2. Marco Te´ orico 21
2.4. Metodolog´ıas de Soluci´ on
(165–176)
Edo period (1615–16), circa 1765
H 35 ¼" × W 9" (incl. mounting 66 ½" × 12 ½") (90 cm × 23 cm, 169 cm × 32 cm)
Three seals of artist: Kokanki, Hakuin and Ekaku Hanging scroll, ink on paper
Bodhidharma in Meditation, Facing a Wall (Menpeki Daruma 面壁達磨)
Inscription:
「為心之師莫師於心」
Become the master of your heart, and do not let it master you.
Kokoro no shi to nari, kokoro no shi wa nashi
In this dramatic hanging scroll, the Zen Buddhist monk Hakuin has adopted an admonition from the
Six Parmitas Sutra, and placed it in the context
of a meditating Bodhidharma (J. Daruma) figure.1
The sutra text admonishes the reader (and, in extension, Hakuin his viewer) to disregard his or her own heart, or worldly matters, and to instead focus one’s energy on ruling the passions. By depicting the meditating Bodhidharma beneath this phrase, Hakuin may well be indicating that strict adherence to Zen Buddhist doctrines and rituals such as seated meditation is the correct way to become the master of one’s passions.
A meditating Bodhidharma, here facing an imagi- nary wall, is a singularly apt symbol of strict adher- ence to ritual. The central, defining event in the life of Bodhidharma, a semi-legendary monk, credited with bringing Zen Buddhism from India to China in the sixth century CE, was seen as his single-minded period of meditation, said to have been conducted in a cave, facing a blank stone wall, for nine years. Distractions were done away with, for example, after falling asleep during meditation, he tore away his eyelids.2 Moreover, as seated meditation (zazen)
was one of the key rituals in Zen Buddhism, Hakuin’s choice of the seated meditating Bodhidharma seems quite apt.
The painting is not, however, simply an illustration of a Buddhist dictum; there are artistic traditions and other layers of meaning behind the painting. One striking aspect of the painting is its brushwork and ink modulation. It is clear that the brush moved quickly to create the seated figure and inscription in a few dramatic strokes, paying little attention to finer modulation of line. However, by using coarsely ground ink and heavy-sized paper, Hakuin was able to create a dramatic mottling effect within the individual lines of the figure.3 The dramatic tonal
contrasts within the lines, the vigorous speed of the brush, and the immediacy of the brushwork signifi- cantly heightens the intensity of the painting. In addition, the curious mottling effect of the ink also increases the presence of the figure: the lines seem to imply age and a sense of permanence. Although brushed in only a few strokes, the figure acquires paradoxically a sense of monumentality that goes beyond its actual space on the paper. The technique is closely connected to the message: they reempha- size the immobility and greatness of the Zen Bud- dhist patriarch and create a sense of timelessness for Bodhidharma as well as for Buddhist rituals and doctrine. Hakuin uses the mottled ink technique in other paintings, including other forms of the seated Bodhidharma, but in few other example has he so successfully created a simple figure of monumental strength through so few lines.
The painting is clearly also intended to take a place in the »one-brushstroke Bodhidharma« (Ippitsu
Daruma) tradition, in which the robes of the Bod-
hidharma were drawn with one continuous stroke of the brush.5 The tradition ultimately derives from
early Chinese depictions of the patriarch, in which the robes were described with a bare minimum of strokes. Numerous examples of one-brushstroke paintings exist, including a Sengoku period (133–
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depth from the deeper implications of this switch in identities. By representing himself as iconic figures, Hakuin challenges our preconceptions through flashes of insight and humor.
Although this painting was probably performed as a sekiga (»seat painting«) or a performance piece completed in an instant with only a few brush- strokes at a communal occasion, the painting is by no means a trifle of little meaning. Many layers and traditions operate behind this seemingly simple painting, giving it a profound sense of depth and importance and, at the same time, playing humor- ous games with the viewer. Hakuin’s paintings were never entirely serious or entirely playful: forming a key element within his complex and timeless art.
The painting is housed in a fitted kiri wood box, certified and inscribed in 1960 by Tsûzan Sôkaku (191–197), the seventeenth abbot of Hakuin’s temple, the Shôinji Temple, in Hara.
Published: Morita Shiryû. Bokubi Tokushû: Hakuin
Bokuseki. Kyoto: Bokubisha, 190, nr. 279.
1392) example at the Erinji Temple in Kai that may have served as a prototype for Hakuin as well as examples by Shôkai Reiken (1315–1396), Isshi (160– 166), and other Zen monks of the Edo period.6
Hakuin, however, takes that pictorial tradition a step further by incorporating another word-and-image tradition, that of incorporating hidden characters and messages into an image.
The idea of hiding characters within images is an older Japanese tradition that has been incorporated into a number of media, including sutra frontispiece paintings and lacquer boxes. Hakuin, however, seems to have been the first to combine the two into a single image. The question then arises for the viewer: what specific character? Various authori- ties have attempted to describe Hakuin’s seated Bodhidharma figure as one character: Katô Shôshun suggests that it represents the character gu (愚, »foolishness«), and others the character nin (忍 en- durance). Both are possible in terms of the standard Japanese reductions of Chinese characters. Another possibility is the character in (the right part of the character 隠) that forms Hakuin’s own name. This is supported by a pair of Menpeki Daruma paintings in the Konchi’in Temple in Tokyo.7 The two paintings of
the pair were painted by Hakuin at the same time to commemorate the meeting between him and Gudô 愚堂, a fellow Rinzai sect monk. From reading the in- scriptions, it is clear that the two seated figures were the two friends, reduced to simple Chinese charac- ters of gu and in, representing Gudô and Hakuin.
This is then a clear case where the seated Daruma can represent the name of Hakuin and also a clear indication that Hakuin’s Menpeki Daruma may have multiple meanings. In other words, the seated Bodhidharma painting in this catalog may also be a playful representation of the monk Hakuin himself engaged in seated meditation. If so, this would also play in with the Hakuin we know from other paint- ings, where the painter sometimes takes the place of Daruma, Hotei, or other figures, thereby gain- ing complexity from the layering of identities and
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Hakuin Ekaku
(165–176)
Edo period (1615–16), Late 1750’s
H 12 ¾" × W 12 ½" (incl. mounting 60 ¾" × 1 ¾") (32.5 cm × 32 cm, 15.5 cm × 7.5 cm)
Three seals of artist: Rinzai seishû, Hakuin, and
Ekaku no in
Hanging scroll, ink on silk
God of Agriculture Viewing Waterfall (Takimi Shinnô zô 瀧見神農像)
Inscription:
撃草知薬 / 劉木為犁 / 人身牛首 / 斯道神農氏
Crushing herbs to understand medicines, uprooting trees to plow the land.
Human body and head of ox: this is the way of the Shennong
Kusa o uchi, yaku o shiru / Ki o koroshite, suki to nasu / Karada wa hito, kubi wa ushi / Shidô Shin- nôshi
The exotic figure with human form and ox head in this painting is Shennong (J. Shinnô), a legend- ary ruler of China first mentioned by Mencius and also known as the Emperor of Fire.1 He is said to
have taught humans a variety of abilities, includ- ing the use of fire, the ways of agriculture, and the knowledge of herbs and medicine. The complex mythological status of this god is retold in numerous sources, including his conception at the sight of a dragon and an upbringing in the wilderness. At one time, he is also said to have harnessed dragons in order to measure the circumference of the earth.
Shennong’s legendary status is also emphasized by visual media that usually depict the god with horns, wildly unkempt hair, and clothes made of natural leaves. He usually also holds blades of grass in his hand or mouth, symbols of his knowledge of herbs. A long tradition of depicting Shennong in paint- ings and sculpture exists throughout East Asia, with
Chinese versions usually showing him in a group image with other legendary rulers, while Japanese artists have tended to depict him alone, seated on a rock in wilderness. Notable Japanese depictions of Shennong include those made by Hakuin, Sesson Shûkei (150–159), Kano Tsunenobu (1636–1713), and Ike Taiga (1723–1776), but a whole range of painters, carvers, and printmakers participated in the tradition.2 Interest in the god increased during
the eighteenth century—at which time this image was made—partly through the renewed interest in Chinese culture, through the importation of Chinese visual materials, and through the antiquarian interest of Japanese sinophile cultural figures.
At the same time, this painting by Hakuin presents us with a number of innovations in this venerable tradition. One curious departure in this paint- ing, which the Hakuin scholar Takeuchi Naoji has described as possessing a strange expression for a works from his last years,3 is the ox head and
the rope leash worn around its neck. While the ox head was long an aspect of the literary tradition of Shennong that emphasized a human body and an ox head, the visual tradition has persisted in depicting his head in mostly human form, hinting at the ox connection through the pair of horns on his forehead. Hakuin’s depiction of a fully bovine face
makes that aspect explicit and marks a significant departure from tradition—seemingly unprecedented in the visual culture of Japan and China. Hakuin may in part have been influenced by Hakutaku images, where depictions of the ox-headed creature vary between a human face and an ox-like head.5
Another unusual feature of the painting is the placement of a seated Shennong by a waterfall. Hakuin has in fact taken the iconography of the waterfall-viewing Kannon Takemi Kannon and adapted that to the Shennong. While Hakuin has made a number of waterfall-viewing Kannon figures with similar compositions, upon looking through Hakuin’s extant oeuvre, it becomes apparent that
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this work represents the unique example of a water- fall composition centered about a person who is not the Kannon. It is hard to give a specific reason for this change in iconography, except to point to other examples where Hakuin has excluded, merged, and otherwise adapted iconographical features of his subjects. In such variations we clearly see the hand of an experimenting artist, unafraid of trying new ideas in his paintings.6 The composition may
also relate to the unusual small, square format of the painting, in which the god could hardly be seen standing up, which is how Hakuin usually presented Shennong in his paintings.7
The combination of unusual factors of this painting, including the above-mentioned features, its appear- ance on silk, the high state of finish and details, the unusual square format, and the unusual calligraphic style, point to a special occasion and purpose. Perhaps it was made for a special customer? Hakuin often did so, according to other documented cases. Here we may look at the topic of this painting. We know that it was a common yearly ritual for medi- cal doctors and pharmacists to display an image of Shennong at the winter solstice and to make offer- ings to the god. And we also know that Edo-period doctors were often wealthy collectors of art works. It would make perfect sense for Hakuin to have made this finely painted work on relatively costly silk for such a person in return for a generous contribution to Hakuin’s Shôinji Temple.
The painting is housed in a fitted kiri wood box, certified and inscribed in 1960 by Tsûzan Sôkaku (191–197), the seventeenth abbot of Hakuin’s temple, the Shôinji Temple, in Hara.
Published: Takeuchi Naoji. Hakuin. (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobô, 196), 0.
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Watanabe Gentai
(17 – 122) Edo period (1615–16) H 19 ½" × W 27 ¼" (incl. mounting 5 ¼" × 33 ½") (9. cm × 69.3 cm, 13 cm × 5 cm) Inscribed: Hen’ei Seals: Hen and EiHanging scroll, colors and ink on silk
The artist has depicted five finely-detailed horses in a marshy meadow by a lake. Each of the horses seems to be of a different color and type and each is shown in a different activity: whether drinking water, grazing, scratching its head, looking away, or simply lying down. The season is clearly spring and the soft, light greens of the willow branches and meadow, as well as the light blues and grays of the lake and far-away shores, form the stage for the bright and assertive colors of the five horses.
The artist of this painting, Watanabe Gentai (17– 122), was one of the many talented students of the Edo-based painter Tani Bunchô (1763–10). Gentai’s connection to Bunchô may be seen here in his interest in naturalistic detail and harmonic color patterns, as well as in his interest in contemporary Chinese paintings, particularly the type made popu- lar by the Qing dynasty painter Shen Nanping and his followers. Shen traveled to Japan and, during his
short time in the country, created great interest in his painting style which was new for the Japanese. After his departure, he left behind a growing group of followers, which is popularly referred to as the Nagasaki school of painting. The inspiration if not prototype of this particular painting was likely a work of this school: we see the characteristics through the strong color contrasts of the horses; the balanced composition of the work; the lush, marshy placement of the work; and the strong ink brushwork of the tree trunks.
This painting seems also to be a loose adaptation of the popular Chinese Eight Horses of Mu Wang theme, in which eight horses of different colors and types belonging to a legendary emperor are shown in a marshy meadow. Typically they are shown in ex- pressive freedom, interacting with each other in an equine paradise, without the interference of human beings. Three Chinese horses, however, get lost in the translation to this particular Japanese paint- ing, and as a result, the connection to the story of the Chinese emperor becomes loosened, but other elements, such as the setting and the idea of the freedom-loving horses are kept. Gentai may have chosen a smaller number of horses in order to better show the individual details of the horses.
After his apprenticeship with Bunchô, Gentai started an atelier of his own and succeeded in establishing a smaller school by training sons and relatives, who in turn trained their offspring. He seems to have been successful in gaining customers during a time of intense competition between artists, perhaps by balancing the public’s interest in China and other foreign countries with domestic needs, such as paintings of animals for the various zodiac years. This painting was very possibly created for such a purpose, for a discriminating merchant who needed a painting for the year of the horse.