However, its roots are not purely indigenous, and its development in the last decades of the 17th century owes much to China. “The diversity of subjects, the use of vivid colors to enhance expressiveness, not to mention the technology itself, all of these elements bear the hallmarks of Chinese culture to some extent,” says Michi Akagi, curator at the Museum of Ota Memorial Art. China in Ukiyoe,” a new show that will run until January 29.

Chinese artisans began experimenting with color woodblock printing as early as the Southern Song dynasty (1127-1279). However, it was a rudimentary and laborious process: each tone normally required the carving of a separate block, so the first prints were two-tone and fairly smooth. Later, Japanese artisans adopted the same technique, one color, one block, but developed their own approach, the “kento” trademark, to ensure that each color would line up exactly with the others with no gaps in between. As the technology matured and the market for books and ukiyo-e expanded, Japanese publishers became bolder. They began by releasing designs that spanned multiple sheets and used numerous colors, up to 20 in some cases. Another technique with Chinese roots is stamping, also known as gauffrage, which adds a three-dimensional texture to prints.

Methods aside, China also acted as a conduit for Western art and ideas, especially after the 1630s, when Japanese citizens were prohibited from traveling abroad and most foreigners were prohibited from entering the country. . A good example is perspective drawing, which was introduced to the Middle Kingdom by Jesuit missionaries at the end of the 16th century. Before long, Chinese printers were experimenting with it, especially in Suzhou, one of the country’s most dynamic commercial and artistic centers. “It was probably through importing these prints,” Akagi explains, “that Japan learned about the Western perspective.”

China’s cultural influence reached its peak during the Edo Period (1603-1868). On the surface, this is puzzling. The Tokugawa shogunate never established official relations with the Ming rulers of China or, after 1644, with their Qing overlords. Thus, not a single diplomatic mission was exchanged between the two countries in over 200 years. Furthermore, Akagi points out, it was almost impossible for any Japanese to visit China. So how did its thinkers and artists keep abreast of developments in the East China Sea and beyond? The short answer is trade.

Under Tokugawa rule, trade with China flourished like never before: At its height in the closing decades of the 17th century, more than 100 Chinese ships visited Japan in a good year. One consequence was the establishment of a large Chinese community in Nagasaki with perhaps as many as 2,000 people, a population that could double when the ships were in port. In those early days, the main commodity merchants bringing into the city were white and undyed silk (the Japanese’s appetite for it seemed insatiable), but they also carried a significant number of books with them.

This had profound effects. On the one hand, these books supported the spread of Neo-Confucianism, an ideology embraced by the shogunate that came to permeate the entire educational system of Japan. Just as important, they helped popularize Chinese art, but also stories, myths, and legends, many of which were illustrated by ukiyo-e artists, as the show “China in Ukiyoe” demonstrates. By the end of the 17th century, Akagi says, “Chinese literature had made a deep impression on the world of Japanese art, particularly painting and fiction.”

That impact was magnified by rising literacy rates within the population. In the first decades of the 17th century, trading activity expanded rapidly throughout Japan. A growing economy needed more educated workers, which in turn required access to a wider range of textbooks, many of which were heavily based on Chinese classics. Over time, higher literacy rates also boosted the publishing industry to a great extent. By 1700, more than 700 bookstores were active, up from almost none a century earlier.

A frequently illustrated Chinese story in books and woodblock prints was “The Water’s Edge”, also known as “Swamp Outlaws” or “Suikoden” in Japanese. Unlike the heroes of other mainland novels, particularly “Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” whose characters were often hailed as role models for aspiring government officials, many figures in “Suikoden” are rude and flighty. . However, under the right circumstances, they can be driven to great and even noble deeds. They abhor injustice, at least their version of it, especially when it is imposed on the defenseless by the strong. In Tokugawa Japan, where a rigid class system existed, the townspeople immediately took a liking to this colorful cast of ruffians. They admired his bravado and dreamed of pinning it on the powerful.

“Rough-mannered but brave tough men, firefighters, construction workers, and other people all became very popular figures during those years,” says Akagi. “Epic stories that take place in foreign countries also had enormous appeal to the Edo people, so it’s no surprise that the heroes of ‘Suikoden’, with their rich and expressive personalities, caught people’s attention.”

“Suikoden” was also a source of inspiration for many ukiyo-e artists. One of these was Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797-1861), whose work is well represented in the show. Until the late 1820s he struggled to earn a living, but between 1826 and 1831 he designed engravings for 74 of the 108 characters in the story. Although illustrated versions of “Suikoden” had been published before, Kuniyoshi was the first to publish single-sheet color prints of his characters. The series was enormously popular and a great commercial success, in part because Kuniyoshi embellished his images by making generous use of Prussian blue, a previously unaffordable European dye that, in the 1820s, could be cheaply imported from China. Kuniyoshi’s work was widely copied and he fostered various spin-offs. One is a “Comic Suikoden” by Utagawa Yoshitsuya (1822-66), one of his students, which is also on display in the exhibition.

This propensity for irreverence was a unique characteristic of ukiyo-e. For example, artists working in the genre have always enjoyed taking familiar characters, whether they be Buddhist saints, Taoist immortals or historical figures, and depicting them in the guise of beautiful women, Akagi says. Generally speaking, these kinds of works are called mitate-e, which can be roughly translated as “parody pictures.” To the casual observer, however, it can be difficult to tell what is being lampooned, especially if one does not read Japanese or is unfamiliar with the literary canon being falsified.

A good example is a triptych by Utagawa Kunisada (1786-1865), “Parody of the Three Kingdoms: Chinese General Liu Bei Visiting a Sage Zhuge Liang in the Snow”, a famous episode of “Romance of the Three Kingdoms”. In Kunisada’s interpretation, the three generals in the story appear as courtesans of the pleasure chambers. The giveaway is the title, located on a cartouche in the upper right corner, but only those familiar with the novel will recognize the names of the protagonists.

“This playful spirit is a big difference between ukiyo-e and other art movements,” says Akagi. The thugs from <Suikoden> would have approved.