Yoshinaga killing a
white monkey in the mountains
37.8 X 27.2 cm.
c. 1800
The other drawings
These discoveries should change our way of interpreting the other drawings by Hokusai. Little by little a new approach, mainly based on a study of his brushstroke, was put in place:
c.
1785.
During his apprenticeship in the Katsukawa atelier, Hokusai drew a series of
fan shaped prints. Ten drawings from this series are still preserved
at the Victoria & Albert Museum, London, and reproduced in Ukiyo-e Masterpieces
in European Collections. Kodansha, vol. IV, nos. 7 to 16; Forrer-de Goncourt,
Hokusai. Flammarion, nos. 11 to 14; Calza, Hokusai. Electa, Milano,
p. 31, n° 6. Unfortunately, and above all, they
reflect the professed academism of the school.
c. 1800. Hokusai completely emancipated himself and developed a personal drawing style. However, even though the brushstroke was superbly mastered, he had not yet found the liberty that we see in 1807. On the other hand, his way of treating hair, feet, pine cones, light touches of pink and his calligraphy are already easily identifiable.
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Yoshinaga killing a
white monkey in the mountains c. 1800 |
1816 to c. 1829. It would seem that there are no known drawings by Hokusai intended for wood block illustrations. Some drawings are known to exist but have never been published, which means they can only be dated on stylistic basis.
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Chinese hero overpowering three tigers
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1828. Hokusai suffers an apoplectic fit.
c. 1830–33. Hokusai draws the superb Bullfinch and weeping cherry (Hillier, Japanese Drawings of the 18 and 19th cent., n°61) ), thus proving that he has recovered his brilliance.
1833–34. Hokusai draws The Hundred Views of Fuji. Roughly ten preparatory drawings for this series are known to exist and they hold two surprises : Firstly the apparition of preparatory red lines which were drawn over in the end by black ones. This new technique was intended to replace the formerly traditional copying by means of transparencies.
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The
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Secondly, there are improbable differences from one drawing to the next. Some show the same
perfection seen in Bullfinch and weeping cherry, while others
show Hokusai having to redo a simple straight line representing one of the
sides of Mount Fuji several times. A comparison of Mount Fuji in
The great Rock temple in the mountains with the same mountain in
Fuji with a cap or Fuji of the poet speaks
for itself.
Strangely, we also see incredible differences in technique from one drawing
to the other, some of which are quite astounding. The finest examples (The
great Rock temple in the mountains , Thunderstorm over Fuji ) show no real differences with the best of the
drawings done shortly before, while others ( Fuji of the poet, Fuji with
a cap ) show a very odd difference between one part of the drawing,
done clumsily, but still quite vivaciously and another part, technically
perfect but totally which is unanimated. Careful examination reveals that at
least one, Fuji beyond seven bridges, is an authentic collage
of at least 16 small fragments which were cut, pasted then overdrawn.
It seems feasible to put forward the hypothesis that, while he was drawing one of his great masterpieces The Hundred Views of Fuji, Hokusai fell ill losing his capacity to draw to such a point that he could at times only draw very basic sketches. But, crucially, without affecting in any way his judgement or creativity. With the collusion of his studio he decided to keep the fact secret and carry on working, continuing to produce drawings for publication. Several techniques were used to achieve this, going through as many tryouts as necessary to arrive at the desired result. One of these consisted of cutting small fragments of existing sketches which might be useful and pasting them on a background, adding missing elements which did not require precise drawing (Fuji beyond seven bridges). The collage technique, probably having very quickly shown its limitations, would have led to a more active participation by a pupil. This would mean that each would contribute what they were best at doing: Hokusai bringing his imagination, placing the elements on the page, which although very crude clearly shows his touch (Fuji of the poet, Fuji with a cap…) and supervising the execution. The remainder would be executed by a trusted pupil, with the most precise drawing technique.
Many people I know will find such collusion difficult to accept, but I put forward a few comments:
· At this point in his life, Hokusai would have had almost 60 years of experience working in studios where collaborative work was the rule (see Lane 1989, p. 18).
· Since ukiyo-e drawing was by nature the result of collaboration between four people: a publisher, an artist, a wood-block carver and a printer, it lent itself perfectly to this subterfuge.
· Finally, it would seem that it wasn’t necessarily the finest drawings which produced the best prints. The great Rock temple in the mountains drawing is an excellent example. Although it is by far the most accomplished drawing left in the series, that does not prevent the print from this drawing from being one of the few bland ones in this book. Conversely, certain drawings which were “thrown together” by several hands, gave some of the most impressive prints, and were especially successful. Without doubt, using his wealth of experience including his time as a wood-block carver, Hokusai knew how to anticipate the final result, and perfectly organise his work in this way. In any case, no matter what the drawing method used, the published result was indubitably a masterpiece.
1834-35, during the Tempô crisis, Hokusai and his studio were preparing the series of prints of The Hundred Poems Explained by the Nurse. This series should have included 100 prints, of which only twenty seven saw the light of day before the crisis stopped publication. Sixty seven hanshita-e therefore remained unpublished, and were fortunately survived until the present day, along with five sketches. These hanshita-e, were all perfectly drawn but show soulless perfection, in total contrast to the sketches, drawn without precision, sometimes on the verge of being rudimentary, except one: "preparatory drawings."..(Forrer-De Goncourt, Hokousai , n° 420).
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Horsemen. Good exemple
of Hokusai's brushstroke |
For example, Chûnagon
Yakamochi (Morse 1989, 6; Collection H. Beres
2003, n° 184), contains lines drawn by someone who clearly gives the impression
of having great trouble holding a brush.
Fortunately, the
Ariwara no Narihira Ason sketch (Morse 1989, 17; Collection H. Beres 2003 n° 195 and pp. 170-171 greatly enlarged), lends
itself well to the precise study of the stroke, enabling us to reconstitute the
progression of the drawing:
1.
Hokusai would draw the outline of the drawing in red
ink. Almost everywhere, this line gives us the impression of having been drawn
by someone unable to use his brush precisely (except on the right hand part of
the bridge and the lovely rounded line of the hill in the top-right).
2.
A pupil, following Hokusai’s guidance, would then
finish what was most obvious in this outline:
the bridge and the hill.
3.
Hokusai would then draw the landscape using black
ink, using the same stroke as the red lines, giving a general indication of
mass.
4.
A pupil would draw the figures on small scraps
of paper. This would enable them to be repositioned and redrawn to make
the best composition, before being pasted into the scene.
What we find here is the complete method of creation first
seen in the The Hundred Views of Fuji , with one notable difference: the
collaboration between Hokusai and his pupil now seemed to be developed to
perfection, we have even found several hanshita-e by a pupil, which have
been reworked by Hokusai (Morse 1989, nos 8, 22, 33, 44, 60, 64, 69, 87, 86, 96).
In 1836,
Hokusai, now 76, took refuge in Uraga. Around this time we seem to have almost
lost trace of his life and work.
We are only able to study the stroke from c.1836 to c.1839 through two drawings, An incident from a Chinese romance (BnF Paris, Res. Dd 3251-3) reproduced in Hillier 1966, n° 45), and Battle Scene (BnF Paris, Res. Dd 3251-15), both works done for Shimpen suiko gaden (The new illustrated “suihuchuan”), volumes 33 and 35. These volumes are undated, apart from volumes 31 from Tempô 6 (1835) and 41 from Tempô 9 (1838). It seems reasonable to assume that volumes 33 and 35 were published in 1836 and 1837. We have noticed that Hokusai’s drawing style once again changed, regaining its consistency to the point of building up a drawing without preparatory work in red ink. Observation of the line in An incident from a Chinese romance shows that there are three clearly distinctive types of line:
1. The carefully drawn figures. We can sense that Hokusai took a lot of trouble to accurately and precisely draw what he wanted. The long strokes used for the clothes retain a trace of attack and end of line. The faces, and especially the hair and furs worn by the men, are built up using many small short lines which verge on the stark and stiff, with corrections being applied to the figures by pasting over them.
2. The house is made up solely of straight lines drawn using a ruler, sometimes going on further than strictly necessary, showing proof that these drawings were just one stage in the work towards the hanshita-e.
3. In the “decorative accessories” of the trees, the thatched roof and the grass, we see Hokusai’s free lines, although the rocks at bottom-right appear to have been drawn without care.
Certain comments are worth making here:
We once more find in this work, the technique of drawing precise figures within a landscape which is clearly only a rough outline where the accent is placed on positioning the elements within the space. The line is precise once again, but for the first time, displays a slight stiffness which is surprising. This stiffness seems to have been improved upon in the Battle Scene drawing, which was probably only drawn a year later. Of course, it is not possible to reach a conclusion based on the study of only two drawings, but between volume 33 (1836?) and volume 35 (1837?), the improvement seems unquestionable. Other examples showing an identical line, are reproduced in Hillier, Hokusai drawings (London: Phaidon, 1966), n° 44; Ostier, Le Dessin Japonais, ( Paris: Ostier,1981), where a figure drawn using a very similar line is reproduced greatly enlarged in the frontispiece; and Collection Berès, 2003, nos 201, 194, 191.
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Man seated next to a writing desk |
From c. 1840, Hokusai would publish almost no more prints, and few books, most of which were in collaboration with others, and where he would limit himself to providing the first one or two illustrations. The few examples that we have of drawings destined for publication seem laboured. They are small, using a mixed technique which could easily be done with straight lines using a ruler, parts of which were carefully cut and pasted, and other parts which were drawn. The overall effect is of a great deal of work to arrive at a precise, publishable, result (Boats in the reeds, 1841; Forrer-de Goncourt, Hokusai, n° 476 )
Conversely, there are many beautiful and very free drawings not destined for publication, at least up until c. 1846. It is fortunate that there are quite a few works which are all characterised by a truly youthful spirit. There is spontaneity, not only in the method, but also in the subjects. Even the tormented imagination seen in previous years seems to have been replaced by more simple calm subjects. Notably:
The self-portrait from 1842 is characterised by an amazingly expressive face, much more than those seen in the Nisshin Jôma (Daily exorcisms). The eyes in particular, are truly lively and well worked like those which Hokusai had done previously. Can this be due to him being a year younger, or due to the fact that he was in good form that day, or even more likely, that the expression in a self-portrait cannot be compared with those of legendary characters.
The famous Shishi drawings from 1843 and 1844, (Nisshin Jôma ) are characterised by a very homogenous working method and a greater ease of drawing from one day to the next. Certain days, even certain periods, seem especially inspired: We see a drawing, even a succession of drawings, that have been carried out with a faultlessly alert and assured line. When searching in the majority of the other drawings we see a weakness, generally a certain stiffness, which is mostly found in the broader lines. We notice the same working of the line on all of them, based on a play between a thin precise stroke of constant thickness, with no attack or end of line, generally used for the faces, hair and hands, and broad strokes which sometimes widen into a wash, in the style of ink painting. Oddly for such broad strokes, we find attacks and ends of lines, although they are rarely obvious.
We can probably also date to this period, these surprising drawings “with broad lines” (examples of this stroke can be found in: Forrer-de Goncourt, Hokusai, n° 257, Scene de campagne; Ibid., n° 258, Preparation du poisson dans une cuisine; Collection H. Beres 2003, n° 183)
Done in a method almost identical to ink painting, they are not really comparable with any other style of drawing either seen previously or later. Most surprisingly, we cannot clearly see their purpose: they weren’t destined for publication, and are too small to be shown as paintings – what could they be used for and who were they destined for? Can we assume that, whilst doing the Nisshin Jôma, Hokusai also painted the “little people” so sympathetically and purely for his own pleasure?
Some people will find the spontaneous aspect of the strokes appealing, apparently drawn with little care, with no attacks or ends of line, with no work on the body of the line other than a search for a spontaneous, sometimes brutal aspect, to the point where we get the impression that the brush was sometimes deliberately misused. They would appreciate the avant-gardist aspect of great spontaneity in the themes which seems to really suit these new subjects. Others will not understand this casual aspect, and will be disappointed by this apparent loosening of his style.
In 1847, the Nisshin Jôma drawings were given as a present by Hokusai and his daughter Oei, along with a letter and a drawing done for the occasion. This depicts a stylised ideogram of “longevity” running after the sacred pearl (reproduced in Christie’s N. Y., November 3, 1997, nos 88 et 87). This letter and drawing show that Hokusai still wrote and drew in a perfectly controlled manner during this period. We should recognise however that the handwriting seems somewhat hesitant and that, although the drawing is noticeably less elaborate than those from the same series drawn four years earlier, we can see a major correction which was applied to one of the sacred pearls in the bottom-right.
From the final years, a fair number of small sketches have been kept. Unable to associate
them to any printed works, we have almost no other way to classify them than to
categorize them by what would seem to be Hokusai’s physical capacities:
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| Small landscapes. 10 X
12cm. Early 1840's |
Dog. 14 X 12.5cm. Late 1840's |
Displaying a consummate sense of drama it would seem that one of Hokusai’s very last drawings that we know is the very impressive and moving self-portrait kept by the Musée Guimet, Paris (reproduced in Ukiyo-e Masterpieces in E. C., vol. 6, pl. 8; Forrer-de Goncourt, Hokusai, n° 408; Lane, Hokusai. Life and work, n° 348; Hillier, Hokusai Paintings, Drawings and woodcuts, ( London: Phaidon,1955), illust. 116; de Goncourt, Hokousaï, (Orient 1984, anastatic reprint), front cover). Apparently, and in all probability, Hokusai drew the outline in red ink, then went over the lines of the clothing with a superbly strong and glossy black ink. Taking into consideration the hands drawn in red ink, it would seem feasible to say that Hokusai may have not been sufficiently sure of himself to finish the lines of the face and hands, and left them to be finished by a pupil. This was carried out with care and respect: all the lines are discreet and precise, with none standing out above the rest. In answer to the question “who could the old Master have trusted enough to finish his self-portrait in his place?” I would like to remind you that his daughter Oei, who stayed with him until the end, was an accomplished artist. This hypothesis is first of all reinforced by the stunning resemblance with the “facsimile of the portrait of Hokusai, aged in his 80s and painted by his daughter Oyei” (sic), reproduced in de Goncourt, Hokousaï, ( Orient, 1984), behind the title page, but unfortunately without other details, and secondly by the traditional attribution given by de Goncourt.
