Seditious Beauty (entry by David Bull)
In the early 1600's, when Ieyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa dynasty, finally achieved his dream of becoming shogun, the grand military ruler of all Japan, he immediately started to set up an intricate and complex arrangement of rules designed to govern the behaviour of all inhabitants of the country. His motivation was very clear, the restriction of social mobility, the preservation of the status quo, and thus the prolongation of his (and his descendants) position as rulers of the nation for as long as possible. From quite some time before this, Japanese society had been stratified into horizontal layers, with everybody's position on the scale made very clear, from the figurehead status of the emperor at the top, down through nobility, warriors, farmers, artisans, merchants, and so on, right down to the absolute bottom, the outcasts, but this was now codified and set in concrete. Almost every possible aspect of life was regulated - what fabrics and patterns of clothing were permitted to each class, what types of house could be built, to what extent people could travel, communication with people of other classes, and of course what kind of daily activities were allowed. Ieyasu's prescription for maintaining power turned out to be extremely effective. For over two and a half centuries (1603-1868) his family reigned over the country, an enormously long time, especially when compared with the wars and chaos ravaging Europe during the same period.
But rules were only rules, and reality was something different entirely. Although the concept worked very well for the first hundred years or so (at least from the Tokugawa family's point of view), it was impossible to 'stop the clock' completely in actual practice, and strains gradually appeared in the system. One of the biggest problems concerned money. The warrior class had traditionally been compensated for their services in rice, rather than with actual negotiable currency. The allotment of rice they received served to support their family and retainers, and this was adequate as long as they maintained an exclusively traditional lifestyle. But gradually arising in the cities, especially in Edo (old Tokyo), was a new lifestyle, one being led by a newly enriched merchant class, and in which money played an ever-increasing role. The men of this mercantile class were poor in status, standing very low in the social hierarchy, but were increasingly rich in actual cash, obtained through their manufacturing or trading activities.
With increasing amounts of money on hand, and expanding amounts of leisure time available, it was inevitable that new forms of social activity would arise, and this period saw the development of two institutions that would help to transform large parts of society, and contribute greatly to the eventual breakup of the feudal class system; the kabuki theater and the 'Yoshiwara', the red-light district. Not coincidentally, the art that we now know as Ukiyo-e had a significant role to play in both of these.
Although the origins of the kabuki theater lie many years before the Tokugawa era, it could not flower until these necessary circumstances arose. It became hugely popular, attracting not only townsmen and merchants, but also, much to the displeasure of the rulers, members of the samurai class. Woodblock prints played an important part in the life of the theater, not just as 'advertisements' for the actors and productions, but as an integral part of the experience of visiting the theater. In an era with no television or newspapers, they performed the essential function of disseminating the theatrical experience to an audience far wider than simply those people who attended the productions. The problem, from the point of view of the authorities, was that the plays invariably moved into areas where the subject matter was at variance with the 'official' line, and there was constant friction between the theaters and those wishing to proscribe their activities. The woodblock prints were not excepted from these battles, and all designs had to obtain the censor's approval before production. Despite this pressure to conform, the prints continued to be a contributing factor to social change, and even such a famous designer as Utamaro spent a term imprisoned for producing material considered to be critical of the shogun.
Although on a far more 'private' scale than the noisy theater, with most of its activities taking place in seclusion, the Yoshiwara was perhaps a more vital agent of social change. Sometimes referred to nowadays as the 'green houses', the brothels there provided far more than simple sexual services. They were places for townsmen to meet, to spend leisure time, to discuss affairs of the day, and of course to make romantic assignations. Unlike the image of similar European institutions of the time, where one can imagine revolution being plotted under the noses of the king's agents, the Edo townsmen were not concerned with overthrowing the government. But their pursuit of basically hedonistic activities, including poetry readings, discussions of recent novels, showing off recent acquisitions of new clothing or the like, served to undermine the stated goal of the regime to keep 'everyone in his place'. And ... they started to attract men from the warrior class.
The major attraction at these places was obviously the women, and there was fierce competition between them for customers. No expense was spared when it came to clothing, hairdos, or other accessories. The fame of the women spread far and wide, and the status in society of those of the top rank can perhaps most easily be understood by comparison with someone like Marilyn Monroe, as a kind of dream figure - unreachable and untouchable by normal men. Only the most wealthy and favoured could ever hope to have a woman like this attend their affair in the tea house, and this was the nub of the problem for the authorities. When status in society started to be measured by the prestige of the courtesan one could buy, rather than by one's birthright and place in the heirarchy, the end of the feudal society was in sight.
Of course, for the masses at large, who could never hope to even catch a glimpse of these famous courtesans, the prints would have to suffice. They were run off in the thousands, and were eagerly snapped up by the Edo populace. The effect on society of these images was immense, just as that of Monroe has been over the past few decades in our time. Remember again, there were no newspapers, magazines, movies, photographs ... All the power of all of our varied media were concentrated in one single outlet - woodblock prints.
These women and their tea-house environment were thus a major driving force in the shaping of late Edo-era thinking. The battle raged back and forth over the years, the government coming out with a constant stream of regulations to try and maintain the power of the regime - rules about permitted colours on clothing, what hairstyles were allowed, what plays could be performed, and what books could be read ... but always the townsmen found new ways to express their desire for a different kind of life, and looked to the Ukiyo-e for guidance. What it was they were looking for they could perhaps not have even described, but they knew they were not willing to accept the status quo. When the outside world finally came knocking on Japan's door in the mid-1800's, the preparatory work had been done. The feudal society, so outwardly strong and solid, was hollow at the core. It collapsed in chaos, and a new society arose in its place.
It is impossible to overestimate the role that Ukiyo-e prints played in this long process of change. The prints were everywhere in society. Members of a poetry circle meeting at a tea-house would have their best work engraved and printed for circulation, perhaps accompanied by a design from Suzuki Harunobu, who specialized in such work. The townsman's wife would eagerly peruse the latest prints in a book shop, looking for information on the latest fashions and hair styles. Sumo wrestlers, historical heroes, folk tale figures, all figured widely in the prints. It is hard to find any aspect of the culture of the day that was not included. The prints were as representative of their society as any stack of magazines in our local bookstore is of ours now. And just as we consider 'People' magazine to be anything but high art, the people of that day would never have thought of their prints as anything special. The men who created them were simple 'shokunin' or workmen, and even the designers, who we now consider to be among the world's greatest artists, had a social status ranking far, far below such people as calligraphers or painters in antique Chinese styles. Ukiyo-e prints were not 'art', they were 'commerce'. They were not pretentious works, but simple honest expressions of the culture of the day, shaped by that culture, and in turn helping to shape it. They were a vital force for social change, as revolutionary as any political pamphlets could have been. If they had not existed, the course of Japanese history would have been vastly different. Any single print of a beautiful courtesan could not cause the overthrow of the feudal society, but the Ukiyo-e as a whole certainly played a major role, and that is perhaps the highest possible accolade that can be paid to any genre of art. It is certainly fitting that these prints have finally, in our century, found the respect and understanding that they did not get in their original society. May they stand forever as symbols of the power of art to change the world.
(The three illustrations accompanying this story are of prints that I made for 'training', back when I lived in Canada ...)