The MFA’s Transformation

Years ago, I interned at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, for a short time. At that time, the American Wing expansion plans were in an early stage, and a major exhibition of Chinese contemporary art was likewise in the very first planning stages. So, visiting the MFA a few weeks ago to see both the Chinese contemporary exhibition “Fresh Ink” and the newly completed and opened American wing was a visit a long time in the making, so to speak, and one I very much looked forward to. (Sadly, in the end, I did not give myself enough time to take my time and take it all in properly.)

It’s not just a new wing — really, this comes as the cornerstone or culmination of a major overhaul and redesign of the museum. Some very significant portion of the museum (75%?) remains more or less untouched, but the entrances and general expected visitor path through the museum have changed completely, and that makes all the difference. The West Wing entrance, through the parking lot, which was the main entrance for years, as long as I can remember, is now blocked off. I think it may be still used for school groups and the like, but where there used to be the main box office, a large coat room, and the like, is now a more or less empty foyer with nearly blank white walls, feeling, along with the café, museum shop, and auditorium which it connects to, like a distant corner of the museum, considerably isolated from the center of the action.

The front entrance in the center of the Neo-Classical facade, facing the street, long quite secondary, is now the primary entrance, with a brand new box office to the right, where one of the main galleries of Egyptian artifacts was. To the left of this front entrance, the South Asian galleries have been shrunken and relocated to make room for a gift shop, and the corridor leading into the otherwise largely unchanged Asian Arts section has been given new glass doors and otherwise been dressed up.

The new courtyard, looking back towards the new visitors’ center. (No shots of the visitors’ center itself; sorry.)

A large room at the center of the museum has been converted into a major visitors’ center, with a large, flashy information desk, and a number of tables and seats for relaxing, meeting up, or planning your next steps. This has been there since at least a year and a half ago (Summer 2009), if not earlier… except that now it looks out onto the brand-new Carl & Ruth Shapiro Family Courtyard, a glorious glass-walled, large, airy courtyard filled with natural light and an expensive-looking café.

In my courses at UH, we have discussed the discursive implications of museum layouts, and how even today, many museums’ layouts can still be interpreted to subtly imply or reflect Orientalist or Euro-centric (American-centric) attitudes. Think about your local museum, or any major museum you’ve been to. Which cultures’ art is displayed in the greatest places of honor? Which galleries are most immediately available and visible upon entering the museum, and which ones are hidden away in basements, in the far back corner, or in otherwise removed and distant parts of the museum?

The MFA, like the Honolulu Academy of Arts, has long addressed this problem by attempting to balance the Asian and Western wings on opposite sides of the main front entrance. Walk in the main front entrance, and it used to be that India was on your left, followed by China and Japan as you moved deeper into the museum in that direction; Egypt was on the right of the entrance, followed by Greece and Rome. This is of course hardly a perfect solution, as this still implies a rather elitist and old-school view of the hierarchy of cultures and arts, barely changed from the Victorian ideas which served as the foundations of the first museums. In fact, I would argue quite strongly that there can never be a perfect solution, and that no matter what the arrangement / layout may be, it will always be interpretable as perpetuating this or that discriminatory or otherwise politically incorrect discourse. It’s just an ineviability – we try, we do what we can, but such discourses are by their very nature unavoidable and ever-present.

The stairs and glass windows of the new Arts of the Americas galleries. Paul Revere welcomes you on the ground floor, to exhibits on colonial New England, while a contemporary sculpture in steel(?), visible from here in the courtyard, marks the modern/contemporary section. Native arts are in the basement, out of sight from here.

That said, it is hard to ignore the fact that, while this balanced East/West dichotomy may remain at the entrance to the museum, standing in the new courtyard, the new center of the museum, all the art overseen by the “Arts of Asia, Oceania, and Africa” department, or, as one friend put it, “the department of the art of non-whites,” is off in an other part of the museum, the older part, a part that feels distant and removed from this bright, shiny, new, exciting expansion.

Imagine you’re the stereotypical museum visitor. You’ve just arrived and, as the designers/planners intended, you go straight to the new visitors’ center, pick up a map and talk to the staff about what’s going on today and what’s to see. You’re beyond that balanced East/West entranceway now, and are starting your exploration of the museum facing the new courtyard. Ancient Egypt is to your left; the Arts of Europe to your right. And, straight ahead, stretching up four floors, in grand style, as if it were the culmination of all arts of humankind, is the Arts of America Wing.

(Though, I will certainly grant them major brownie points for having the big temporary exhibits gallery, below this main courtyard, be a Chinese art show at the moment, and not one of Western art.)

The Native North American Arts gallery

Yes, granted, the MFA received lots of positive press for its revolutionary idea to incorporate Native American, Mayan, Aztec, Inca, Caribbean, and Central and South American arts into an integrated “Arts of the Americas” Wing, something that I gather no major museum has ever done before. But, even so, the Native American arts are still in the basement, the contemporary American artworks up on the fourth floor, reaching up towards the sky. My father made the excellent observation that objectively, scientifically, none of this really necessarily means anything; but, nevertheless, it is widely accepted among art historians and others specializing in theory and discourse of this sort that these kinds of things do have certain discursive implications. Yes, sure, it makes sense to do things chronologically, from pre-Columbian to post-contact, to Colonial, to 18th, 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries. But in the process of doing so, I am sorry to say, you are reproducing hints or implications of the same discourses of indigenous peoples being frozen in the past, or lacking in history, that are at the center of the colonialistic/Orientalist attitudes that have been attracting criticism for decades now…

….

I felt terribly rushed, unfortunately, in my visit, as I didn’t make it out to the museum until 1pm or so, and they decided to close early, around 4pm, on account of the Snowpocalypse. So, I really did not get to explore and investigate and engage with the new galleries as I would have liked to, but really only managed to touch the surface, run around and get a glimpse, a taste.

After a few hours in the Chinese galleries, I entered the Arts of the Americas Wing in the basement. Presumably, you’re meant to enter at the ground floor, where Paul Revere welcomes you to the section for the arts of colonial New England, but nevertheless, there was an entrance there in the basement, and a rather prominent one; it’s not like I came in through a weird back side secondary entrance – I just want to be clear about that, so you understand the context of my next statement.

Upon entering this brand new, much lauded American Art Wing, my first impression should have been “impressive.” But it was not. It was “confusion.” I appreciate the discursive and political desire to blur or eliminate the boundary between “American Art” and “Art of the Americas,” by juxtaposing, for example, the Native American gallery with the maritime art (read: model ships and paintings of ships) gallery, but really, more than anything it just feels disjointed and confusing. Sure, there is a logic to that juxtaposition – these are the ships of exploration, the ships of colonization and conquest that chronologically and thematically mark the end of the Pre-Columbian Era and the Pre-Columbian civilizations. But, while the Native American gallery may itself be organized logically into sections for Plains Indians, the American Southwest, the Pacific Northwest, etc., the juxtaposition of this with “Embroidery of Colonial Boston” just does not seem to work.

Say what you want about the value of discursive thematics – such as the juxtaposition of colonial and colonized – but as a museum visitor, trying to find my way to certain works or certain periods by looking at hints in certain rooms (similar, or dissimilar? too early, or too late?), I feel totally lost.

If you’re going to shove all the Arts of the Americas all together, why not shove all the Arts of Asia together? Does that really make less sense?

…

The desire to include contemporary works mixed in with traditional ones in the Native American gallery is an interesting one. It is certainly something we have discussed ad nauseum in my excessively indigenous-cultures-oriented Museum Studies course in Hawaii – the desire to combat Orientalist discourses by showing indigenous peoples as not frozen in the past, and as possessing a vital, active, contemporary presence and membership in fully modern society. Yet, I could not help but feel that their inclusion shifted the feel of the entire exhibit such that it felt like it was entirely an exhibit about contemporary culture, and how contemporary Native life today relates to or engages with history and tradition. This sets it apart sharply from the rest of the American Art (that is to say, the colonial and US art), which is more explicitly historical.

Right: “Raven Steals the Moon”. 2002. Preston Singletary (b. 1963, American – Tlingit). 19.5 x 6 in. Blown glass & sandblasted design.

Looking at the contemporary pieces more closely, I find one that I quite like. “Raven Steals the Moon” is a fine example of a contemporary piece that fits right in, feeling right at home among more traditional artifacts. It reflects that traditions, or at least some knowledge and appreciation of traditions, is still alive. It feels to me precisely like the Pacific Northwest Native American equivalent of Nihonga or Neo-Nihonga paintings in Japan – assuredly modern, but at the same time very much reflecting an awareness of, a knowledge of, an appreciation for, and a continuation from, historical traditional art forms.

By contrast, abstract oil paintings that refer more to contemporary politics, to suffering under colonialism, imperialism, conquest, etc etc seem terribly out of place to me – confrontational and accusatory. As politically incorrect as it may be for me to say it, I cannot help but to look at these stereotypical images (horses, buffalo) and wonder just how much true connection they have to these native cultures, and how much they are simply being used, deployed, employed, appropriated for political purposes. It feels cheesy and forced, like you’re trying to claim a heritage already lost. Unlike Singletary’s piece, which seems to reflect genuine knowledge and genuine tradition, these appropriate Orientalist stereotypes as if they were the real thing, the real Native American identity, worn proudly though it is hardly the real thing.

…

But enough about discursive matters, politics and Orientalism, post-colonial theory and all that. Running out of time, I flitted through two more floors (missing the topmost contemporary art floor entirely), and have only a few more things to say. Number one, simply an observation that the doors to the new wing click when opened, like they’re not just hanging there but have an actual fully closed position. It seems a longshot as I sit here typing it, but at the time it seemed to me quite logical to infer that perhaps this was part of an improved conservation system – the doors close completely, for climate control. Or maybe they don’t. It was just a thought.

Video screens and a few vitrines at the Behind the Scenes exhibit. The screens face out towards a huge bank of windows looking out over the Fenway, and a couch is provided for you to sit and relax, look out the windows, and take a break. All of this is around the corner and on the opposite side of thick walls from the main American Art exhibits – a quiet spot to get away from the crowds and the lights for a moment.

Also, hiding around a corner, facing out the windows, away from the main exhibits, is a small set of exhibits entitled “Behind the Scenes.” You cannot imagine how excited I was to discover this. Firstly, it’s just a wonderful, brilliant design decision, creating this very cozy, quiet space where one can study, or just sit and talk, get away from the crowds for a minute, and stare out the window, mere feet away from the gallery but totally removed from it.

And I *love* the idea of a behind the scenes gallery at a museum. Maybe I’m in the minority, maybe it’s my interest in museums to begin with that makes me hardly the typical visitor. But I am fascinated by the idea of them sharing how the museum staff decide what to collect and to obtain (i.e. what to accession), sharing how the new galleries were installed (beautiful photos and videos relate this on a series of video screens), and granting the visitor a glimpse of conservation issues, problems, decisions, policies, and processes. What to do with a chair that was nearly destroyed in a house fire but which would otherwise have been a fantastic artifact of 18th century New England colonial furniture styles? Is it fit for display? Do we risk risky conservation efforts? What do we do with a painting that was restored, with 20th century museum staff “correcting” or “fixing” details such as a hand by painting over it? Do we un-restore it back to a more original form that betrays the poor condition of the work but reveals more of the original forms and shapes?

…

I had hoped to return to the MFA the following day, to more thoroughly, slowly, engage with the gallery, explore it and give more thought to it and to other exhibits, but I was ruined by the Snowmageddon which struck the Northeast that night (Sunday 12/26 into Monday 12/27). I look forward to going back in the summer, though the Chinese exhibit “Fresh Ink” will be long gone by then…

Meanwhile, the Boston Globe has put up a beautiful mini-site full of graphics and short articles about the planning and creation of this new wing. It does, apparently, though, require registration to the website, which should be free. I am hoping to at some point go through these materials and put together a more serious and organized blog post about the expansion, since there really is so much material to work from here; but, I’m already behind on things I want to post about, so we’ll see…

All photos taken myself, at the Museum. With the exception of the photo of “Raven Steals the Moon,” from the MFA’s online catalog.

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New Arts of the Americas Wing at the MFA

The New York Times reports today on the new “Art of the Americas” wing which has been in the planning at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston for many years, and which is scheduled to finally open this November. I regret that I won’t have a chance to visit it until the following summer.

The design and concept of the new wing is revolutionary, in that it aims to show all the arts of the Americas – from Mayan ceramics to Jackson Pollack in one gallery, emphasizing a particular attitude of American identity that looks south, from the United States (and Canada) to Latin America, crafting a complex set of narratives linking these times and places.

I am certainly excited to see it, as I have no doubt that it will be extremely well-done, architecturally stunning, totally up-to-date in style and features, and yet totally in keeping with the architectural character of the museum as a whole. The renovation overhaul of much of the rest of the building a few years ago was executed superbly, and I am sure this addition will be as well. They’re even using stone from the same quarry used when the museum was originally built 100 years ago.

However, and I feel bad to say it, as I have nothing but the utmost love and respect for the MFA – it’s one of my favorite museums, and working there would be an absolute dream job – I cannot help but believe that this approach reflects a politically correct attitude that doesn’t actually reflect the US we live in.

As the article points out, ‘when the Met opened the first American Wing, in 1924, she said, “that was the year of the most severe restrictions against immigrants in the United States.” The Met wing was conceived, in part, as an antidote to “this sense that the Anglo-American heritage of the United States was being lost,” Ms. Davis said.’

Today, by contrast, there seems to be an attitude of political correctness that equates American culture/identity/voices with African-American and/or Latino (Hispanic) culture/identity/voices. I am sure that in many parts of the country, and in many communities, from the South to the Southwest, it may be very easy to get that impression. But the America I know, the NY I grew up in, is a place that owes just as much, if not more, to British-, Irish-, German-, Jewish-, Chinese-, Japanese-, Indian-, and Arab-Americans as it does to Latinos and blacks. Sure, I grew up around bodegas, learned Spanish in high school, and had my first tacos, nachos, and burritos before I ever knew what sushi was. But I don’t believe that our country’s history and culture is any more intimately tied to pre-Columbian or Latin American culture than it is to the cultures of the rest of the world.

Perhaps I am jumping the gun and being too harsh. The article does, after all, mention that Sargent and Copley will have their own dedicated sections, and that other sections will be devoted to works inspired by the Grand Tour (of Europe), and to Art Deco. Furthermore, Boston has a particularly rich Colonial British and maritime history, which is sure to be not overlooked.

I just hope that this new Art of the Americas Wing will highlight the art and culture of a wide diversity of American artists, and will not seek to craft a false narrative of the US as a Latin American or African-American country, because that would be just as reactionary, and ultimately incorrect, a stance as the 1924 Anglo-American-focused Metropolitan effort.

At least they’re cognizant of this, and admit it openly:
“Ms. Davis said that the approach was not without risks. “There is a certain amount of fear sometimes about being out on the forefront, trying something new,” she said. “I think you have to be bold and say, ‘This is our view.’ Down the road, in another generation, they’ll have another view.””

Looking forward to it. The MFA remains one of my favorite museums, and every exhibit season that I am away from it, I truly feel I am missing out.

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Japanese National Treasures in the US: Ever Again?

In skimming through a handful of snippets from the MFA Bulletin in search of more information on Kôjirô Tomita’s life and career, I just came across a description he gave of an exhibition held at the MFA in Nov-Dec 1953, of art treasures on loan from Japan.

I am not particularly familiar with the ins and outs and intricate details of the history of policies involving National Treasures and the loan or export of such objects, nor of all the issues, discussions, and controversy surrounding such matters today, but suffice it to say that I was amazed – truly, floored – at the objects included in this exhibition, knowing that under current policies, it is extremely extremely unlikely that any of these objects will ever be seen on exhibition overseas (i.e. here in the US). These are objects that can be found in any Japanese art history textbook; images with which any scholar or student of Japanese art would be familiar, and with which the vast majority of Japanese might also be expected to be familiar. These are the Mona Lisas of Japanese art – and while the Mona Lisa is on permanent display in a museum accessible to the public, outside of its home country (remember, Da Vinci was Italian; the Louvre is in France), the great majority of the most famous and most treasured Japanese works of art are held by Buddhist temples, who rarely if ever put them on display.

I fully understand and appreciate concerns about conservation issues, about the potential (the possibility is always there) for loss, should the airplane crash or some other disaster befall the artworks, … but without getting into it too much, suffice it to say that I get the distinct impression that all in all the Japanese government has in recent years or recent decades tightened up their restrictions on overseas loans to a far greater extent than is considered reasonable by many Western museum professionals (curators of Japanese art, etc.).

Shaka Nyorai, Jingô-ji

Yamagoshi Raigô (Descent of Amida Bodhisattva over the Mountains), Kômyô-ji

Chôjû-jinbutsu-giga, Kôzanji

Ban Dainagon Ekotoba, Idemitsu Museum (previously owned by the family of the daimyo of Obama domain.)

Kitano Tenjin Engi Emaki, Kitano Tenmangû

Portrait of Minamoto no Yoritomo, attri. Fujiwara no Takanobu, Jingô-ji

Raijin and Fûjin (Thunder God & Wind God), Tawaraya Sôtatsu, Kennin-ji

Cheers to those who were able to see this amazing exhibition in 1953. Or, perhaps, cheers to us in 2010, who can view all these objects right here, on the Internet, and who can more easily than ever travel to Japan, where we can see tons of other artworks, if not these particular ones.

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Discovering Kôjirô Tomita

I imagine it difficult to work with any collection, or indeed to work at a museum in almost any capacity, without becoming familiar with a number of names of prominent donors, former directors, former staff members, etc. In most cases, these people will be of provincial significance, prominent perhaps in the history of your museum, your town, or the wider area, but not really at all beyond that. However, sometimes these names are in fact of great significance, within the niche field of the history of the art world (or the more obscure niche field of, for example, the historiography among American scholars of Japanese art) at least.

As an intern at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, I was myself introduced to quite a number of these names, who I would soon discover are truly giants in the field (however obscure and niche that field may be). You can hardly discuss the art world in Meiji Japan – let alone the world of Asian Art in Boston at that time – without touching upon Ernest Fenollosa and Okakura Kakuzo, Edward S. Morse being a close runner-up. In looking through object files, archived correspondence, and material accessible to any member of the public – such as gallery labels and published catalogs – I quickly came to recognize a handful of names which came up time and again, some former directors or curators, some prominent donors, and some not so directly associated with the museum, but prominent figures in Boston social circles and in the art world. Denman Ross. Isabella Stewart Gardner, John LaFarge. Even today, years later, I can remember many of these names without having to go back and look them up in any way. William Sturgis Bigelow. Charles Goddard Weld. John Ellerton Lodge. Ananda Coomaraswamy. Robert Treat Paine. Jan Fontein.

… and then there was Kôjirô Tomita. I must admit, I don’t remember too clearly what I heard about him, or where I came across the name, but, as with the other names, his was one which simply came up time and again. He was curator of Asian Art during the War, and for some time before and after that, though I was never fully clear on the dates of his service (read: employment). I knew that he was held in high regard, and if I remember correctly, the current Japanese art curator either worked closely with him, or at least met him on at least one occasion. I grew curious to learn more about him, but figured that it was unlikely anyone had written much about Tomita, let alone a full biography; after all, it is a rare scholar to whom is devoted such attention, particularly when their life and career are more recent.

I never cease to be amazed by the amount of books, journal articles, etc out there written about Okakura, his life, career, and attitudes. The same cannot be said of Tomita.

Certainly, if one were to delve into back issues of the Museum Bulletin and other such sources, one could find bits and pieces here and there, and one might even get lucky and happen upon an issue containing a brief biography, or his obituary. If one were to delve into the museum’s archives, then certainly one could find out more, though as someone with some limited experience with museum archives, I can assure you they’re rarely the treasure trove one expects them to be. But, as someone who has moved away from Boston, with limited access to such provincial/local sources as the museum bulletins, never mind the museum’s archives (incidentally, I am pleasantly surprised to discover that some of the MFA Bulletins and other such documents dating back to what is now in the public domain can be found in full on Google Books), I decided to shelve the idea for the time being, keeping an eye out for anything that might come up.

But then, yesterday, I happened upon an article addressing the contrasting views of Okakura and his student, Tomita, on various matters – without getting too much into it, suffice it to say, issues relating to nationalist discourses, intellectual authority, and how Okakura and Tomita saw themselves in their roles as art scholars and cultural interpreters. The article included a brief biography of Tomita, the first I’ve ever come across. I was surprised to discover that this gentleman, who was alive and active somewhat recently (passing away in 1976, a full 63 years after Okakura), and with whom the current curator had worked or at least spoken, was a direct student of Okakura’s. Even though I still know relatively little about him and his work, on this basis alone I should think it fair to say that Tomita was not simply an interim curator, not just an influential or prominent scholar, but truly someone who bridged the generations. While in a great many respects the department, the museum, the art world, and the world in general, have changed dramatically over the last century, it is amazing sometimes how all that time – and all those events and developments – can be spanned in just a few generations.

…

A Brief Biography

Tomita first came to the United States in 1906, on a government scholarship, at the age of 16. Like many other Japanese sent by their government to the West in the Meiji period (1868-1912), he was there to study Western industrialization, and to bring his expertise back to Japan. He was also there to promote Japanese lacquerware. This was a time of great modernization, Westernization, and industrialization for Japan, but it was also a time when the West was very much interested in Japanese (so-called) decorative arts.

After completing his obligations to the government, he was hired in 1909 by Okakura to aid in translation and research efforts at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. It was right around this time that the core or foundation of what is today arguably the largest or greatest collection of Japanese art under one roof was being established. Okakura and Fenollosa had played a major role in establishing the canon of Japanese painting and sculpture, and hundreds if not thousands of objects they obtained would be formally donated to the museum in 1911. Edward S. Morse, who had traveled to Japan originally out of interest in marine zoology, and the rare or exotic molluscs of Japan which could not be found in the West, contributed a considerable collection of Japanese ceramics and porcelains which remains famous today. To the extent that he is known at all, I gather that Tomita is most known for his efforts and contributions as curator, in later decades; but, here he was, at a most exciting time in the development of the study & appreciation of Asian art in the US, rubbing elbows with the likes of Okakura, Fenollosa, Morse, and Bigelow, and working directly with objects quite new at that time to art historical analysis, to a canon, to the museum world, to the West, which are today some of the most famous and prominent pieces outside of Japan.

In 1910, Tomita took a one-year leave of absence to represent Japan at the Japan-British Exposition at White City in London, after which he returned to Boston. It is strangely easy to forget quite often how these things intermingle – and, of course, this intermingling is one of the most intriguing and exciting things about history. One learns about the history of art within Japan, the history of the Asiatic department at the MFA, and the history of Japan’s involvement in International Expositions all around the same time, and one is strangely inclined to not connect the dots, and to see these as parallel narratives, never meeting or crossing. But, of course, they did cross. I’d be most interested to learn more about Tomita at this exposition – what talks he gave, what other prominent figures he might have met and what they might have discussed; his impressions of London, and his impressions of British attitudes towards Japan and Japanese art. … Okakura, similarly, attended the 1904 St Louis World’s Fair, where he gave talks and was otherwise involved in a prominent way.

When Okakura died in 1913, Tomita stayed on at the Museum. He became assistant curator in 1916, began taking on greater responsibilities in 1921 when John Ellerton Lodge, head of the department, was appointed head of the Freer Gallery at the Smithsonian and began to take frequent and lengthy absences from Boston. Tomita was promoted to full curator in 1931, and though he faced deportation in the 1940s along with most, if not all Japanese citizens resident in the US, the intervention of certain influential contacts led to his being allowed to stay.

At least in his early years in the US, he followed Okakura’s example in wearing kimono to public appearances. Though Japanese in their home country had almost entirely shifted to wearing Western clothing, which they saw as representative of modernity and class, Okakura believed, correctly, that Americans would see Tomita and himself as more authentic representatives of Japan, more authentic Japanese cultural experts, if they dressed in the traditional manner. However, Tomita diverged dramatically from his mentor in his attitudes towards Westernization in Japan, the place of Japan in the world, the role of Westerners as experts in Japanese art, and other such topics. I am beginning to learn that Okakura, celebrated though he may be for his expertise, and for his great contributions to the field of Japanese art, esp. to awareness and appreciation of Japanese art and culture in the United States, was actually a rather staunch nationalist. Though it has been said that he never would have intended his words to be used as justification for Japan’s militarist and imperialist expansion into Asia, and war against the (Western) Allied Powers in the 1930s-40s, he apparently believed quite strongly in a Japanese cultural superiority, and played an active role in crafting, perpetuating and disseminating imperialist and colonialist discourse at the St Louis World’s Fair, where great efforts were made in the Japanese displays to represent Japan as a modern imperialist power equal to the Western powers, at the expense of the Ainu, Okinawans, Koreans, Chinese, and others who were explicitly represented as culturally and racially inferior, and as a military power, winning victories in the Russo-Japanese War even as the Fair went on. Okakura was also apparently an advocate of the idea that only Japanese can fully appreciate and understand Japanese culture, and that white people cannot ever be authorities on the subject – an attitude which sadly continues to be espoused by many Japanese today.

By contrast, Tomita is described as believing in a universality of art – that Japanese and Westerners are ultimately both members of that which we call mankind, and that aesthetics are universal. He envisioned a more cosmopolitan and international Japan – one which absorbs and adopts the best parts of foreign cultures without losing its own, something Okakura very much feared and warned against.

As I have not yet taken the time today just yet to seek out any more information, the rest of Tomita’s story remains quite vague in my mind. How long did he stay at the MFA? The history of the museum, the department and collection, and Tomita’s contributions during these middle decades of the 20th century are a complete blank in my mind. I am curious, and shall keep my eyes open… hopefully, it won’t be another 5 years before I happen upon a book or article which reveals more.

————
*Chen, Constance J.S. “Transnational Orientals: Scholars of Art, National Discourses, and the Question of Intellectual Authority.” Journal of Asian American Studies. 9:3 (October 2006). pp215-242.

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Spotlight: Woodblock Print by Maruyama Ōkyo

“Archery Contest at the Sanjūsangendō.” Maruyama Ōkyo. Woodblock print; ink on paper, hand-colored. About 1759. Museum of Fine Arts: 11.1868

In honor of the 50th anniversary of the sister city relationship between Boston and Kyoto, the MFA is currently hosting not one, but two exhibits of Kyoto-related art. “Celebrating Kyoto” features contemporary 20th-21st century Kyoto-based artists whose intimate knowledge and understanding of the traditional arts is evident in their radical, modern, avant-garde works. “Visions of Kyoto,” meanwhile, is an exhibition devoted to depictions of Kyoto and Kyoto-related scenes in prints, from ukiyo-e (“pictures of the floating world”) of the Edo period to shin hanga (“new prints”) of the pre-war period to post-war sōsaku hanga (“creative prints”).

I was planning on doing a post giving sort of an overview of shin hanga, but that can wait, as I would like to talk about this one piece which really struck me when I saw it in the gallery.

The print at the top of this post is entitled “Archery Contest at the Sanjūsangendō,” and is an Edo period woodblock print very closely related to ukiyo-e prints in style, technique, and subject matter. It is classified on the MFA’s collections database as a “Nagasaki print,” a field I must admit I know very little about; so whether it is or is not to be considered an ukiyo-e print, I cannot say.

I can say, however, that Maruyama Ōkyo (1733-1795) was a Kyoto-based painter, founder of the Maruyama (or Shijō) school of painting. Ōkyo studied not only Japanese, but also Chinese and Western paintings extensively (the latter were available through woodblock printed monochrome reproductions of the paintings), blending elements from these different sources into a new, naturalistic style. While his works, and those of his school, are very much Sino-Japanese in style, media and subjects, they make use of perspective and shadow, Western innovations, to a greater extent than most of Ōkyo’s predecessors and contemporaries, thus distinguishing the Maruyama or Shijō school from other monochrome ink painting styles.

Ōkyo is certainly counted among the most significant or important painters of the Edo period. But I do not believe I have ever before seen a work by him in color, let alone a woodblock print or anything that might be associated at all with ukiyo-e.

“Tiger.” Hanging scroll ink painting. Maruyama Ōkyo. Dated 1777. Museum of Fine Arts: 11.8499.
“Dragon.” Hanging scroll ink painting. Maruyama Ōkyo. Dated 1777. Museum of Fine Arts: 11.8498.

All images are linked directly to the Museum of Fine Arts online collections database. No claims of copyright are made; no commercial benefit gained.

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