Walking through Tokyo’s National Museum, enmeshed in ancient calligraphy scrolls, pottery, samurai swords and screen paintings, I arrived at one of the very last rooms in the museum. There, a plaque hangs on the wall, describing Japan’s transition from the Samurai era to the Meiji period. A transition from a Japan closed off from the world to a Japan opening itself to others. The new leaders of the Meiji period realized they were falling behind the Western world and that most of their art was considered “ordinary” and “decorative”, because it was often a part of furniture or objects used in the everyday. Far from the style of art considered “fine art” in the West.
In order to be recognized as a developed nation by the standards set by the West, they started producing art of a style which the West considered “fine art”; in particular oil paintings and an increasingly playful and individual style, moving their focus away from the artful reproduction and the crafting of beautiful objects which were otherwise an integrated into daily life.
Slowly, the lessons of the book “The Beauty of Everyday Things” by Soetsu Yanagi came to mind.
He describes the craft of producing everyday beauty—the hand-dyed cloth, the hand-shaped cups—repeating the same process over and over, passing it down to the next generation. He describes the beauty in the minor differences between each product which naturally occurs when it is handmade, but the inherent perfection still present when made by a master craftsman. How the pressure for unnecessary perfection and “fineness” erodes natural beauty.
When I first read it many years ago, I had not grasped quite the point he was trying to make. When visiting the Sumida Hokusai Museum, I started to grasp it a little better. Seeing the painstaking repetition with which Hokusai produced and reproduced The Great Wave off Kanagawa – and yet, being mesmerized by the final result, no less beautiful for its repetition. How he, towards the end of his life, rather than dedicate him merely to produce as much art as possible, invested heavily in teaching, producing drawings which inspired students of art for years to come. Rather than focusing on his individualistic genius, he was dedicated to his craft, including how it expanded beyond itself.
I thought about how, in a world swimming in IKEA and Amazon products, we may have lost our appreciation of the beauty of ordinary things. By elevating fine art above art that enriches us every day, maybe we have removed ourselves from beauty?
The following day, I attended a Kabuki performance, which has a similar style to the mockingly called “Peking Opera” (Jīngjù). While similar to European opera in its length and elaborate costumes and scenography, I felt myself not in an “Asian” version of our opera, as much as a part of a lost world.
Whilst maintaining speech rather than sing, the actors moved their voices as if their tones were across the room, stopping and playing before turning around and surprise you with a jump. The “orchestra” overlooked the scene, contributing with light strings, flutes and drumming instruments – far from the engulfing music of European opera. Instead, I was reminded of the chorus in classical Greek plays, guiding the audience, the moral commentators, leading us to greater understanding.
While I believe that the emperor was wise in turning towards the West by adopting some of our techniques and respecting our standards, I wonder if we have not lost something by not turning towards Asian culture in the same manner.
I think of the Roman Empire, which famously copied their opponents in battle when they were defeated. Japan, fearing they were falling behind, chose to emulate the West. Yet, in appreciating the beauty of Japan, I wonder: have we now fallen behind in some ways?
Perhaps it is now time for us to learn from those who have surpassed us.
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