This year DC marks the 100th anniversary of the gift of cherry trees from Japan to the United States, an event that is celebrated each spring when visitors from around the world flock to the Tidal Basin area near the Capital Mall.
I stopped by there on the morning of March 19 to see this year's blossom display, as I was leaving later that day for a trip to visit the grandkids in Colorado. Because we had had a dry winter and trees in our neighborhood had already started to bloom, my hope was that the same would be true of the cherries. In a "normal" year (whatever that is) the cherries usually peak in late March or early April. What a nice surprise awaited me when I arrived on that crisp, sunny spring morning. I was neither too early nor too late for the blossoms. The ancient cherry trees that surround the Tidal Basin were in their full splendor.
And just as wonderful, there was almost no one there to enjoy them. I don't say that out of selfishness or possessiveness. Coming to DC for the Cherry Blossom Festival should be on everyone's bucket list. And judging from the crowds the four times I've been in town to see the blossoms, it is. The usual throngs of out-of-town visitors gaping and oohing, young men photographing girlfriends in front of the showiest trees, families meandering in clumps on the narrow walkway, and kids teetering on the edge of the path a half step away from a plunge into the backwaters of the Anacostia--these always remind me of the Tokyo subway system. You know, where there are so many commuters trying to squeeze into trains during rush hour, that the municipal authorities hire "shovers," who lean a shoulder into the mass of people, hoping to shoehorn one more lucky traveler in before the doors shut.
But, because it was a Monday and still early in the day, almost no one blocked my stroll along the Basin. Of course in the rush to see the trees before packing and heading to the airport, I didn't bring my camera. So I had to settle for a few cell phone photos. And memories of nature bright and bountiful -- the sure harbinger of Spring. When I returned to DC just over a week later, the blossoms were faded and falling. But, two art exhibits connected with the Cherry Blossom Festival extended the celebration, more than compensating for the wilting blooms.
Colorful Realm of Living Beings, a collection of 33 silk paintings by Ito Jakuchu (1716-1800), and 36 Views of Mt. Fuji, woodblock prints by the Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849), made as big an impression on crowds of viewers as the cherry blossoms, as unlikely as that sounds. For starters, the Jakuchu exhibit marks the only time this entire group of silk paintings has been displayed together outside of Japan. For six weeks, westerners can see a treasure of Japanese art, a gift from Japan to America on a par with the gift of cherry trees in 1912.
On my three visits to the exhibit hall, where Colorful Realm is displayed in the lower level of the National Gallery, I enter a subdued space, quiet despite the crowds, its lights dimmed to protect the delicate silk and organic paints. At one end of the space hang 3 large silk paintings Jakuchu completed as a gift to the Shokokuji Monastery where he studied. The central painting of the Buddha is flanked by paintings of two Bodhisattva's, all done in a formal style and with familiar props (elephants, thrones, hand gestures, miniature figures). Then there are the 30 paintings that line the side walls of the hall--fifteen silk hangings in each glass-enclosed exhibit space--flanking the Buddha and designed as a form of tribute to him by the flora and fauna of the natural world.
Almost all of the silk hangings contain trees or flowers. Jakuchu's attention to detail is evident in their depictions, no two blossoms alike, no pine needle a replica of another. The exceptions are two paintings with a bestiary of fish and other denizens of the seas and rivers--cuttlefish, rays, sharks--both drawn against a blank background. These creatures swim towards the Buddha, as if assembling for a blessing. A painting of seashells, probably drawn from observation of a famous collection which would have been available to him, and another of insects and reptiles buzzing and slithering in an imaginary lotus pond, are among other starker compositions. Two of my favorites are of roosters on blank backgrounds. Jakuchu kept his own flock of chickens and his careful observations of them underlies their representation in the paintings. Like Caravaggio, he used real life models so that his painting rose above traditional depictions and took on a visceral quality largely absent from Japanese art.
Among my favorites are two paintings depicting snow scenes, the snow hanging in globules from branches and spattered about using a technique developed by Jakuchu. He painted on both the front and back of the silk to give the impression of depth to his winter scenes. And it works! I feel drawn into many of his paintings, but Mandarin ducks in snow and Golden pheasants in snow both reach out and pull me in with their sense of quiet and color and depth. These works, as is true of almost all of the paintings, contain allegorical elements. For example, Mandarin ducks mate for life, symbols of marital harmony. A flock of sparrows in Autumn millet contains a single white bird, white representing 100 and thus plentitude. In Plum blossoms and small birds, plums are associated with fortitude and rejuvenation, since they bloom in later winter and are a harbinger of spring. The moon rising behind plum trees in a related painting stands for enlightenment. The cry of a rooster, as depicted in several paintings, suggests spiritual awakening. And so on.
Jakuchu was the son of a merchant. He retired from business in his 40's to study Buddhism and painting. This connection between religious study and art elevates purpose for the artist, judging by the obvious care and deep thought evident in his paintings. Every brush stroke--and there are many, piled layer upon layer, color upon color--is like a prayer. If we think of them as prayer, then this is worship of a generous and thankful kind. These paintings grow from Jakuchu's devotion to his faith, but also from his careful observation of the natural world. Many of the paintings depict his beloved chickens, usually roosters, brilliantly colored and in various natural and Kabuki-like poses. Largely self-taught, the level of detail provides proof positive of Jakuchu's observational powers and his delight in the colors and vitality of the natural world, as well as his study of oriental art and the patterns and designs of Kyoto textiles.
The exhibit closes April 29.
Also on display as a part of the Festival centennial are woodblock prints by the master artist, Hokusai. These small works, most measuring about 15 x 20 inches, are delicately carved scenes that depict exactly what the exhibit title suggests--views of Mt. Fuji. They are on display in the Sackler gallery through the summer. The most famous of the prints--Under the Wave Off Kanagawa--is dominated by huge swells that hide two boats battling their way through the storm. Mt. Fuji is a tiny bump in the middle of the scene, almost an afterthought.
Each of the prints features the mountain in various degrees of prominence. In one drawing of the village of Edo, Fuji is again a small bump in the distance, melding into terraced hills that fill the foreground. In another, the mountain dominates the top half of the picture and the bottom, as a reflection in Lake Mikasa. Often the mountain rises out of mists or fog. I am reminded of the Wallace Stevens poem, 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, while viewing the exhibit. Stevens' poem, like Hokusai's woodblock scenes, suggests that we cannot know the natural world from a single perspective. In fact, it is so rich and evocative, that it most certainly is unknowable.
This devotion to careful observation and persistent study of a craft are beautifully summarized by Hokusai, when referring to his project, which he envisioned as "100 views of Mt. Fuji." He did not begin this endeavor until he was in his 70's, and only after many years of pursuing a living as an artist:
And just as wonderful, there was almost no one there to enjoy them. I don't say that out of selfishness or possessiveness. Coming to DC for the Cherry Blossom Festival should be on everyone's bucket list. And judging from the crowds the four times I've been in town to see the blossoms, it is. The usual throngs of out-of-town visitors gaping and oohing, young men photographing girlfriends in front of the showiest trees, families meandering in clumps on the narrow walkway, and kids teetering on the edge of the path a half step away from a plunge into the backwaters of the Anacostia--these always remind me of the Tokyo subway system. You know, where there are so many commuters trying to squeeze into trains during rush hour, that the municipal authorities hire "shovers," who lean a shoulder into the mass of people, hoping to shoehorn one more lucky traveler in before the doors shut.
But, because it was a Monday and still early in the day, almost no one blocked my stroll along the Basin. Of course in the rush to see the trees before packing and heading to the airport, I didn't bring my camera. So I had to settle for a few cell phone photos. And memories of nature bright and bountiful -- the sure harbinger of Spring. When I returned to DC just over a week later, the blossoms were faded and falling. But, two art exhibits connected with the Cherry Blossom Festival extended the celebration, more than compensating for the wilting blooms. Colorful Realm of Living Beings, a collection of 33 silk paintings by Ito Jakuchu (1716-1800), and 36 Views of Mt. Fuji, woodblock prints by the Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849), made as big an impression on crowds of viewers as the cherry blossoms, as unlikely as that sounds. For starters, the Jakuchu exhibit marks the only time this entire group of silk paintings has been displayed together outside of Japan. For six weeks, westerners can see a treasure of Japanese art, a gift from Japan to America on a par with the gift of cherry trees in 1912.
On my three visits to the exhibit hall, where Colorful Realm is displayed in the lower level of the National Gallery, I enter a subdued space, quiet despite the crowds, its lights dimmed to protect the delicate silk and organic paints. At one end of the space hang 3 large silk paintings Jakuchu completed as a gift to the Shokokuji Monastery where he studied. The central painting of the Buddha is flanked by paintings of two Bodhisattva's, all done in a formal style and with familiar props (elephants, thrones, hand gestures, miniature figures). Then there are the 30 paintings that line the side walls of the hall--fifteen silk hangings in each glass-enclosed exhibit space--flanking the Buddha and designed as a form of tribute to him by the flora and fauna of the natural world.
Almost all of the silk hangings contain trees or flowers. Jakuchu's attention to detail is evident in their depictions, no two blossoms alike, no pine needle a replica of another. The exceptions are two paintings with a bestiary of fish and other denizens of the seas and rivers--cuttlefish, rays, sharks--both drawn against a blank background. These creatures swim towards the Buddha, as if assembling for a blessing. A painting of seashells, probably drawn from observation of a famous collection which would have been available to him, and another of insects and reptiles buzzing and slithering in an imaginary lotus pond, are among other starker compositions. Two of my favorites are of roosters on blank backgrounds. Jakuchu kept his own flock of chickens and his careful observations of them underlies their representation in the paintings. Like Caravaggio, he used real life models so that his painting rose above traditional depictions and took on a visceral quality largely absent from Japanese art.
Among my favorites are two paintings depicting snow scenes, the snow hanging in globules from branches and spattered about using a technique developed by Jakuchu. He painted on both the front and back of the silk to give the impression of depth to his winter scenes. And it works! I feel drawn into many of his paintings, but Mandarin ducks in snow and Golden pheasants in snow both reach out and pull me in with their sense of quiet and color and depth. These works, as is true of almost all of the paintings, contain allegorical elements. For example, Mandarin ducks mate for life, symbols of marital harmony. A flock of sparrows in Autumn millet contains a single white bird, white representing 100 and thus plentitude. In Plum blossoms and small birds, plums are associated with fortitude and rejuvenation, since they bloom in later winter and are a harbinger of spring. The moon rising behind plum trees in a related painting stands for enlightenment. The cry of a rooster, as depicted in several paintings, suggests spiritual awakening. And so on.
Jakuchu was the son of a merchant. He retired from business in his 40's to study Buddhism and painting. This connection between religious study and art elevates purpose for the artist, judging by the obvious care and deep thought evident in his paintings. Every brush stroke--and there are many, piled layer upon layer, color upon color--is like a prayer. If we think of them as prayer, then this is worship of a generous and thankful kind. These paintings grow from Jakuchu's devotion to his faith, but also from his careful observation of the natural world. Many of the paintings depict his beloved chickens, usually roosters, brilliantly colored and in various natural and Kabuki-like poses. Largely self-taught, the level of detail provides proof positive of Jakuchu's observational powers and his delight in the colors and vitality of the natural world, as well as his study of oriental art and the patterns and designs of Kyoto textiles.
The exhibit closes April 29.
Also on display as a part of the Festival centennial are woodblock prints by the master artist, Hokusai. These small works, most measuring about 15 x 20 inches, are delicately carved scenes that depict exactly what the exhibit title suggests--views of Mt. Fuji. They are on display in the Sackler gallery through the summer. The most famous of the prints--Under the Wave Off Kanagawa--is dominated by huge swells that hide two boats battling their way through the storm. Mt. Fuji is a tiny bump in the middle of the scene, almost an afterthought.
This devotion to careful observation and persistent study of a craft are beautifully summarized by Hokusai, when referring to his project, which he envisioned as "100 views of Mt. Fuji." He did not begin this endeavor until he was in his 70's, and only after many years of pursuing a living as an artist:
"Prior to my 70th year, nothing I drew was of particular note. At the age of 73, I could somewhat understand the structure of animals, insects, and fish, and the vital nature of plants and trees. Thus at 80 my art will have greatly improved, at 90 will have attained real depth, and at 100 will be divinely inspired. At 110 my every dot and every stroke will come to life."My friend Gabe, who is in his 80's, said after seeing these exhibits, "I had to rethink everything I thought I knew about understanding something." I agree. The pleasures of these two exhibits are many--artistic and philosophical, visceral and unearthly. I plan to see them both again before they are spirited away, most likely never to grace a Capital spring again.
