A Great Wave of Japanese art in London
Hokusai to Kusama via Kew - why we can’t get enough of Japanese art right now.
Katsushika Hokusai, Under the Wave off Kanagawa (The Great Wave), from the series Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, c. 1831. Colour woodblock, British Museum, London. © The Trustees of the British Museum
The Great Wave – you know it. It comes up a lot – on leggings and rucksacks, made from Lego blocks and ocean plastic, reimagined as memes on social media with inevitable cats and sometimes rubber ducks. It is one of the most recognisable images in the world. It depicts the final struggle of three small boats just before they are crushed by the great wave. Created around 1830 by the Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai, it was an instant success. And it has not ceased to draw attention ever since. Popular for its visual features, and for its message, ever more relevant, of humanity’s constant struggle with nature.
One of the original prints is currently on display at the British Museum’s Hokusai: The Great Picture Book of Everything. It is an exhibition that is also a research project and a showcase of the discoveries and re-discoveries still made while you walk around the show. Since The Great Wave is one of the most famous images in the world – officially known as Under the Wave off Kanagawa – and Hokusai created it – you would expect it at any exhibition of his art. And the British Museum does not disappoint, mostly because they know that the visitors expect it, but also since they have three copies, so why not. (For a grown-up version of spot-the-difference, see their blog.)
However, The Great Wave has little to do with the main subject of the show, which is the acquisition by the Museum of a recently re-discovered group of 103 preparatory drawings for an illustrated book by the artist. Unlike The Great Wave they are not done in colour and unlike it, they are not prints, but original ink drawings. While this is not the only collection of such works, there are significant ones in Paris and Boston, it is still extremely rare. Hokusai illustrated over 260 books, so why is this one so special that it has its own show? In fact, it’s special for what may seem like a wrong reason - it has never been published, until now. (All 103 drawings are now printed in the catalogue and are accessible and downloadable via the website.)
Hokusai, Two cats by hibiscus. Preparatory drawing (hanshita-e) for an illustrated book, mounted on card. Ink on paper. © The Trustees of the British Museum
Why it wasn’t published is a mystery. As are a lot of other questions about the collection. Whether or not this is a complete collection is not even known. How it was organised, or who made it. The catalogue article is partially an explanation why the group is accepted as work by Hokusai. However even if he was the master, he would have assistants and one of the most likely to have helped him in that period was his daughter Ōi. Now, wouldn’t that be thrilling to find that a woman was behind yet another genius. Alas, so few examples of her work are known, that there is no concrete way to prove how much of a contribution she may have made.
The fact that the book went unpublished has in fact secured the survival of the drawings. They would have been destroyed in the printing process otherwise. So, while a significant loss for the artist at the time, the project ended up being a significant gain for his legacy. In this collection most drawings are dedicated to origins of religion and society of India and China. His sources for these are largely unknown. Hokusai had little if any interaction with the outside world, not only did he never leave the country, but foreigners were not allowed in. Almost 200 years later, his works have grasped the attention of a group of specialists from all over the world, all united in the search for answers.
Hokusai, Buddhist guardian kings Mahesvara, Asura and Gandharva. Preparatory drawing (hanshita-e) for an illustrated book, mounted on card. Ink on paper. © The Trustees of the British Museum
What is it that makes Hokusai and this set of his drawings so special? With Hokusai it seems everything was a little bit the same, but also a lot different – from other artists and from his own prior work. Illustrated books were popular both before and during Hokusai’s lifetime. Both the exhibition and the catalogue offer some comparative examples. But Hokusai’s work strikes with its inventiveness.
Walking into the exhibition room in quite a remote corner of the British Museum a visitor may feel deceived – small-scale black-and-white works hidden in cabinets and behind glass in a dark ambient lighting. Yes, a treat for an enthusiast, but for an average person used to high-colour, high-volume entertainment this may not seem like a good way to spend an hour. However, the devil is as always in the details. Once you peek at one you are hooked, even my pre-teen daughter took out her phone to take a couple of snaps. Hokusai’s deities bend and crouch and stretch and jump, just as much as his animals – for both this was an unusual treatment at the time. There is humour and attention to detail, dedication to each subject as if it is the main one. We may not know where Hokusai got his inspiration from, but we can certainly say where modern day manga and anime take theirs.
Hokusai, A bolt of lightning strikes Virūḍhaka dead. Preparatory drawing (hanshita-e) for an illustrated book, mounted on card. Ink on paper. © The Trustees of the British Museum
The original drawings may not be insta-friendly, but the Museum thought of that – they are on social media too. In addition to The Great Wave photo ops, there are large posters of blown-up details here and there – and it is another credit to Hokusai that these drawings work on both scales.
How can 200-year-old images be so compelling? Outside of the dogmatic ‘this is art’ or ‘this is history’ I can think of a couple of reasons. Firstly, his insatiable interest in everything, as the title suggests. Even though the subjects may have been arranged in some way, none is treated in any way differently. There is humour and wonder at both the natural world and human activities. There is also a sense of pleasure taken in every brushstroke. And then there is the artist’s age – he was around 70 when he created these, older when he made The Great Wave. It does give hope – his story is one of perseverance, but also about enjoying what you are doing, continuing to experiment, allowing yourself to be mesmerised with the outside world even when you think you’ve seen it all.
Hokusai, Two men holding torches that Emperor Wu made from the marrow of a red leopard, which did not extinguish even in torrential rain. Preparatory drawing (hanshita-e) for an illustrated book, mounted on card. Ink on paper. © The Trustees of the British Museum
I associate Japanese culture with several traits. One of them is having a word for everything, such as momijigari – for maple leaf hunting. No, I am kidding, that is not a real trait, but they are quite good with all-encompassing words. The main characteristic for me is the Japanese art of appreciation and respect of the world around them – of nature, of other people and of their daily surroundings. It is this characteristic that is well represented in Hokusai’s art and in such traditions as momijigari, which can be interpreted as embracing of autumn. This is what Kew Garden’s dedicated Japanese month was centred around.
It turns out Kew has enough Japanese-related material for year-round admiration – from cherry blossom in spring to glorious ginko and maple leaves in the autumn. There are also permanent structures – Minka House – a Japanese family house transported over and reconstructed at Kew, and the Japanese Gateway – a scaled down version of a temple in Kyoto – surrounded by four Japanese gardens.
Chiharu Shiota, One Thousand Springs, 5000 haiku poems on paper suspended within the threads, Kew Gardens. Photograph by the author, October 2021.
In addition to the natural wonders, the momijigari trail at Kew included specially commissioned works by two artists. Chiharu Shiota used her characteristic red thread to suspend 5000 haiku poems by people around the world in a work entitled One Thousand Springs. I am not sure why not ‘Five Thousand Springs’ or why all the poems seemed to be in Japanese rather than different languages (they were submitted by members of the public), but it did make a dramatic statement in the centre of the Temperate House close to the running water of the permanent plant displays. The natural air movement produced a mesmerising effect of gentle motion, not unlike colourful autumn leaves caught in the breeze outside. In the same space sound artist Yosi Horikawa put together Changes – a compilation of sounds of Japan’s natural and human-made environments.
Haiku is another representation of the Japanese admiration of the natural world as, traditionally, each one is dedicated to one of the four seasons. However, nature exists outside of cultural boundaries and most cultures have a way to appreciate it. What Japanese culture succeeds in doing is to create art forms that celebrate human creativity in displaying this admiration for nature’s perpetual change.
Yayoi Kusama, Chandelier of Grief 2016/2018, Tate. Presented by a private collector, New York 2019. © YAYOI KUSAMA. Courtesy Ota Fine Arts and Victoria Miro
Quiet contemplation is a theme in Japanese art, including the almost sold out run of Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Rooms at Tate Modern. The reason it sells out in an instant is that the capacity is such that only one person (or a small group) is ever allowed in at the same time. This ensures the all-enveloping experience that is associated with Kusama’s infinity rooms. You aren’t given much time, but you are at least given the space. Unlike Hokusai’s black-and-white drawings these rooms are very photo-friendly, and you won’t need to search the web long to see a snap of one.
There are many similarities between the UK and Japan. Both are highly populated islands situated close to much larger political entities. Both love their gardens. Both were heavily bombed in WW2, albeit by very different weapons and by opposing sides. Both cling on to their royal families. They also share mutual admiration.
It is this admiration that leads to queues both outside Kusama’s show and outside your local Itsu. Japan’s culture, art, food, even its trees and leaves are seen as special and are an easy sell in this country.
But what do unpublished illustrations, suspended poems and mirror rooms have in common except being Japanese? Maybe they can all provide a very fleeting sense of being at peace with both self and nature. This could be achieved through contemplation of Hokusai’s precise brushstrokes, Shiota’s floating poems or a multiplicity of our own reflections mixed with the magical worlds of Kusama. Or by embracing momijigari.