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The celebrated art that goes by the name of ukiyo-e was decreed initially as being “low” art, made by and for the non-elite classes. But there was no stopping it, for it explored a different aesthetic, expanded the range of themes in art, writes
B.N. Goswamy
Seeing a catalogue of the splendid collection in the Kupferstich-Kabinett at Dresden recently, put me in mind again of the splendours of ukiyo. This Japanese word may not mean much to most of us, but time was, especially between the 17th and the 19th centuries, when it was everywhere, at least in the eastern-most lands of the Asian continent. In its original sense, when it used to figure in early poetry, it meant the floating, transient, idle world, a little like our maya perhaps: ‘it is all an illusion’; ‘everything is here for but a fleeting while’. The word carried resonances of some of the pessimism and the melancholy which belongs to Buddhist philosophy. But, by the 17th century, the connotation of the word had been turned on its head as it were, and come to signify the elegant world of stylish, if passing, pleasures. A Japanese writer, author of a 1661 novel – we read – interpreted the word thus: "Living only for the moment – savouring the moon, the snow, the cherry blossoms and the maple leaves – singing songs, drinking sake, women and poetry – letting oneself adrift, buoyant and carefree, like a gourd carried along with the river current`85." The title of the work? Ukiyo-monogatari, "Tales of the Floating World". Ukiyo described a special, hedonistic way of life with its own literature and art that had been developed by a new class: merchants and artisans and samurai of minor rank who were all un-anchored. For them, life moved between shadows, dreams and substance. It is in this atmosphere that the celebrated art that goes by the name of ukiyo-e, "Images of the Floating World", grew: highly refined and stylised, grave and witty at the same time, quintessentially Japanese. The city of Edo, now called Tokyo, was where it all began: paintings, drawings, woodblock prints, and inexpensive illustrated books, the result of sustained collaboration between some wonderful artists, publishers and townspeople, giving a unique new voice to a class that was looking for attaining cultural status outside the sanctioned realms of the ‘establishment’. Clearly – for vested interests were threatened – it was decreed initially as being "low" art, made by and for the non-elite classes. But there was no stopping it, for in its own way it explored a different aesthetic, expanded the range of themes in art. The original subject of ukiyo-e was city life, in particular activities and scenes from the entertainment district. Beautiful courtesans, bulky sumo wrestlers, and popular actors, provided, initially, the subject proper of this kind of work, but it was not long before landscapes appeared in it, and, inevitably perhaps, erotica. The genre kept steadily expanding, reflecting as it did contemporary tastes, concerns and innovations. But sophistication – of the kind that comes naturally to the Japanese – never left it. The art might have been — somewhat like our calendar art — of and for the people, readily accessible, plentiful, and affordable, but (this is where it parts company with our calendar art) it attained levels of artistry and elegance that have made it survive the corrosions of time. This, because in the hand of the Ukiyo-e artist, the ordinary was transformed into the extraordinary. Names with great resonance in the field of art – Hiroshige, Hokusai, Kuniyoshi, Utamaro, Sharaku, among them – belong to the world of ukiyo-e, and, mass-produced as their woodblock prints were, these men all proudly owned their allegiance to the medium and the genre. Contrary to what one might think at first – because the work was so ‘accessible’ – images in ukiyo-e demand an extremely high level of visual, textual and cultural literacy. Woven ever so often into those impeccably drawn and subtly coloured designs, with their unfaltering line, those sweeping curves and shy glances, were nuanced literary allusions, and concealed social or historical references. In these, poems appear on half-unrolled scrolls, signatures contain messages, famous theatrical performances are recalled. One might suddenly come upon an elegantly held pipe pointing towards a nearly invisible lyrical scribble ("More beautiful than golden threads/ in the light of the frost/ above the Tamagawa river/ rise as if embroidered/ the plover birds."), or see above a pine tree on a rainy night, a brief poem inscribed inside a cartouche ("In the evening rain/ all sounds cease!/ Even if further praised,/ the murmuring of the evening wind/ in the pine tree of Karazaki."). The demands upon the attention of the viewer never cease. And the meaning of ukiyo changes again. The gravity – despite the initial notion of ukiyo-e focussing only upon what is about to pass – and the intensity that some of these artists brought to their work takes one’s breath away. Consider the case of Hokusai (1760-1849), whose most famous work, ‘The Great Wave’, nearly everyone knows, who is estimated to have left some 30,000 drawings and woodcuts for the future generations. "The old one possessed by painting" – Gakyojin Rojin, in Japanese – is how he began to sign his works late in life. And he truly was possessed by work. Consistently, passionately, he kept at it throughout his life. When he was past 75 years of age, he embarked upon his great series, "One Hundred Poems"; another series, "One Hundred Stories", was begun but remained unfinished. What he did finish was a series on Japan’s greatly loved mountian, Fuji, of which he produced as many as 36 views. In these the mountain is much more than a mountain: it appears like Eternity upon which Time tries occasionally to leave a futile scratch. One needs to contemplate upon work like this. As someone rightly said: "Hokusai is a world." |
