With a focus on Sôtatsu, Kôetsu, and Myôju

When I was in DC over the Thanksgiving weekend, it goes without saying that I visited the ongoing Sôtatsu: Making Waves exhibition at the Freer and Sackler Galleries. Outstanding works of art from a time in Japanese history which I like very much, especially as my favorite tsuba maker and one of my most favorite Japanese artists were active then, Umetada Myôju (埋忠明寿) and Hon’ami Kôetsu (本阿弥光悦). Back home, I was once again going through some of my earlier drafts to remember how they all, i.e. Sôtatsu, Kôetsu, and Myôju were connected and whilst I was bringing together and restructured half-finished articles, I thought I better post the result on my site rather than leaving it, again, hidden somewhere on my HD. In this sense, I would like to proceed by introducing each of the artists for himself and working out their relation at the end of each corresponding section. But first of all, I would like to introduce an artwork from the exhibition which impressed me the most, and which is not even by Sôtatsu himself (it is from his studio).

It has the brief title Trees and is a pair of six-panel folding screens that depicts a variety of evergreen trees lined up across a gold-foil ground, to quote from the catalog. One of the screens is filled with trees whilst of the other more than half is left empty, leaving just the golden ground as decorative element. The trees are interpreted in a very realistic manner and even if the emphasis is on presenting the widest variety of evergreens, they go so perfectly together as if you are standing in front of a forest that naturally grew that way. You just have to see it in person, that means from the distance it was meant to be appreciated, namely in a dimly lit room with the gold acting as intensifier for each and every light source and being so to speak a true successor of the grandeur of the Momoyama era (the screens are dated to the Kan’ei era [1624-1644] by the way). That means, the decorative effect is kept but the realistic interpretation already goes in a different direction, away from the bold interpretations of the Momoyama era. For a better understanding of the art, and of paintings of the Momoyama era in particular, you must not only focus on what was going on at that time but you also have to look back. In the Kamakura period, painting had been very much influenced (and commissioned) by the clergy, or had been narrative, but the China-orientation of the Ashikaga-bakufu during the Muromachi period created a boom in secular paintings depicting just landscapes, the four seasons, trees or flowers for example, all of that primarily drawn from trigger words of Chinese legends. In the course of this development, painters eventually started to go “fully secular” towards the end of the Muromachi period. For example, screens with not just legendary Chinese but with concrete Japanese sites appeared that were made for not more and not less than admiring domestic beauties of nature. Of course, the effect of many of these paintings was intensified with the help of Japanese sentiments, i.e. a solitary pine on a rock was not just a beautiful pine but alluded to loneliness. You get the picture. This impressionistic approach runs like a continuous thread through all of Japan’s high art anyway, first by formulated scenes from the classics, later merely by allusions.

Then the chaos of the Sengoku era was ended by Nobunaga and his successor Hideyoshi and a phase of prosperity and extraordinary amount of construction took place. That means, when Nobunaga finally ended all the mess that was going on due to the power vacuum left by a weakening to virtually non-existing Ashikaga-bakufu (and local hegemons getting stronger and stronger, trying to come into power) and Hideyoshi continuing his policies, people, especially in Kyôto, felt that this might be peace after all. I mean, Hideyoshi’s campaigns to unify the country were still going on until 1590 but that concerned first and foremost the more remote regions like Kyûshû and Kantô. At the same time, the mentioned local hegemons constructed enormous castles and residences to underline their status, capability and wealth, and this is especially true for Hideyoshi and his projects in and around Kyôto. In addition, Nobunaga and Hideyoshi have sponsored renovations and reconstructions of countless palace and religious facilities to get as an exchange court titles and lands. And all this lead to a unprecedented number of patrons who were more diverse than ever before. Now not only the bakufu employed artists like that of the Kanô and Tosa Schools were thriving but independent artists were able to get a foot in the door and that more or less just on the basis of their talent (and the ability to sell oneself of course).

Chinese Lions, Kanô Eitoku, Imperial Household Collection, Late 1580s

Landscape with the Sun and Moon, jûyô-bunkazai, unknown artist, mid-16th century, Kongôji (Ôsaka Prefecture)

It has to be mentioned that the course was basically dictated. That is, all the golden screens and paintings with their prima facie easy-to-grasp ornamentation were born to a certain extent out of the need to create artworks that are visually perceptible and appreciable from a certain distance for the ever growing rooms and halls. One of the greatest trendsetters was, of course, an established, prestigious painter from one of the main lines, Kanô Eitoku (狩野永徳, 1543-1590), who had the honor of working directly for Nobunaga and Hideyoshi. But even Eitoku, see picture above, referred to extant interpretations like for example to the early Muromachi period Landscape with the Sun and Moon screens from the Ôsaka Kongô-ji that already introduces some gold (see bottom picture above, and don’t compare the two screens directly, just their aesthetical concept). So as indicated, the ornamental path was kind of laid out, i.e. the Momoyama artists did not start to paint in that ornate way out of the blue, but it was the unique background of peaceful and thriving Momoyama-era Kyôto that created such a highly fascinating momentum in Japanese art history. And this does not only apply to paintings but also two sword fittings. One of the first (and probably the most famous) of the new and independent, that means non-bakufu employed painters, was Hasegawa Tôhaku (長谷川等伯, 1539-1610). Tôhaku was a professional painter from Noto province who moved to Kyôto to study under the Kanô School and when his contemporary Eitoku died in 1590, he found himself as official painter for Hideyoshi. His most representative “Momoyama Kanô-style” work is shown below. Well, many many books have been written on each of these artists and aspects and I tried to break down the background of the Momoyama era (visual) art world as much as possible for the introduction to this humble article.

Maple, kokuhô, Hasegawa Tôhaku, 1592/93, Chishaku’in (Kyôto)

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Tawaraya Sôtatsu

And with this we arrive at Tawaraya Sôtatsu. Surprisingly little is known on the person Sôtatsu for an artist of his influence (three of his works are designated as kokuhô for example). First of all, we don’t know when he was born and when he died but as his son and successor Sôsetsu (宗雪) was granted with the honorary Buddhist title of Hokkyô in Kan’ei 19 (1642), a title that had been granted before to his father, it is assumed that Sôtatsu had either died shortly before or retired and died shortly later as Sôsetsu moved for good to Kanazawa the following year. The first time Sôtatsu appears in written history is when he was repairing famous late Heian sutra scrolls for Fukushima Masanori (福島正則, 1561-1624) in Keichô seven (1602). Masanori was at that time the daimyô of the Hiroshima fief of Aki province and the scrolls, that were preserved in the local Itsukushima-jinja, so to speak under his jurisdiction. So Masanori paid for the repair work but did not go to Kyôto himself to pick a fan painter (more on that soon) to work on “his” treasured scrolls. It was the Kanô school painter Kaihô Yûshô (海北友松, 1533-1615) and favorite of Hideyoshi and Emperor Go-Yôzei (後陽成天皇, 1571-1617) who had travelled to the Itsukushima-jinja in 1598 to study the famous scrolls. So it was him who “convinced” Masanori to have them repaired and it is safe to assume that it was him too who suggested a capable artist to go with for this project. Anyway, we know that Sôtatsu ran the Tawaraya (俵屋) at that time, a painting shop that – unlike the large, bakufu and court serving Kanô studio – focused on ready-made objects. The Tawaraya, Sôtatsu’s family name was Nonomura (野々村) by the way, was first and foremost a fan shop but also sold smaller art objects like hanging scrolls and poetry sheets. Back then, quite an importance was attached to fans. They were a fashion accessory that not only demonstrated style but to a certain extent also social status and the very mood at that day. They were also perfect gifts as their decorations often bear subtle messages, transported through visual quotations from classical literature, narratives of war, and romance, to use again words from the catalog to the Sôtatsu exhibition. With the Tawaraya’s customer base in mind, i.e. the local machishû (町衆), the Kyôto upper class to put it simply, it is understandable that artistic objectives were set very high. I mean, these customers were well-versed in art and the classics and to not hold up to ridicule among their circles, they were only going for the best of the best. We don’t know much about the ventures of Sôtatsu in the first two decade of the 17th century but we do know from records that at the latest by Genna two (1616), Emperor Go-Mizunoo (後水尾天皇, 1596-1680) was aware of the work produced by the Tawaraya. Also we know that Sôtatsu had became a very close friend of courtier, poet, and painter Karasumaru Mitsuhiro (烏丸光広, 1579-1638) by then and it is assumed that it was Mitsuhiro who provided all the good connections. It is unclear when Sôtatsu had fully arrived in court circles but usually the Genna era (1614-1625) is quoted in this respect. In 1630, he received the aforementioned honorary title of Hokkyô, a great and unusual honor for an “outsider” artist like him and by then, he had virtually became a court painter, carrying out commissions for the highest of the highest clientele.

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Hon’ami Kôetsu

Kôetsu (see picture above) was born in Eiroku one (1558) into the prestigious Hon’ami family of sword appraisers and sword polishers to the bakufu. The Hon’ami lineage into which Kôetsu was born, the Kôji (光二) lineage, was primarily working for the wealthy Kaga Maeda family, receiving impressive 200 koku per year. Kôetsu however, the second generation of the relative young Kôji lineage, did not focus that much on swords but turned out to be an allround artist and besides calligraphy, he was a passionate potter, a lacquer artist, publicist, and follower of the tea ceremony, mastering each of these arts entirely. By the way, it is assumed that he had passed on all his professional sword obligations to his adopted son-in-law Kôsa (光瑳, 1574-1637) who succeeded as third generation Kôji-Hon’ami. When it comes to painting, there is the theory that Kôetsu has been a student of the aforementioned Kaihô Yûshô and that it was the latter who introduced him to Sôtatsu. Like it is the case with Sôtatsu, Kôetsu’s exact connections remain to a certain part unknown but what we do know is that he was independent by nature, and a versatile genius with an unfailing sense of taste. So whilst Kôetsu was strengthening his cultural and business relations in Kyôto in the decade after Sekigahara, Ieyas was about wiping out the remaining important members and abiders of the Toyotomi clan. And when he finally did so by capturing Ôsaka Castle in 1615, he offered Kôetsu an official position in the bakufu for 300 koku per year, 100 koku more than the Maeda were paying him. But Kôetsu declined with thanks as he avoided going to Edo by all means as the new and hardly developed capital was then totally uninteresting for an artist like him. As “compensation,” Ieyasu granted him a plot of land, Tagamanine (鷹峯), located on the northern outskirts of Kyôto and on the northeastern slopes of Mt. Daimonji (about 5 miles from present-day Kyôto Station). Well, there are now two approaches to explain this gift: One says that it was really a gift of Ieyasu, the lands of yielded later decent 176 koku per year and had tax exempt status. But the other one says it was more like an exile to keep Kôetsu out of Kyôto politics because Ieyasu did not fully trust him. One of Kôetsu’s close friends namely, tea master and warrior Furuta Oribe (古田織部, 1544-1615), had just been forced to commit seppuku because of his alleged loyalty to the Toyotomi so everyone with whatsoever ties to this family was treated by Ieyasu with suspicion. Anyway, Kôetsu turned Takagamine into an artist community with a relative strong religious touch, housing more than 200 residents and also agricultural fields. Incidentally, the records differ on the size of Takagamine and either list 30 or 25 ha for the entire plot. Invited to live there and provided with a house were for example Kôetsu’s paper and brush makers, makie artists, members of his own family and of the Hon’ami main line, and the wealthy draper Ogata Sôhaku (尾形宗伯, 1570-1637) who had excellent relations to the Imperial family and who also was Kôetsu’s nephew. Sôhaku’s father Dôhaku (道伯) was married to Kôetsu’s older sister and his grandson Kôrin (光琳, 1658-1716) went down in history as name giver of the Rinpa School (琳派) of painting. Sôtatsu’s collaboration basically took place before the establishment of Takagamine but some of the last joint artworks date 1615 or shortly after. Recent studies strongly suggest that both artists must have worked simulatenously in a session or at least very closely together on these artworks, the famous scrolls with the gold and silver paintings (by Sôtatsu) and poems (by Kôetsu). (I have used one of them, the Crane Scroll, which is pre-1615 by the way, as cover for my book on the Hon’ami family.) Incidentally, we find on the map of the allocations of the houses in Takagamine the name of the weaver Hasuike Tsuneari (蓮池常有) of whom some assume that he was somehow related to Sôtatsu. Reason for this assumption is that Sôsetsu’s successor of the Tawaraya, Sôsetsu (相説), was from the Kitagawa family (喜多川) and the Kitagawa were a branch of the Hasuike.

Takagamine as seen in the Miyako Meisho Ezu (都名所絵図, 1780)

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Umetada Myôju

Myôju was born in the same year as Kôetsu, Eiroku one (1558), and his family too was working on a hereditary basis for the bakufu. The Umetada were not only swordsmiths but also made certain sword fittings and were also responsible for arranging koshirae. That means, the Umetada received the blade from the smith, or in the case of an old blade from the customer, and the tsuba and the other sword fittings from the tsuba and sword fittings maker respectively, for instance from other prestigious bakufu-employed lineage like the Gotô (as far as sword fittings like mitokoromono are concerned). In a next step, the Umetada first equipped the blade with a new habaki as the habaki has to be tailor-made to the blade and as a proper saya can not be made before the blade has a tailor-made habaki. The tsuba was adjusted to the blade either by punches around, or by inserting soft-metal pieces on top and bottom of the nakago-ana. The wood and lacquer work and the hilt wrapping and so on was commissioned to family members or sub-contracting craftsmen and the Umetada family had, depending on the specification of the customer, more or less artistic freedom in arranging the koshirae. And then there were two important task which connected the Umetada to the Hon’ami family. One was the shortening of blades, and the other one was to inlay (in gold or silver) the attribution of a sword the Hon’ami had forwarded them on its tang. We know from records that the Umetada family also dealt with swords, or bought up “hidden treasures” to submit them to the Hon’ami for authentication and attribution – the kinzôgan-mei carried out in the own workshop of course – to sell them later for five times the purchase price for example. So the two families were pretty closely linked. But back to Myôju. We don’t know for sure when and how he came in touch with Kôetsu but we can try to guess what was going on. Myôju started his career as a swordsmith and the earliest extant dated swords are from Keichô two (1597), from a time when he signed with “Muneyoshi” (宗吉). He was already 40 years old at that time. Also we learn from a signed sword by one of his master students, Hizen Tadayoshi (肥前忠吉), that when Tadayoshi came to Kyôto to learn from the Umetada in Keichô one (1596), still Myôju’s father Myôkin (明欽) was the head of the family. The name change to “Myôju” took place two years later, in Keichô three (1598), and it is assumed that this was the time when he took over the forge. But then something odd happens, that is, a gap of almost ten years from which no swords are known. The next known dated blade after the Keichô three one is from Keichô twelve (1607). I mean, there was Sekigahara going on just two years after his succession as Umetada head and there was thus surely a need for newly made swords. Well, it is possible that he was forced to produce in masses for a certain time and to deliver the majority of these blades unsigned as it was customary for fulfillments of bakufu orders. But after everything had calmed down, we are still facing a gap of at least five or six years and this phase of “unproductiveness” seems rather odd for a master swordsmith like him. Now we know that he handed over the management of the Umetada forge and workshop to his younger brother Jusai (寿斎) some time during the Keichô era (1596-1615) and everything points towards that he did so to have more time to cultivate his contacts with the then Kyôto art world. At this point it has to be mentioned that there are outstanding tsuba extant by Myôju that really take up the unique style of the Momoyama era (see picture below) and thus we may assume that he gave up the forge right after Sekigahara to focus for several years on developing a very special kind of tsuba. It has to be mentioned that Myôju was also a great engraver (horimono-shi) and that he trained several craftsmen in this art who turned out to become masters themselves. In other words, Myôju was well versed in working with steel and soft metal, in performing gold inlays, and he knew how to guide a chisel.

tsuba with oak motif, jûyô-bunkazai, mei “Umetada Myôju,” Momoyama era, brass with a slightly raised shakudô hira-zôgan ornamentation and ko-sukashi, owned by the Hôeidô Corporation

Now how does Myôju go in line with Takagamine? Well, Kôetsu and Myôju knew each other pretty well, that is from their related jobs and from the fact that they both lived in Kyôto and moved in the local machishû circles. And by the way, the Hon’ami residence was just across the Horikawa-dôri from the Nishijin district where the Umetada workshop was located, i.e. just a stone’s throw away. It is unclear if Myôju made all of his Momoyama-style tsuba in the “ten year break” from sword forging or if he made them at the side until the end of his career. The year after the break, i.e. 1608, must have been a busy one as far as sword forging is concerned as about one third of all known dated blade goes back to that year. Also we know that his training of horimono-shi concentrated on the later years of the Genna era (1615-1624). Apart from that, he never gave up sword forging because there exists a blade, a ken, that was made just two months before his death, which was in Kan’ei eight (1631) by the way (Kôetsu died six years later in Kan’ei 14, 1637).

A very interesting entry is found on an extant map of Takagamine that mentions all the house owners of the community. Therein we find a certain “Umetada Dô’an” (埋忠道安) who lived in the town house directly opposite from the residence of Kôetsu (see detail below). Now the name Dô’an does not appear in any of the Umetada genealogies but experts assume that it is either an otherwise unknown pseudonym of Myôju or that a very close family member of Myôju lived in that house. The former approach, i.e. Dô’an being a pseudonym of Myôju, is explained by the religious orientation of Takagamine. We know that Kôetsu was a faithful Nichiren (Hokke) follower and that he also acted as a spiritual leader of the artist community. At that time, “Dô” (道) was a popular character to form one’s Hokke name from and it is possible that Dô’an was the lay name of Myôju that he used in Takagamine after Kôetsu had “convinced” him to follow the religious orientation of the community when residing in Takagamine.

Detail of the Takagamine map: (1) Residence of Kôetsu, (2) townhouse of Dô’an, please note that the name is quoted as “Mumetada Dô’an” (むめたゝ道安).

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What an exciting time the Momoyama era was for the Japanese art world! I want to deal with Takagamine in more detail at some time in the future and apart from that, I want to dedicate Umetada Myôju one day a book within my series that focuses on certain artists, i.e. in the style of my publications on Kanô Natsuo and Masamune.

I will end the DTI/Thanksgiving eBook Super Sale by this Wednesday. So if you want to grab some copies as long as they are 50% off, you have two days left to do so. Please note that Lulu doesn’t offer any voucher codes for eBooks, i.e. makes no sense to wait for one, and the next one done by my humble self manually will be the Easter Sale next year. Thus either now or in five months 🙂

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/nihontobooks

Initially I had planned a Thanksgiving eBook Super Sale but then I thought it might be way better to schedule it earlier as some of you are going to attend the DAI TOKEN ICHI the very weekend before. For those who want  to look up stuff on their phones or tablets spot on at the fair, some of my eBooks might be very handy and thus the earlier sale. And yes, it is again one of my Super Sales with ALL eBooks 50% off! There will be no other eBook sale then later this year so if you were already thinking about getting the one or other digital copy of my books for Christmas, this is the right time! Offer will be on until Thanksgiving though.

So please check out my Lulu site here to grab the sales.

Thank you for your attention and have a great time at and around the DTI (jealous)! 🙂

A little over two years ago I wrote this article about Mondo no Shô Masakiyo (主水正正清) and Ippei Yasuyo (一平安代), their role in the famous sword forging contest held by the eighth Tokugawa-shôgun Yoshimune (徳川吉宗, 1684-1751), and the uniqueness of their honorary titles and added a little later a follow-up article on one of the other winners of this contest, Nobukuni Shigekane (信国重包). In the latter article, I was already talking about the support Shigekane received by orders from high-ranking persons but this time I want to examine this “support program” in view of Masakiyo and Yasuyo. Stumbling block was that I actually came across the relative unknown terms by which these “support blades” are referred to as, namely either as kinmei-uchi (鈞命打・欽命打) or as taimei-uchi (台命打). Both kinmei and taimei mean “order from the emperor, the Imperial family, from an aristocrat, or from the shôgun,” and uchi being in this case the prefix for “sword” or “make.” As seen in the follow-up article on Shigekane, the blade introduced there is signed with the supplement taimei, i.e. it was directly ordered by the shôgun, by Yoshimune to be precise.

Let me begin with Masakiyo. The blade shown in picture 1 has a nagasa of 76.6 cm, a sori of 1.2 cm, and is signed “[aoi-mon] Mondo no Shô Fujiwara Masahiro” (主水正藤原正清) and “Haruka ni kinmei o hôjite Sasshu ni oite kore o tsukuru, Kyôhô kinoe tatsudoshi” (遥奉鈞命扵薩刕作之・享保甲辰年, “made in the year of the dragon of the Kyôhô era [1724] on orders of the shôgun in distant Sastuma province”). Remember, the contest has taken place three years earlier in 1721. The extant original sayagaki tells us that the blade had been polished and presented to the shôgun on the third day of the tenth month of that year. It remained in Tokugawa possession until WWII. Please note that this katana is signed tachi-mei, that means the smith switched out of respect for the high-ranking customer to the ura side of the tang. That means, the name of the swordsmith should not come first but be found on the back side of a blade’s tang. Well, this was no strict rule but nevertheless a common practice throughout all times. So these blades must not be classified as tachi even if they are signed in tachi-mei and also the NBTHK clearly states “katana” on all papers concerning these kinmei-uchi. Also the wakizashi of Shigekane introduced in my above mentioned article is signed tachi-mei. However, there are also post-contest blades with aoi-mon extant which are signed in katana-mei and I thus think for the time being that only those made for the highest-ranking customers, i.e. the “true” kinmei-uchi or taimei-uchi, were signed tachi-mei.

Picture 1: kinmei-uchi by Masakiyo

So following these observations, i.e. katana being signed in tachi-mei and bearing an aoi crest (what identifies them as post-contest works), it is safe to assume that also the blade shown in picture 2 is a kinmei-uchi. This one has a nagasa of 77.1 cm, a deep sori of 3.2 cm, and is signed “[aoi-mon] Miyahar Mondo no Shô Fujiwara Ason Masahiro” (宮原主水正藤原朝臣正清) and “Kyôhô kyûnen nigatsu” (享保九年二月, “second month Kyôhô nine [1724]”), that means it was made in the very same year as the previous blade. Very interesting is that this blade was, together with the Ippei Yasuyo introduced next, presented by the then Satsuma lord, Shimazu Tsugutoyo (島津継豊, 1702-1760) to the court noble and kanpaku regent Konoe Iehisa (近衛家久, 1687-1737). Let me go a little into detail and explain how Tsugutoyo and Iehisa were related. Iehisa was married twice, his first wife Kamehime (亀姫) was a daughter of Tsugutoyo’s grandfather Tsunataka (島津綱貴, 1650-1704), and his second wife Mangimi (満君, not sure about this reading) was a daughter of Tsugutoyo’s father Yoshitaka (島津吉貴, 1675-1747). In other words, Mangimi was Tsugutoyo’s aunt and Konoe Iehisa his uncle. Iehisa’s two daughters Takagimi (好君) and Tsûshi (通子) in turn were married to Tokugawa Munechika (徳川宗睦, 1733-1800) and Tokugawa Munetake (徳川宗武, 1716-1771) who were the 9^th head of the Owari-Tokugawa and the founder of the Tayasu-Tokugawa lineage respectively. And Shimazu Tsugutoyo’s second wife Takehime (竹姫) was an adoptive daughter of shôgun Tsunayoshi. This was how the feudal alliances worked, i.e. everyone tried, by marrying their sons and daughters and by adopting, to get as closely tied to the house of Tokugawa as possible.

Picture 2: kinmei-uchi by Masakiyo

Now to Ippei Yasuyo. The blade shown in picture 3 is the one that was presented together with the Masakiyo from picture 2 to Konoe Iehisa. It has a nagasa of 75.35 cm, a sori of 2.6 cm, and is signed “[aoi-mon] Tamaki Shume no Kami Fujiwara Ason Ippei Yasuyo” (玉置主馬首藤原朝臣一平安代) and “Kyôhô kyûnen Sasshû Kiire-gun ni oite kore o saku” (享保九年於薩刕給黎郡作之, “made in Kyôhô nine [1724] in the Kiire district of Satsuma province”). Incidentally, there are written records extant which tell us that Iehisa really enjoyed Yasuyo’s blades and presented him with hakugin (白銀, ellipsoid silver coins worth 3 bu wrapped in paper and used as a gift) and calligraphies joint written and signed by court nobles. This all speaks volumes for the impact and success (although limited in time) Tokugawa Yoshimune had – unhappy with the general decline in the quality of blades at his time – with his project that peaked in the 1721 sword forging contest. Before that time higher ranking daimyô and persons from the vicinity of the shôgun were usually sticking to kotô blades of renowned masters when it comes to sword gifts and gifts-in-return. This all went back to a century old practice of circulating swordsmith rankings and the well-established origami valuation practice of the Hon’ami, i.e. kotô sword gifts were a pretty common and transparent thing. But now newly made swords, shinsakutô, by smiths far from the capital and without having fancy lineages were considered worthy enough to be chosen as sword gift for the highest ranking persons! And for Shimazu Tsugutoyo, who succeeded as fifth Satsuma daimyô in the very year the contest took place, it was a stroke of luck being the employer of two winners of this contest.

Picture 3: kinmei-uchi by Yasuyo

The next blade (picture 4) is quasi the twin of the Masakiyo shown in picture 1. It signed the very same way “Haruka ni kinmei o hôjite Sasshu ni oite kore o tsukuru, Kyôhô kinoe tatsudoshi” (遥奉鈞命扵薩刕作之・享保甲辰年, “made in the year of the dragon of the Kyôhô era [1724] on orders of the shôgun in distant Sastuma province”) and was presented to the shôgun on the very same day, i.e. on the third day of the tenth month of 1724. It has a nagasa of 76.0 cm, a sori of 1.5 cm, and is signed tachi-mei “[aoi-mon] Shume no Kami Ippei Fujiwara Yasuyo” (主馬首一平藤原安代).

Picture 4: kinmei-uchi by Yasuyo

And the blade shown in picture 5 has to be seen as sibling of the Nobukuni Shigekane utsushi as it was also made on-site in Edo, although the month before. It is thus signed the same way “Uyauyashiku taimei o hôjite Tôbu ni itari kore o tsukuru, Toki Kyôhô roku kanoto-ushidoshi nigatsu” (恭奉台命至于東武作之・旹享保六辛丑年二月, “made in the second month of Kyôhô six [1721], year of the ox, in Tôbu [= Edo] by respectfully following the shôgun´s order”).

Picture 5: taimei-uchi by Yasuyo

A katana-mei signed blade by Yasuyo with a nagasa of 76.5 cm and a sori of 1.6 cm that is not dated and just signed “[aoi-mon] Shume no Kami Ippei Yasuyo” (主馬首一平安代) is shown in picture 6. Please note that it also comes without any additional mei supplements like “Fujiwara” or “Ason.” The old sayagaki of the blade says that it was once presented by Shimazu Tsugutoyo on the twelfth day of the third month Kyôhô seven (1722) to shôgun Yoshimune. The original wording on the saya is “Matsudaira Ôsumi no Kami tatematsuru” (松平大隅守上, “presented [to the house of Tokugawa] by Matsudaira Ôsumi no Kami”). Ôsumi no Kami was the honorary title of Tsugutoyo and Yoshimune granted him the use of the Tokugawa-related clan name Matsudaira.

Picture 6: Shume no Kami Ippei Yasuyo

Well, the kinmei-uchi program continued for the rest of the lives of the two smiths. Masakiyo died on the sixth day of the sixth month Kyôhô 15 (1730) at the age of 61 and Yasuyo on the 28^th day of the eleventh month Kyôhô 13 (1728) at the relative young age of 49. The blade show in picture 7 is dated with the eight month Kyôhô 13, that means Masakiyo made it two years before he died. Again, it is signed in tachi-mei what suggests that we are facing a kinmei-uchi, although it is unknown to whom it was presented. FYI: Works of Masakiyo are rarer in general than those of Yasuyo and that applies the more to dated works but there is a blade extant that is dated second month Kyôhô 15, i.e. made just four months before his death. And Yasuyo’s kinmei-uchi of picture 8 is dated lucky day of the third month Kyôhô twelve, so it was made the year before his death. There are later dated blades of Yasuyo extant, for example from the second and eighth months of Kyôhô 13, so made just nine and three months before his death, but they are signed katana-mei and thus I think they do not classify as kinmei-uchi. So maybe the two blades shown below are the latest ones going round that were made in the course of the shogunal support program.

Picture 7: kinmei-uchi by Msakiyo

Picture 8: kinmei-uchi by Yasuyo

*

Yes, fall is already fully underway and before some of you experience the first hints of winter, I want to introduce a kozuka that I found quite wonderful a while ago and that I came across (in a book of course) the other day when looking for something different. It was rainy that day but temperatures and humidity were and are still quite high here in coastal North Carolina (see spooky accompanying pics), at least compared to the fall I was used to in Austria, and this, whilst in an autumnal mood anyway, inspired me to write a little bit around this kozuka. First of all, it is a work of the great master Gotô Ichijô (後藤一乗, 1791-1876) and is signed “Gotô Hokkyô Ichijô + kaô” (後藤法橋一乗). It is of shibuichi and not only the motif but also the color scheme is as much fall as it gets. The ground plate shows three maple leaves which are inlaid in suaka and gold hira-zôgan with the gourd carved out in takabori and decorated with gold and silver iroe. Please note that also the butt of the kozuka was accentuated with gold. The arrangement is excellent as just two maple leaves, which, being placed under the gourd, occupy felt the entire lower area of the kozuka, suggesting so a rural, forrest scene where the entire ground is covered with maple leaves. And the one atop, noticeably apart from the base, seems as if it is just falling down from a tree. But as the motif and color scheme of this kozuka works pretty much by itself as a “seasonal trigger object” for fall, there is more to it as the motif is actually also an allusion to a certain subject. When you have maple leaves combined with a gourd, you are certainly hinted at the Legend of Momiji (Momoji Densetsu, 紅葉伝説) which was later worked by Kanze Nobumitsu (観世信光, 1450-1516) into a Nô play with the title Momijigari (紅葉狩) (later it was also converted into a Kabuki play of the same name).

Picture 1: kozuka by Gotô Ichijô

First about the legend. It tells of a couple from Aizu that remains childless for so long and that is finally desperate enough to pray to Tenma (天魔), a quite evil demon. As we know, praying to such a powerful evil force that might be comparable to “our” Satan in this context of old legends, is never a good thing but first everything looks fine as the couple is blessed in the seventh year of Jôhei (承平, 937) with a beautiful daughter which they name Kureha (呉葉). Growing up, Kureha turns out to be not only beautiful but also highly intelligent and capable of witchcraft. When she was against her will promised to the son of a local wealthy farmer, she created a doppelganger of herself who married the boy. But after leaving happily for some time, the false Kureha suddenly vanished into thin air and so also the real Kureha and her parents decided to leave and ended up in Kyôto where he changed her name to Momiji (紅葉). Smart as she was, she quickly absorbed aristocratic culture and eventually ended up becoming Minamoto no Tsunemoto’s (源経基, ?-961) concubine. She got pregnant, much to the dislike of Tsunemoto’s main wife who also got ill at the same time. So a high priest from Mt. Hiei ws consulted who told them that the illness goes back to a curse of Momiji and so Tsunemoto banished here to remote Togakushi (戸隠) in Shinano province. In fall of Tenryaku ten (天暦, 956) however, Momiji ended up in the village of Kinasa (鬼無里), back then named Minase (水無瀬), where she gave birth to a son. She took one of his father’s characters and named him Tsunewakamaru (経若丸). Momiji was held in high esteem by the local community as she not only brought them near the culture of Kyôto but also cured their illnesses, taught their boys reading and writing and arithmetic, and their daughters sewing. However, trying to copy everyday Kyôto life in rural Shinano province – the townsmen even made a small imperial palace-style mansion for her – made her miss the capital even more and so she eventually snapped. With Mt. Togakushi as a base, Momiji started to gather a band of robbers around her which raided neighboring villages every night, stealing money for her plan to return to Kyôto. Things were pretty bad and the story of the “Demoness of Togakushi” eventually reached the capital from where Emperor Reizei (冷泉天皇, 950-1011) sent Taira no Koremochi (平維茂) to deal with this problem. But as Momiji was capable of witchcraft, Koremochi couldn’t defeat here so he visited the Kitamuki-Kannon (北向観音) temple in nearby Bessho-Onsen (別所温泉) and prayed to Kannon. Well, Kannon heard his prayers and gave Koremochi via an appearing old priest a, quote, gôma no tsurugi (降魔の剣), a “Concquering the Devil Sword.” (Incidentally, in some versions of this legend this sword is the famous Kogarasu-maru.) With this sword, Koremochi was able to kill her and lo and behold, it was in fall, fall of the second year of Anna (安和, 969). This was also the reason why the local community renamed their village from Minase to Kinasa which means literally “no demon/devil village.”

Picture 2: Taira no Koremochi defeating Momiji.

So far the legend, of which of course several different versions are going round, introducing slightly different locations and protagonists, for example that it was not Taira no Koremochi who killed the demoness but Minamoto no Mitsunaka (源満仲, 912-997), using his sword Onikiri (鬼切). Now Kanze Nobumitsu worked this legend into a Nô play, and his adaption is very exciting as it kind of starts quite innocently and reveals more and more what this is all about as the play goes on. Nobumitsu namely begins the drama with a noble woman and her retinues who went into the mountains to enjoy the maple leaves, a tradition that was and is also referred to as momojigari (lit. “maple leaves hunting,” or rather “going to view autumn foliage”). Then by chance, Taira no Koremochi, who is deer hunting with his men, comes across the women. First he tries to not get involved too much but they convince him to join their momijigari picnic in the course of which Koremochi gets drunk (thus the gourd on the kozuka) and falls asleep. Then comes the interlude that explains for the first time what this is all about. Whilst Koremochi sleeps and dreams, the deity Takeuchi (武内) appears (in Koremochi’s dream) and reveals – whilst rushing to the mountain, Mt. Togakushi – that the hero was not just for deer hunt in the area but was actually sent there by the Emperor to subjugate a local demoness, the noble woman. Takeuchi also says that the Great Bodhisattva Hachiman gave him the sacred order to help Koremochi, i.e. Nobumitsu deviates from the legend and replaces the Goddess of Mercy with the God of War, and just before Koremochi wakes up, Takeuchi places the divine sword he had been given by Hachiman for Koremochi in front of the latter. Of course Koremochi grasps the sword and eventually kills the demoness after a fierce eight.

But let me also introduce another, indirectly related kozuka in this context. It is a work by the late Edo-period Mito kinkô artist Uchikoshi Hirotoshi (打越弘寿). It depicts on the front three men sitting under a tree, having fun, and heating up sake by burning maple leaves they have picked up. And on the back side, a Chinese poem is engraved which goes:

林間煖酒焼紅葉 
石上題詩拂緑苔

Línjian nûanjîu shao-hóngxíe 
Shí-shàng tí shi fú lùtái.

In the forest, warming sake by burning maples leaves; 
Sweeping green moss from the stone to sit and compose poems.

Picture 3: kozuka signed cursive script “Ichijôsai Hirotoshi + kaô” (一乗斎弘寿)

The poem is by the Chinese poet and Tang Dynasty government official Bái Lètian (白楽天, Jap. Haku Rakuten, 772-846) who, as governor of three provinces, often made poems about his career, and as he was exiled and pardoned, many of them are very sentimental, an approach that of course perfectly matched the mood of aristocratic Kyôto at the time his poems made it over to Japan in the Heian period. And I said “indirectly related” because in one scene of Kanze Nobumitsu’s play Momijigari, when the two groups were enjoying the sake, the noble woman makes a reference to this very poem of Bái Lètian. And staying with sentimentality for a little, maple leaves and the custom of momijigari has this peculiar sentiment that goes along with so many traditional Japanese things that deeply root in Heian culture. The viewing of the very beautiful but quickly falling cherry blossoms in spring reminds one of the ephemeral nature of life for example, and by viewing gorgeous red maples leaves, one is at the same time made aware of the fact that with this coloring of the foliage, the time of abundance is definitely over and winter and all its hardships are approaching. It is this cruel certainty of facing the definite and irrevocable end of something that determines the peculiar feeling, not just that seasons are about to pass. In other words, there is absolutely no whatsoever hope that cherries might blossom for some more months or that summer comes back after leaves had turned that red…

So again, we have here a beautiful sword fitting that perfectly works just by itself as nice fall motif but if you dig deeper into the subject and get more and more versed in Japanese culture, so many things pop up when viewing a kozuka like this, e.g. old legends, Nô adaptions of these old legends, artistocratic Heian culture sentiments, allusions, references, hidden meanings, symbolisms, and so on and so forth. As mentioned in several of my older, related posts, it is highly recommended not to stop at just saying: “Well, this is a nice fall-themed kozuka.”

Brief update: Over the last few months, several readers approached me who were informed by others about my revised 3-volume set Swordsmiths of Japan (see here) but couldn’t find it on Amazon. Well, the set is not available there because Lulu does not offer a distribution of this kind of format and layout (i.e. hardcover and 8.25″ x 10.75″)  on Amazon. Only smaller hardcovers make it over there. Of course I was referring to Lulu where the set is perfectly find and orderable but then I was told “Amazon or it did not happen” 😉 So I add a poll to this post to see if there are more who want a somewhat cheaper paperback version to be orderable from Amazon. Depending on the feedback, I will provide a new, additional edition or not. Thanks for your time!

Finally received my copy of Gakken’s latest sword publication Nihon no Bi: Nihonto (The Japanese Sword) the other day (thanks to Jason). To tell you right away, I really really appreciate the approach of this book as it is the first in this category (of books coming from Japan) that comes fully bilingual. That means it is not, as so often, a sword book in Japanese with just an English index and here and there some half-hearted English captions, no, it is as mentioned truly bilingual. Or almost, as the descriptions of the tsuba and kodôgu were not translated. But not a big deal and I am aware of the fact that sometimes concessions have to be made to layout and to extent of a publication and that the focus was clearly on swords. Also Paul Martin did a great job with the translations and I am very glad the he did this as he is an expert himself and knows his stuff, i.e. we are luckily not dealing with “outsider” translations that leave ambiguities. This becomes the more evident in the extensive 40+ pages terminology section at the end of the book. So if you grab a copy, you not only have depictions and explanations of the great swords (with which I will deal in the following), you also get a detailed and comprehensive sword glossary that works as a fine reference by itself.

Now to the book itself, which is four-sectioned (or at least that is how I see it, your mileage may vary). First section introduces about 30 renowned blades in color and with certain parts in full size. Depending on the sword, also its mounting is depicted in color. This section is concluded by several fine koshirae with excellent details of their highlights and masterly tsuba and fittings. As most of them are also blown up to 200~300% (135~185% when it comes to tsuba), you can really appreciate subtle details in workmanship. The second section are the pullout pages which present 1:1 color pictures of about a dozen of renowned swords and their mountings. And this section is great as it gives newbies and others who don’t have access to handle and study superior Japanese swords in person a good feel of the excellence and what makes the fascination of these superior and so much more than edged weapons. Thus one tip: Some of the swords might look at a glance delicate and fragile for beginners when you open the book but when you pull out the pages fully and place them vertically on a (preferrably empty) table or on the floor and approach them just as you would pick them up at a sword appreciation (kantei) session, you will realize how magnificent and breathtaing they actually are! The third section provides the explanation of the blades introduced in sections 1 and 2 and comes in an appealing layout as each one page is reserved for one blade and due to the bilingual approach with the Japanese text and Paul’s translation right next to each other, this also provides a great exercise for those who are about to dig deeper into the subject of translating nihontô-related texts. And section four is the aforementioned terminology part.

My conclusion: This book should be found in every nihontô library as it also excellently serves as a teaser if someone interested asks you to tell him or her more about this fascinating subject and you can show him or her, via catchy pictures, what this is all about. The only small downer is that you can’t easily order it outside of Japan for example from amazon.com. But it is relative easy to create an account on amazon.co.jp (no, your amazon.com account won’t work for that and you need to register with a different email address) and order it from them. Five of five stars.