Introduction
How do we leave our mark?
How is art a reflection of our personhood?
A mirror into our soul?
This exhibition traces the pathways that Japanese women artists forged for themselves in their pursuit of art.
Follow them into some of the realms within which they found their artistic voices—such as courts and castles, Buddhist convents, and literati circles (intellectual cliques).
The artists shuttled through these realms, rendering their borders porous—no small feat at a time marked by rigid societal stratification, stringent gender roles, and class expectations.
We refer here to their gender identity as women. But it is possible that if asked today, some of them may have identified differently.
We cannot speak for them, but we hope to amplify their voices and celebrate how they left their indelible mark on the world through art.
Joys of Calligraphy
“Taking up the brush
just for the joy of it,
writing on and on, leaving behind
long lines of dancing letters.”
—Ōtagaki Rengetsu
「なにごとを
なすとはなしに
たはむれに
かきながしたる
水莖のあと」
太田垣蓮月
Ōtagaki Rengetsu did not use a pottery wheel since it was considered unsuitable for women. Instead of emulating wheel-thrown pottery, she embraced the idiosyncrasies of hand-building.
Every aspect of this work reveals her personal mark. The pockmarked surface records her fingers’ movement. She inscribed it with her own poetry, written in Hiragana (also known as women’s script).
Making a Mark
Turning to the sister arts of painting, poetry, and calligraphy (together called the Three Perfections) for artistic expression was an act of self-assertion. One’s brushwork (whether in calligraphy or painting) reflected one’s true nature.
You will find the designation joshi in the signature of several artists in the exhibition. It is made of two kanji characters:
女 (pronounced “jo”)woman
史 (pronounced “shi”)author
Today this gendered honorific is outdated. Recently, it has even been used as a derogatory term. But artists who referred to themselves as joshi used it to identify themselves as women of culture—as women and as artists.
Notice the forceful calligraphy in Murase Myōdō’s Breaking Waves in the Pines. It splinters and breaks—like waves or rugged pine bark—into white streaks. Myōdō created this powerful work using her left, nondominant, hand. At thirty-nine, an accident rendered her right side paralyzed. Resolute to continue pursuing her passions, she taught herself to use her left hand.
From an early age Kō (Ōshima) Raikin studied Chinese painting, poetry, and calligraphy and later took an active role in literati circles, intellectuals who shared a passion for Chinese art. Autumn Landscape, with its abbreviated strokes, schematized rendering of foliage, and color washes, reveals her familiarity with Chinese painting manuals, especially The Mustard Seed Garden Manual of Painting, popular in Japan at the time.
ŌTAGAKI RENGETSU 太田垣蓮月 (1791–1875)
Ōtagaki Rengetsu was a fixture in the art world of her day. She was a revered colleague and mentor of both male and female artists. So admired for her poetry, calligraphy, painting, and ceramics, forgeries appeared already in her lifetime.
Despite her popularity, much of her life remains a mystery. Purportedly the illegitimate daughter of a samurai and a courtesan, her given name at birth was Nobu. She was then adopted by the Ōtagaki family. Starting at age seven, Rengetsu served as a lady-in-waiting at the castle of a daimyo (feudal lord), where she trained in various arts.
Following the loss of her husband and children to illness, she became a Buddhist nun. It was then that she chose the name Rengetsu (Lotus Moon).
This poetry slip (tanzaku) is a rare work, likely composed in Rengetsu’s forties judging from the signature on the back, shown here. Her poem celebrates the New Year. It alludes to the practice of gathering pine saplings during the New Year festivities, symbolizing longevity.
On this first Day of The Year of the Rat,
even the mist covering
this field of pine saplings
gives a hazy sense of
a long life to come.
RENGETSU’S LEGACY
The interior of both of these teabowls is inscribed with poems by the nun-artist Ōtagaki Rengetsu. While the signatures also read “Rengetsu,” they were not made by her. And yet, they are not forgeries. (Though, owing to her fame, she was often faked.)
They were made as a tribute by her collaborator and admirer Kuroda Kōryō. After her death, he even took the name “Rengetsu II” and continued her legacy. His seal appears on both bowls.
“The Three Obediences—I’ve had none all my life.”
— Ema Saikō
「 三従総欠一生涯」
江馬細香
In this folk painting, an aged woman clutching Buddhist rosary beads crouches on a mat.
Overhead hang the characters: The Three Obediences (Sanjū 三従), a Confucian code of propriety stating that a virtuous woman is beholden to her father, husband, and, finally, son. This social tenet originated in China and grew popular throughout East Asia, including Japan. It captures the challenges imposed by strict gender roles and expectations.
Like others in the exhibition, Miwa Teishin shuttled through various social realms in her life. Born the daughter of an artist, she became a famed geigi dancer. Then, leaving the profession to marry, she opened a school. Following her husband’s death, Teishin took the tonsure, becoming a nun.
This animated calligraphy is of a waka poem she composed:
Forever
you have been
smiling as if
the happiness bestowed upon you is known in heaven.
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