Shojo Shonin was a Buddhist priest during the Tenmon period (1532 - 1554), a member of the Ikko sect, which had established several large communes outside government control, and also a fortress and temple complex at Ishiyama.
This print refers to the battles at Ishiyama in the 1570s between the devout followers of the Ikko sect, and Oda Nobunaga, the first of the three great unifiers of Japan, who sent some 60,000 men to crush the Ikko movement. Due to the popularity and strength of the movement, it took ten years to fully defeat the Ikko followers at Ishiyama.
Thereafter, little was mentioned of this outlawed sect in the Tokugawa period, but in the Meiji period there seems to have been a revival of interest in them. The Ikko sect, which had driven out the daimyo and all representatives of the feudal government in several provinces, in order to establish a new kind of society, was seen as a movement of democratization and basic rights for all, one that aligned somewhat with Meiji ideals of the direction the nation should take.
The text on this panel, which shows a bijin washing items in a bucket, details the mundane worries of this particular lady; washing her hair, her choice to come of which makeup to use, the wait for the hairdresser, and wondering whether she will still have time for lunch.
The aniline chemical dyes used in this print had recently been introduced to Japan, and it took a while for the Japanese artists to learn to control them; some early prints produced with them were positively garish, but here Yoshitoshi has started to get them under control; later, of course, he produced some sublime prints with them.
In this scene showing a well-known historical event from 1564, early on in Nobunaga's campaign, he had been stymied by a seemingly impregnable castle on Inaba Mountain in central Japan. Hideyoshi, then only 27, learned of a near-impossible but unguarded route in. Choosing six of his best men, they set off, carrying water-gourds on their backs to be raised on bamboo poles as a sign they had succeeded. The last section was a vertical cliff, which had to be climbed in moonlight so bright that "every bamboo leaf was clearly visible". The attack succeeded, the first in a series of occasions on which the castle changed hands, the last time being in 1600, after which it was destroyed.
In addition to the gourd, he also has strapped to his back a katana, or long-sword; the length has been exaggerated, perhaps to provide a link between the two light areas, of the moon and the title cartouche.
In this print, we see her in a scene from the last of a cycle of seven famous Noh plays about her. In that play, as an old poor woman sits on a fallen grave-marker, two passing priests upbraid her for her disrespect in using it as a place to sit. She astonishes them with an erudite response, and they ask who she is. She is too ashamed to answer, and instead drifts off in a reverie, remembering being sought after as a young woman, and the miserable way she treated her suitors.
She had been the idol of the court for her intellect and looks, but this had made her arrogant, and she mistreated the men who flocked to her. Allegedly, one of them, an officer of the emperor's guards, froze to death after she made him spend one hundred nights waiting outside her door. Her hard circumstances at the end of her life are often seen as her punishment for her actions and attitude when younger.
This print shows just how far Yoshitoshi had taken Japanese woodblock print art. The old woman's face is a complete contrast to those of earlier woodblock artists; instead of being an idealized face such as those of Utamaro, or even one with some stylized personal characteristics, such as those of Sharaku, this one clearly shows a particular individual, in some detail.
The print is also a technical tour-de-force as well. Not only is the old lady's robe (based on the costume she would be wearing in the Noh play) completely covered with gauffrage, but the block carvers have done an amazing job of reproducing the effect of the brush-strokes of the stiff ink-brush used in depicting the wooden grave-marker she sits on - an effect seen in many of the prints of this last, greatest series of Japanese woodblock prints.
In Chinese legend, eight giant cassia trees on the moon are responsible for the colour of the harvest moon in the fall, when their leaves turn colour. Wu Gang offended the gods by using his magic for evil, and his punishment was to forever chop off the branches, which immediately grow back.
The carving and printing of the clouds on which he stands are another technical tour-de-force: the look of exuberant use of watery ink is reproduced perfectly. Note also the use of areas of grey and light blue to indicate areas of folding in his tunic and pants; this technique was borrowed from early Dutch copperplate prints.
Large areas of the sky are also embossed with the technique known as nunomezuki, in which a piece of muslin or silk fabric wrapped around an un-inked block is used to leave the pattern of the fabric embossed into the paper.
It is closely modeled after an early triptych of this scene, also by Yoshitoshi, done in 1883, and considered one of his greatest prints. In that version, the flute-player and bandit are seen from the front, and the greater width available means that the moon, the flute-player and the bandit can be spread out horizontally, but other than that it is very similar. That triptych is itself based on an earlier painting, also by Yoshitoshi, done in 1882 for an exhibition, which is further based on another triptych done by Yoshitoshi in 1868 (although that one looks little like the latter two print versions).
He returned to inform Mitsuhide, and offered to commit seppuku (ritual suicide), the preferred honorable end for a samurai. Mitsuhide refused permission, needing good retainers, but Gidayū disobeyed, set his affairs in order, wrote a death poem, and killed himself.
A poem given on this print is possibly his actual one; it reads:
As I am about to enter the ranks of those who disobeywhich provides the link to the moon, which is not otherwise shown in this print.
ever more brightly shines
the moon of the summer night
These final poems, called zeppitsu ("final brushstrokes") were usually the dying person's own words, not a quotation, and usually tried to sum up his thoughts at the moment of death. Written as they were with all of someone's remaining energy, the ones we still have sometimes show astonishing calligraphy and insights.
Note the tension everywhere in the print; the wakizashi (short sword) in his hand, and how the hair on his arms is standing on end; even the tiger painted on the screen behind him seems to glare.
In another of the departures from the artistic norm in woodblock prints which mark Yoshitoshi's work, it displays two ordinary people, farmers, with one of them shown from the rear. It is not entirely without precedent, as the seventeenth-century artist Kusumi Morikage had also treated the life of the farming class sympathetically, and he did a very similar scene which was much-copied.
Note the shaved head of the baby held by the woman (to her left); this is perhaps why she has her top off her shoulder, to feed the baby.
The poem:
Pleasure is thisis new, but is very similar to a number of tanka by the poet Tachibana no Akemi that also start with the phrase "pleasure is this...".
to lie in the cool under the moonflower bower
the man in his undershirt, the woman in her slip
The seemingly tie-dyed patterns on her top (a pattern known as kanoko, literally "fawn dot", because it imitates the coat markings of a fawn) may well not in fact be tie-died, since kanoko had been outlawed in the sumptuary reforms of 1682/83. In the ever-inventive manner of the chonin dealing with the sumptuary rules of the Shogunate, they were quickly nreplaced by stencil patterns that closely replicated the effect. By the time of Yoshitoshi, however, this regulation may have fallen into disuse.
The fire is smouldering on purpose; her light robes indicate that it is summer, and the smoke is to keep away mosquitoes. It was probably dried chrysanthemum plants that were being burned; even today, an extract from these plants is used to make mosquito coils.
Note the use of a lighter red ink to print the Gengi symbols on the fan where the smoke coils in front of them, as a way of indicating the translucence of the smoke. Note also the way the diamond patterns in the robe have been modulated, to suggest rounded shapes; such care was not usually taken in printing fabric patterns.
Incidentally, Yoshitoshi allowed his student Toshiaki to chose the colours for this print, and was not satisfied with his first two attempts; an example of the need for an artist to work closely with his printer to get the best out of any given design.
He consulted a Shinto priest as to what he should do with it, who told him to put it in a box, and allow nobody to see it. The next day, Watanabe's old aunt showed up from her distant home, and noticing the box, asked what was in it; upon hearing, she asked to be allowed to see this curiousity. After some indecision, he allowed his revered relative to go against the priest's advice, but when the arm was revealed, she grabbed it and flew off - she was actually Ibaraki in disguise. (Note the clawed foot in this image.)
The story was turned into a Noh play, and then in 1883 into a Kabuki play. The play ends with a struggle between Watanabe and Ibaraki, after which Ibaraki escapes by bounding down the hanamichi, the raised pathway which runs through the audience to the rear of the theatre. Traditionally, this distance is covered in a series of giant flying leaps.
This print illustrates a tale of this effect; Abe no Yasuna, a tenth century nobleman, took pity on a fox that was being hunted, and saved it. Soon after, he met and married a beautiful young woman named Kuzunoha; she bore him a son, but after three very happy years, she died of fever (or left, the story varies). She later appeared to him in a dream, telling him not to mourn, as she was the fox he had saved.
Here, we see her shadow cast on the paper screen, showing her true shape (as in some Western tales of the supernatural).
This was a privilege granted only to the warrior-monks of Mount Hiei, who were a major military power, and the Emperor was afraid to grant Raigo's request. Raigo was infuriated, and shut himself into his cell, and refused to eat, ignoring the Emperor's conciliatory messages, and eventually starving to death. The young Prince died soon after.
After Raigo's death, it was said that his vengeful spirit was transformed into a plague of rats, which overran the temple, destroying the Emperor's sacred books and scrolls.
In this print, we see a a transformed Raigo, still in his priestly robe, knawing on a folded book; his human ears and nose suggest his past. The wooden pillar at the rear appears to have been printed with the rare mokumezuri process.
At the end of the meal, it showed him two baskets, one large, and one small, and told him to pick one. With typical humility, he picked the small one, and went home, to find that it was full of gold and jewels. His neighbour heard the story, became envious, and rushed off to mind the sparrow. When she in turn was given the same choice, she picked the large basket, hauling it home with difficulty. When she opened it, however, she found that it contained a host of demons and goblins, who emerged and devoured her. (Definitely a magical sparrow.)
Note the eyes on the hamper, which is also possessed.
Although they are one of Japan's most-loved birds, Japan's official national bird is the pheasant. Red-crowned cranes can be found in Japan, Russia, China, and Korea; however, the Japanese population is now very limited, and consists of a small number of flocks confined to the Northern large island of Hokkaido. The Japanese population almost died out by the end of World War II, before a single crane-lover started an initiative among local villagers to feed them; the flock, now protected, is at last considerably larger and less-endangered.
Although multilevel mechanical looms had been created by the mid-1700s, ordinary people still used hand looms, the most primitive of which consisted of a basic frame, where the weaver sat on the ground. In this print, the weaver uses a foot treadle and a hand held shuttle. (A shuttle is a device used that is moved back and forth between the threads of the warp - the lengthwise threads - in order to weave in the weft, the threads running from side to side.) Shuttles are often made of flowering dogwood wood because it is so hard, resists splintering, and finishes to a very smooth surface.
Fabric woven on Japanese looms is often finer and more intricate than fabric woven on other looms, and therefore is more expensive. The production of kimonos, with their elaborate woven designs, are especially complex. Today, there are reportedly less than a half dozen kimono craftsmen skilled in the art of handweaving left in Japan, all between the ages of 70 and 105. None has an apprentice.
In this scene, Gekko combines the graphic symbolism of an orange sun with detailed, realistic figure drawing. Many of his scenes suggest similarities to contemporary illustrators such N. C. Wyeth ('King Arthur', and 'Treasure Island'), through the use of fine lines, foreshortening, and a combination of freeze-frame action scenes and staged poses. Gekko and Yoshitoshi could be considered forerunners of now-standard illustration, a task made more difficult by the technical constraints of woodblock printing, as compared to modern lithography.
The spider is busy with her web,which forms the theme for this image. She is sometimes known as the "Weaving Princess" as a result. Also, the spider has generally come to represent a neglectful lover in Japanese literary convention.
as though she too were getting ready
for a caller this evening.
In this portrayal, Gekko shows him with a windblown straw coat (traditional Japanese rural impromptu gear for inclement weather) under a leaden gray sky, indicative of the poor weather; that, and the mansion in the distance, indicate that this is likely shortly before the Ronin attack Kira.
Gekko has created an arresting image of a hardy samurai in the snow, devoid of socks for his geta (wooden clogs raised on high treads, for use outdoors in poor conditions) and warm clothing. Note the subtle details such as the snow creeping over the tops of the sandals, the flecks of snow on the clothing and between the layers of the straw cape, and the animals playing at his feet.
On the surface, it is simply a ritual in which powdered green tea is prepared by a skilled practitioner, and then served to a select group of guests in a tranquil setting. However, it also includes subtle philosophical and inter-personal aspects, including the acknowledgement of harmony, reverence, purity and tranquility. As an expression of the principle that every human encounter is a singular occasion, never to be repeated in exactly the same way, every aspect of any particular tea ceremony is savoured in depth.
Originally a ritual of Zen Buddhist temples in ancient China, the tea ceremony was imported to Japan in the Thirteenth Century, and over the next centuries it became completely Japanized, becoming much more complex and subtle in the process.
There are various styles of tea ceremony; in the most highly ritualized, the host spends days preparing every detail, to make sure that the ceremony will be perfect. It takes place in a special room called a chashitsu, designed and used only for this ceremony; it is usually within a teahouse, located away from other buildings in a garden, and again designed and used only for this purpose,.
In this print, one of a series showing the complete ceremony, we see an early stage: arriving guests go to the stone basin in the garden, fill the ladle with water, wash their hands and rinse out their mouth, and then enter the tea room. Note the one guest putting their sandals outside after they have entered.
