a little related reading

From: adam friedman (adamf@wam.umd.edu)
Date: Thu May 23 1996 - 22:44:44 PDT

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Hi everyone,
Found this insightful article while rummaging around the web.

Enjoy,
Adam

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Japanese Art and The Japanese View of Nature
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<h2>SETSUGEKKA</h2>
<img src="image/akashiro.gif">
<h1>Japanese Art and the Japanese View of Nature
</h1>
 
by Isamu Kurita
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<h3>
Introduction
</h3>
With the twenty-first century on the horizon, humanity is enjoying a
multitude of benefits from the prosperity it has achieved through economic
development and scientific advances. At the same time, however, owing to
the overriding priority accorded to production and consumption, it is
becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the quality of life so long
sought after by humankind. How, for example, are we to impede the
inevitable depletion of the energy resources that have fueled our
industial development? How can we keep from further devastating our
forests, our air, and the ozone layer? How are we to cope with the
stupendous amount of waste produced by our industrial juggernaut? How are
we to stave off famine as the global population continues to explode? How
can we use our remarkable advances in nuclear energy or in medicine--so
specialized, so compartmentalized--to the greatest advantage of humankind?
Unless we deal with the effects of our modern way of life now, we will soon
be forced to confront untold challenges. 
The diverse problems referred to above fall under the category of
environmental destruction. As a result, throughout the East and West, a
broad and critical reappraisal of humankind's attitude towards nature has
become an issue demanding our urgent attention. 
It is with this aim in mind--to help humankind reevaluate iview of
nature--that the MOA Museum of Art has mounted the current exhibition of
Japanese art. It is the organizers' sincere hope that through this
undertaking a clearer understanding of the Japanese view of nature will
emerge, and that the wisdom contained therein might in some way serve as a
beacon to guide the global community in its quest to save the natural
environment. 
While Western artists have tended to focus primarily on human subjects,
Japanese artists have turned more frequently to nature for their subject
matter. Ancient Buddhist art, though containing representations of the
human form, is above all concerned with expressing the truth of Buddha's
law. Buddhist images symbolized, in iconographic form, a universal view
that set forth humankind's relationship to nature. 
Subsequently, art expanded beyond the realm of religion, evolving first
through the flowery heyday of the Heian imperial court [794-1185], then
into the austere period of samurai ascendancy during the Kamakura
[1185-1333], Muromachi [1333-1568], and Momoyama [1568-1600] periods, and
further still into the modern aestheticism of the Edo period [1600-1868].
But through every era, despite numerous changes in modes of expression, one
common artistic thread persisted: a profound interest in natural scenery
and landscape. 
For Japanese, it seems quite a matter of course that the portrayal of
nature--by dint of its symbolic beauty, its harmonious interplay, its
inherent order, its evocative power--should be the predominant subject of
art. Such has not necessarily been the view in the West, however. In early
Western art, nature was often little more than a backdrop for depictions of
Greco-Roman myths and Christian figures and narratives. Later, through the
Renaissance and up to the modern era, portraiture and figure painting
tended to dominate artistic concerns. Nature per se is generally said to
have become a prominant theme in Western art only in the late eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries. Indeed, it was only in the nineteenth
century that paintings of people at work or at prayer in the bosom of
nature began to appear, epitomized by such famous works as Millet's "The
Gleaners" and "The Angelus." In contrast, nature has always had a special
significance for the Japanese, especially in the arts, for it was within
nature that the Japanese defined their place, their raison d'être in
the world. 
Non-Japanese often claim that they find the actions and thinking of
Japanese people difficult to comprehend. The opinion is often heard,
especially in the context of their political or economic dealings, that the
Japanese must be in some way unique. The rules that define the norms for
Japanese people are simply different guidelines devised to permit them to
conform to the laws of nature. In this sense, the Japanese are certainly no
different from other inhabitants of the planet. 
Underlying their guidelines are a number of basic tenets: nature is
beautiful, nature is harmonious, it has an intrinsic order and rules, and
in certain ways it can be seen to have an ethical or moral dimension. These
ideas are shaped by the belief that humankind exists within the order of
nature. Where the Japanese perhaps differ from other peoples sharing these
same views is in their seeming inability to define nature's laws in clear,
objective terms. 
Among the words log used by Japanese to define their sensibilities, are
mono no aware [the pathos of things]. The term informs the norms or rul
esthat are believed to govern Japanese behavior, and is based upon a deep
affinity with nature and beauty, and a spontaneous, emotional response
towards them. The term is also used in a broader sense to describe a
corresponding emotional affinity between humankind and other creatures in
the natural universe, or the love that exists between a man and a woman. 
Contrary to the common Japanese perception, I offer that this purportedly
"unique" relationship that exists between the Japanese and nature is not
really unique at all. What Japan has done is merely to assimilate and
continue to believe in, ancient spiritual elements that at one time, long
before the days of Greek civilization, were actually global viewpoints. It
is only their embrace of these elements that in fact sets the Japanese
apart. Thus, I see Japanese "uniqueness" as simply coinciding with the most
ancient fundamental notions that have governed humankind's behavior
everywhere on Earth since the earliest times.

<h3>
Setsugekka: Three Symbolic Elements
</h3>
In an attempt to understand how the Japanese have traditionally looked upon
nature, I would like to refer to the wellknown speech delivered by author
Yasunari Kawabata [1899-1972] when he accepted the Nobel Prize for
Literature in 1968. Entitled "Japan the Beautiful and Myself," the oration focused on a discussion of the phrase setsugekka, which is linguistical lycomposed of three elements: snow [setsu] , the moon [getsu] , and flowers [ka] . The phrase, however, is more than mere descriptive terminology. As the artworks on display here vividly demonstrate, these three elements appear repeatedly in Japanese painting and fine arts: snow expressing the winter season; the moon providing a year-round constant in the night sky; and flowers symbolizing the myriad plants and trees in endless transition amidst the cycle of the four seasons. 
The perceptive observer will quickly discover that the elements represented by the phrase setsugekka appear not only in Japan's works of fine art.
They abound in design elements within contexts as diverse as the Japanese home, the kimono, and Japanese textiles; indeed they are a part of almost every aspect of Japanese life. 
First let's consider flowers [ka] . As these artworks readily confirm, flowers--especially cherry and plum blossoms--are an integral feature of
Japanese painting. Wherever they appear, flowers, and plants in general,
are usually depicted in their natural, wild, unadulterated state. In Japan,
however, flowers, grasses, and trees are not viewed merely as tangible
objects, but as symbols of otherwise intangible phenomena--of life itself.
In flowers we perceive the universal laws of nature, the unending cycle of
life: birth, death, rebirth. 
As evidence, consider the numerous flower-related festivals and events that
have been celebrated each spring in Japan since ancient times. The first
record of cherry blossom viewing, for example, appears in The Tale of
Genji, the pinnacle of classical Japanese literature, written in the
twelfth century. One entire chapter of this work is devoted to a
description of a cherry-blossom viewing party, where members of the court
gather under the cherry blossoms to make merry with food, music, and poetry
until late into the night. It is here that Genji, the "shining prince,"
meets his eternal love, Oborozukiyo, the "lady of the misty moonlit night,"
for the very first time. 
Cherry-blossom viewing has long had special significance in Japan.
Yoshinoyama, located in the nation's historic heartland of Nara, is said to
have been the earliest center of religious faith in the country; to this
day the entire mountain is covered with cherry trees. According to popular
legend, when the sorcerer En no Gyôja offered up prayers here, the
mountain god appeared before him, whereupon the sorcerer carved the image
of the god in a cherry tree. In this account, the cherry tree is viewed as
a symbol both of invincibility and unassailable vitality. Another legend
speaks of Konohana-sakuyahime, daughter of the god of agriculture, who was
herself viewed as a goddess of spring and vernal abundance. According to
popular belief, her spirit takes possession of a cherry tree, enabling her
to descend from Heaven to Earth. Through the ages people have gathered
under blossoming cherry trees, believing them to be sacred, and offered up
their prayers to Konohana-sakuyahime for a plentiful year's harvest. Other
festivals incorporate flower offerings to ward off illness and natural
disasters. 
Just as blossoming cherry trees have been a revered symbol of spring, so
brightly tinged leaves have long symbolized autumn. Since ancient times,
people have gathered to admire autumn foliage. The Japanese fondness for
making excursions to view autumn leaves was recorded by the Portuguese as
early as the sixteenth century. Earlier evidence is provided by a pair of
painted screens dating from the Muromachi period, one depicting a
cherry-blossom viewing scene, the other an outing to view maple leaves.
Together these screens demonstrate the strong affinity that the Japanese
have long felt towards cherry blossoms and autumn's brilliant foliage. But
what is the meaning behind these activities? 
The repertory of the Noh theater, which emerged in the late fourteenth
century, includes a song about gathering autumn leaves. It describes a
courageous man who passes a night in a forest underneath the shedding
trees. Amidst the downpour of dazzling leaves there suddenly appears an
alluring enchantress who drives the youth to distraction. Whereas the
cherry blossoms of spring, as we have noted, represent the birth of new
life, autumn foliage, as this Noh song reveals, symbolizes the final burst
of flame, of life, that precedes the arrival of winter--that is, of death.
Autumn is also a time of heightened sensuality, and the time when we become
most intimately conscious of death--together with the promise of rebirth in
the spring--within the dynamic cycle of nature. 
In short, the Japanese do not look upon flowers and fall foliage merely as
objects or pretty decorations. To the Japanese, flowers are imbued with
connotations of the grand natural flow between life and death. 
Snow [setsu] is, of course, a symbol of winter, a white covering that
blankets all that is visible in other seasons. At the same time, however, a
snowscape, though seemingly devoid of everything, in fact offers a hint of
new life, whether it be a single plum blossom coming into bud or a tiny
blade of new grass--harbingers of a scene that is soon to unfold. 
Snow is a favored backdrop in Japanese drama, especially Noh theater and
Kabuki. Employing a snowy landscape heightens the tension of the story
through its inherent, vivid contrast: the contrast between a completely
white snow cover that buries all life and creates a frigid world of death,
and the stalwart portrayal of life in the face of, and even overcoming,
death. Whereas flowers and fall foliage, by their very existence, reveal
the life force of nature, snow serves as a symbol of the world of winter,
darkness, and death and as a foreshadowing of life to come. 
What then does the moon [getsu] , ever present in the night sky, repre
sent?
In Japanese culture, the moon is more than simply a heavenly body or a
scenic prop. Since ancient times the Japanese have believed that the moon
is the abode of the god of moon viewing, while in Buddhism it is seen as a
symbol of the truth of Buddhist law. The latter belief originates from the
fact that the moon always remains in the sky, no matter how much a person
might move about, walk from place to place, or even travel across the
world. 
Although the moon is but a single entity, it reveals itself again and
again, in perfect form, everywhere. As a reflection it can appear in a
solitary drop of water in the palm of one's hand or in a droplet of dew on
a blade of grass. Yet, despite this seeming power to divide and multiply,
the moon itself is constant, something that never leaves us. And because it
always remains in the sky, though ever waxing and waning, the moon
represents the fundamental truths of the universe that are known and shared
by all living beings.

<h3>
The Truth behind Beauty
</h3>
It should now be clear that the Japanese have not viewed or portrayed
nature nebulously, or simply in the terms in which it appears. Rather,
Japanese people have taken certain elements of nature--flowers, snow, and
the moon, symbolizing respectively the continuum of nature, the antithesis
of nature's life-giving powers, and the comprehensive and unchanging truth
that governs all things (which itself includes the first two elements)--and
understood themselves to be an integral part of this context. Japanese
people thus wish to be at one with nature; and they work toward this
objective through the creation of works of beauty. 
Japanese art is thus a manifestation of this desire to be at one with
nature. As might therefore be expected, when a Japanese artist draws a
landscape painting, for example, the overriding purpose is not so much to
describe a particular or isolated scene, but rather to suggest a universal
idea underlying the overall composition. It is for this reason that instead
of reproducing visual scenes just as they appear to the eye, Japanese
artists prefer to create scenery in a symbolic and stylized, perhaps
somewhat repetitive, manner. 
Even within these basically unchanging structural frameworks, Japanese art
is expected to be replete with profound significance--philosophically,
literally, and ideologically. This multidimensionality is perhaps most
recognizable in ink paintings and landscapes, which unfortunately are not
included in the current exhibition. 
In passing, it should perhaps be mentioned that portraiture, which occupies
an important position in Western painting, holds only a minor position in
the realm of Japanese painting. With the exception of one particularly
well-known series depicting Zen masters, Japanese art was almost totally
devoid of two-dimensional portrait works until the appearance of ukiyo-e
during the Edo period. 
André Malraux, in speaking of one of the foremost masrait art in Japan, a painting depicting the shogun Minamoto no Yoritomo
[1147-99], described the work as a stylized figure painting that impressed
the viewer by dint of the truth underlying the visual expression. In Japan,
portraits are not intended to represent an individual in solely exterior,
physical terms, but rather to express the spirit within. This attitude is
based on the view that it is the spirit that conveys truth, while physical
appearance is no more than a shadow of the truth. 
In Japanese, the word for landscape is sansui. The term is composed of two elements, san meaning "mountain" and sui meaning "water," and quite naturally the majority of Japanese landscape paintings include some
depiction of mountains and flowing water. In Japan, mountains
traditionally have been regarded as sacred locations, plaes where spirits
dwell or to which they descend from heaven. Ideally, mountains should thus
be viewed from afar and worshipped. Rivers on the other hand have been
regarded as places where mortals can wash away their spiritual impurities,
cleanse their souls, and thus become more vigorous, more vital. It is no
coincidence that many Shinto shrines in Japan face onto rivers or streams.
Only after visitors cleanse themselves in the river water are they
sufficiently purified to worship at the shrine. This fundamental view is
clearly behind the layout of many of the nation's Shinto shrines, from
local tutelary shrines to the most important of all Shinto edifices, the
Ise Shrine, which lies alongside the Isuzu river. 
Given this background, Japanese landscape paintings--depictions of
mountains and water, and occasionally including the sun or moon--do not
represent isolated scenes from nature in realistic detail. Rather, at their
deepest level they attempt to portray the universal framework and natural
truths that underlie such scenery.

<h3>
Elements behind the Japanese View of Nature
</h3>
As the foregoing discussion suggests, to the Japanese mind nature is more
than just physical scenery. In fact, there are three elements at play in
the Japanese view of the natural world. 
The first element can be defined as the changes that occur through the
passage of the four seasons: a repetitive and orderly cycle of flux. The
second element relates to the invisible forces that affect nature--creating
the shape of a tree, the form of a mountain, and the flow of a river--often
in violent and unpredictable ways beyond our full comprehension. The third
and final element is the energy that creates life itself, including human
life, the life of the grains that sustain human life, ad
all forms of living things. 
Together, these three elements exert their various effects on the physical
world around us, sometimes in clearly manifested ways and sometimes in
unseen ways. In the Japanese view, these events all occur due to the
existence of a mysterious, spiritual power. In other words, Japanese people
view nature as part of a total, cosmic realm. 
This Japanese view diverges widely from the corresponding view of nature
espoused in the West in modern times, a view that sees nature in Cartesian,
material parameters--as negative and passive, a created, static work. On
the other hand, the Japanese view has much in common with the concept of
nature embraced in ancient Greece. The early Greek word for nature, fisis, derives from the verb fenesthe, meaning "to be born" or "to come into being." The ancient Greeks saw nature as a life-generating power, a view coinciding with the notion suggested by the ancient Japanese word musubi--literally, "birthgiving spirit"--which implies life is generated spontaneously. In the West, the belief in the existence of a sacred, lifegiving force in all objects is referred to as animism; but I see some difference between Western animism and the Japanese view of nature.
According to animism, each object--whether it is a rock, a tree, or
water--is home to its own peculiar spirit that makes the object what it is.
In the Japanese view, however, at the root of these myriad manifestations
(anima) exists one invisible, underlying, and uniform sacred entity, the
one life-giving force. This sacred entity exists in all objects as life
itself. This is why the Japanese believe that nature is in close
relationship with the sacred--a view somewhat akin to animatism. 
The modern Japanese word for nature, shizen, is actually a relatively
recent coinage dating only to the Meiji period [1868-1912]; its adoption as
a translation for the Latin word natura was first proposed by Amane Nishi[1829-97], a leading philosopher of his day. Prior to that time, the Japanese view of nature was expressed by the word zôka, made up from two characters meaning "creation" and "change." The term was originally associated, in its linguistic sense, with Chinese Daoism. The fusion between this early connotation of "creation/change" and the Japanese notion of "nature" signifies the inseparable relationship between these two concepts in the Japanese view. 
Matsuo Bashô [1644-94], one of the most well-known proponents of the Japanese view of nature, often alluded to the term zôka. Renowned
asone of Japan's foremost poets, Bashô declared that the artistically
supreme and morally superior way of life was "to keep friends with the four
seasons," meaning to live in accord with the workings of nature. He also
said that a close rapport with zôka is the continuous thread that
binds all of Japan's most famous thinkers and artists down through
history--from Saigyô [1118-90] the waka poet, to Sôgi [1421-1
502]
of linked-verse fame, to Sesshû [1420-1506] the ink painter, to Sen no
Rikyû [1522-91] the great innovator of the tea ceremony.

<h3>
Transcending Human Knowledge
</h3>
One of the common criticisms of Japanese art is that it is merely
decorative or "artistic" in character. Given the thinking that underlies
it, as described above, Japanese art, in truth, has a profundity that
transcends many of the conventions associated with modern art. 
The Japanese do not see art as a message from one human being to another.
Nor do they believe that art has value because it is entirely "human" in
character and origin. In the field of ceramic aor example, Sen no
Rikyû, founder of the Sen school of the tea ceremony and one of
Japan's artists par excellence, especially prized everyday utensils made by
unknown artisans, and works imperfect or irregular in shape, sometimes even
cracked. This view is not atypical, however, for the Japanese not only
admire artworks that are geometrically perfect, such as Chinese celadon or
white porcelains, but often display a strong affection for beauty that
appears to be imperfect. 
This Japanese love of the imperfect stems from an acknowledgment of the
inherent limitations of human creative powers. No matter how hard a human
being might try, we are ultimately incapable of creating something that is
absolutely perfect. "Perfection," on the contrary, is the product of the
creative powers of nature--zôka. The ceramic piece that emerges from the kiln is the end product of a spontaneity beyond the power ohuman
control. It is evidence of the wondrous and unpredictable powers of nature,
before which we stand in humble awe. 
Ceramics is only one manifestation of the grand and mysterious power of
nature. Another example is ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arranging.
Flower arranging per se is by no means unique to Japan; in the West as
well, flowers are placed in abundance in both public and private settings.
But unlike the West, where flowers are typically seen as an interior
accessory, a mode of decoration, in ikebana the intrinsic goal is to
arrange the flowers in such a manner as to reproduce them in their natural,
uncut setting. 
The principal location for displaying an ikebana arrangement is the
tokonoma, or main alcove in a Japanese-style, tatami-matted room. The
tokonoma is not regarded as part of the interior space; rather, like a
sacred mihrab, as a place where communion occurs between the people on the
inside and the grand forces of nature on the outside. Here, even a single
flower serves as a symbol of universal truth, providing the medium through
which humans can become one with nature. 
For this reason, an ikebana arrangement, particularly when created as an
accoutrement for the tea ceremony, is usually kept simple. Further, rather
than a flower at the peak of its bloom, a flower still in the bud is
welcomed, for it demonstrates all the more vividly and clearly the process
of life unfolding. Indeed, it is said thanothing is more magnificent than
an ikebana arrangement that, once set in place, spontaneously settles
overnight into its own arrangement, conforming to the order of nature
without the touch of a human hand. The Japanese thus view even a single
flower in the wider context of its relationship to nature, part of the
totality of the world that embraces humanity. 
As the foregoing demonstrates, the Japanese do not value a work of art
merely as a product of human artistry and technical skill. Nor do they look
upon artworks as objects created for sensual enjoyment. In the Japanese
aesthetic, a work of art is created fundamentally as a suggestion of the
greater realm of nature, providing a means by which a person, by gazing
upon the work or taking it in the hand, can come to appreciate great truths
that otherwise are beyond human ken. 
In sum, the Japanese do not view art as decorative ornamentation; they view
it as an integral element of everyday life. A work of art is not fashioned
by a person; rather it is the work of art that fashions one's life,
beautifying it by bringing one into a splendid rapport with the order and
beauty of the natural world. The inherent function of art is to transport
one into a close and harmonious union with the pulsating heartbeat of
nature. 
The superior or successful work of art is not an object that has achieved
perfect beauty. To be truly outstanding, a work of art must serve as a
means to morally purify and elevate the world or universe--the
environment--and in turn, the beholder. This notion can perhaps best be
understood through the specific, if perhaps atypical, examples of Japanese
art described below.

<h3>
The Way of Art as a Moral Force
</h3>
Japan, of course, is not without its many artistic geniuses and skilled and
specialized artisans. At the same time, however, it is noteworthy that, in
all areas of the traditional arts, the ordinary person commonly
participates in the production, performance, and enjoyment of artistic
endeavors. 
Almost one-thousand years ago, in The Tale of Genji, Genji, "the shining prince," is portrayed not only as one of the leading statesmen of his day,
but also as an accomplished poet and painter. This is not to say, however,
that artistic undertakings were reserved only for the elite. Traditional
Japanese verse, for example, in both its waka (31 syllable) and haiku (17syllable) forms, was an immediate part of the life of the ordinary person
as well, a medium borrowed in particular by lovers and would-be lovers to
relay their deepest sentiments to the object of their affections. 
Within the circles of the imperial court, the ability to compose poetic
verse was regarded as the highest asset of a truly skilled functionary.
This view derived from the power that poetry was seen to have in
harmonizing human relationships, and in infusing harmony, beauty, and moral
astuteness into every human setting. 
A corresponding situation also exists in the realm of the tea ceremony.
Thus, although there are iemoto, or so-called "headmasters" of the various schools of this art, the tea ceremony continues to be practiced and enjoyed by people from every station in life. Ikebana, likewise, is not restricted to a special few, but is a common part of daily life. Similarly, Noh,
Kabuki, and other related forms of song and dance were traditionally
learned by ordinary people, even though nowadays the number of such
practitioners has dwindled. 
Calligraphy presents a somewhat unusual twist in that the writing of
characters, a basic task of everyday life, was elevated to a status
approaching--sometimes even transcending--that of painting. In religious
contexts, calligraphy was even believed by many to be imbued with spiritual
power. During the mid-nineteenth century, it was common practice for
children to take lessons in calligraphy as an indispensable artistic, and
practical, accomplishment. 
These pursuits, and also the so-called martial arts--kendô, 
jûdô, and so on--typically contain the suffix dô . The term
is normally translated in English as "way," and in effect implies a code of
behavior that follows the laws of nature, which the Japanese see as the
morally upstanding way to live. The Japanese suffix dô has its origins
in China. It corresponds to the Chinese word dao, the name of the ancient philosophy expounded by Lao Zi. Daoism sets forth a fundamental view of the cosmic order. Taking Lao Zi's abstract philosophy, the Japanese transformed its basic principles into concrete terms that served as a practical and
ethical way of life, in accordance with the laws of nature. It might also
be mentioned here that Buddhism was similarly accepted into Japan, where it
flourished as a "way" of life: the way of Buddha. 
As we have seen, Japanese people look upon nature as the fundamental truth
of the universe and as a concon of life itself. They also
believe that humanity is able to live in harmony with nature precisely by
pursuing and maintaining the various "ways" described above. These notions
continue to live in the hearts of Japanese people even today.

<h3>
Conclusion
</h3>
Mokichi Okada, the founder of the MOA Museum of Art, was a preeminent
collector of art, a religious leader, and a philosopher. It is quite
interesting to note, therefore, who he considered to be the three most
outstanding artists in Japanese history. He selected Prince Shôtoku
[574-622], the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa [1436-90], and warlord Toyotomi
Hideyoshi [1537-98]. 
In Japan, Prince Shôtoku is renowned as an accomplished statesman and
Buddhist philosopher, while Yoshimasa and Hideyoshi are hailed as astute
military rulers. None of these three indviduals was himself an artist or
artisan. Why then did Okada consider them as his nation's foremost artists?
The answer lies in several points. Prince Shôtoku was the founder of
Hôryûji Temple in Nara, a repository of the quintessence of
Japanese Buddhist art. Yoshimasa created Kyoto's Ginkakuji Temple (the
"Silver Pavilion") and its surrounding gardens, was a committed collector
of art treasures, and was a pioneer in the art of the tea ceremony.
Hideyoshi came from a humble rural background, but by supporting the tea
ceremony through his patronage of Sen no Rikyû, he raised traditional
Japanese arts to a new plateau, laying the foundation for artistry's role
in everyday life down to the present day. 
One century after the days of Hideyoshi, a group of artists who crafted
artworks for daily use was organized in Takagamine, Kyoto. The group,
represented by Hon'ami Kôetsu [1558-1637] and Ogata Kôrin
[1658-1716], produced a culture that brought art into daily life, and, in
so doing, established the artistic style that was to become characteristic
of the Edo period. 
From these facts we can see that Mokichi Okada gave credit not only to
individuals who personally created works of art, but also to those who
offered the necessary support that enabled the creation and development of
the arts. In Okada's eyes, it was the creation of such an artistic
environment, a spiritual world of beauty, that constituted the highest goal
and meaning of true "artistic" pursuit. 
Today's serious environmental problems are bringing the overriding
significance of "nature" once again into sharp focus. It is precisely in
times such as these that it is imperative for us to remember, and to take
to heart, that nature represents the supreme truth in the wider context of
"truth, goodness, and beauty," in the words of Mokichi Okada. The
technological advances that have led to the environmental destruction that
confront us today are themselves insufficient to reverse what has been done
and to resolve the problems at hand. What is necessary is to rediscover, to
reaffirm, and to reapply the fundamental spiritual values--the basic
respect for nature--that guided humankind in its earlier days. This, above
all, is the message that the artworks on display at this exhibition convey
to us.

Isamu Kurita

Professor Isamu Kurita was born in Tokyo in 1929. He received an M.A. in
French Literature from the University of Tokyo in 1955 and is well-known as
an author, poet, playwright, lecturer, and critic of art and culture. He
has made numerous television appearances in Japan. Professor Kurita has
served as the president of the Central Broadcast Programming Consultation
Committee for NHK [the Japan Broadcasting Corporation]. He currently
teaches at Komazawa Women's University and is the president of the Japanese
Culture Institute. 
Professor Kurita's research has focused on French symbolism. He is also an
authority on the history of Japanese aesthetics and is known for his unique
theory of Japanese culture. 
Professor Kurita's book Ippen shônin: Tabi no shisaku-sha [Priest
Ippen: a poet on the road] won the 28th Minister of Education Prize in 1977. Other important works include Asuka-Yamato: Bi no junrei [Asuka and Yamato: a pilgrimage of beauty], Waga Gaudi [My Gaudi], Setsugekka no kokoro [A heart of snow, moon, and flowers], Dôgen no yomikata[How to read the works of Priest Dôgen], Ryôkan nyûmon [A handbook on Priest Ryôkan], Saichô to Tendai hongaku shisô [Priest Saichô and his thoughts on the Tendai sect and original Buddhahood], and Okada Mokichi no sekai [The world of Mokichi Okada; five volumes]. His writings have been published collectively as Kurita Isamu zenshû [The complete works of Isamu Kurita; twelve volumes].

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