The Art of Japanese Hair Comb Patterns (Kushi Hinagata)

by Stephen J. Gertz

Sometime post-1905, an anonymous gentleman in Japan, wishing to preserve his collection of rice-paper rubbings of setsu kushi hinagata (patterns of miniature combs),  took three issues of Japan Art Society Reports from the 37th Year of the Meiji (1905), mounted the rubbings on each page,  had the issues bound together, crossed out the original titles and provided one in black ink.

Each page has two rubbed patterns, each pattern with upper and lower views of each comb, and the rubbings are remarkably sharp with even small details very  clear. The fact that the  patterns on the original combs had been so delicately carved is testament to the artistry brought to bear by their creators.

The resulting unique scrapbook features over 500 charcoal rubbings of miniature Japanese combs and hairpins (koagi).

The art of Japanese hair decoration, or kushi, dates back hundreds of years and has rich and varied heritage. As with much Eastern art it served to "beautify items of everyday use, to make the commonplace extraordinary [and] to tell of the life and status of the wearers, who were geisha, courtesans, court ladies, and housewives" (Daruma 35, vol. 9, No. 3, Summer 2002). And, indeed, this work is a testament to the beautiful and elegant diversity of this Japanese decorative art.

It's a curious, attractive and visually arresting book, one with clear aesthetic merit given the obsessive care and attention necessary to compile such a volume. As such, it's a valuable historical, cultural, and artistic record as well as an object that, as much as its subject, renders the commonplace extraordinary, and takes its place along side of Katsushika Hokusai's classic three-volume Imayo Kushi Hinagata (1823) as a key reference.

Traditional comb shapes are half moon, horseshoe, and square. The combs were often worn in concert with koagi (hair pins) in classical Japanese hairdressing.

Sakura (cherry blossoms), ume (Japanese plums), chrysanthemums, and peonies are typically employed patterns.

"Women have always adorned themselves but perhaps none so subtly as the Japanese. You can reproduce the old hairstyles seen in painting and sculpture but their hair ornaments remind us of the coiffures on which they were worn. In other words, hair ornaments are tangible souvenirs of ancient hairstyles.

 

"Hair ornaments were not mere accessories to feminine coiffure and attire. In keeping with the Japanese urge to beautify items of everyday use, to make the commonplace extraordinary, they were turned into artistic objects mirroring cultural and and social history. They tell of the life and status of their wearers, who were geisha, courtesans, court ladies, and housewives.

"They give a glimpse of the exceptional beauty of Japanese art..." (Ibid. Daruma). 

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Images courtesy of David Brass Rare Books, with our thanks.
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Health And Disease In "The Floating World" On Show In San Francisco

By Nancy Mattoon

Ten Realms Within the Body.
Kuniteru Utagawa III, Artist, c. 1885
(All Images From UCSF Japanese Woodblock Print Collection.)

Four hundred rare images of the Japanese woodblock prints, commonly referred to as ukiyo-e, or "pictures of the floating world," have been digitized by the libraries of the University of California, San Francisco. The UCSF Japanese Woodblock Print Collection is the largest collection of such woodblock prints related to health in the United States. While the most common ukiyo-e prints contain images of famous Kabuki actors or geishas, this collection is unique in depicting the history of medicine in Japan in the mid-to-late nineteenth century. This time in history, known as the late Edo and Meiji periods, was one of great change, when Japan was opening to the West after almost two hundred and fifty years of self-imposed isolation.

Advertising For: "Three Drugs From Rakuzendō
For Low Energy, Heart-burn, and Constipation."
Eitaku, Artist, Late 19th Century.

The collection is defined by five broad subject areas. The topic of 80 of the prints is the treatment and prevention of three contagious diseases: smallpox, measles, and cholera. A closely related area shows the intervention of various deities, both Buddhist and Shinto, to bring about a cure for those deadly maladies. Foreigners were seen as carriers of disease, so the collection includes prints depicting their arrival by ship, and the confined Dutch settlement of Nagasaki. Women's health, and specifically, pregnancy, make up a fourth area, including images of the gestating fetus. Finally, the largest part of the collection is made up of advertisements for drugs, cosmetics, and other health products from the 19th century. There are also miscellaneous prints depicting medical and psychological problems from dizziness to nightmares, and prints about nutrition and bodily functions.

Treatment Method for "Baieki,"
Popularly Called "Korori" [cholera].
Isshō Hanabusa, Artist, Early 19th Century.

According to the library's online exhibition, "The woodblock prints in this collection offer a fascinating visual account of Japanese medical knowledge in the late Edo and Meiji periods. Collectively, they record a gradual shift, by the late nineteenth century, from the reliance on gods and charms for succor from disease, to the adoption of Western, scientific principles as the basis for medical knowledge. They show the introduction of imported drugs and vaccines and increased use of printed advertisements to promote new medicinal products."

Household Gods: Daikoku and Fukuroku.
(Daikoku on a ladder,
shaving the top of Fukuroku's head.)
Toyokuni Utagawa III, Artist, 1857.

The method of creating these prints is as interesting as their subject matter. As described in commentary to the show, "Ukiyo-e prints were products of a remarkable collaboration between print publishers, designers, master block carvers, and printers. The publisher was the impresario who brought together the other, highly specialized team members. Having obtained a detailed sketch from the artist, he supervised the carving of multiple cherrywood blocks: a finely detailed key block, rendering the outlines of the design, and as many as a dozen separate blocks for printing each of the colors. The printer then stepped in, applying color to the blocks and printing them in succession, carefully registering the edges, and rubbing the paper (placed facedown on the block) to evenly transfer the colors to the page."

Advertisement For: Iodide Iron Pill.
Sadanobu Hasegawa, Artist, No Date.

In spite of this labor-intensive process, the finished prints were not expensive. They were either sold directly by the publishers in runs of several hundred, or distributed cheaply, or for free, to traveling vendors, who in turn gave them to local merchants, artisans, and tradesmen. The prints, however, were never meant to last. Like today's health brochures and mass market advertising supplements, they were expected to be read and discarded. Their ephemeral nature makes it all the more impressive that such a fine collection of prints has been assembled and made available to 21st century viewers.

Advertisement For: "Medicine For Clear Vision."
Yoshitsuya Utagawa, Artist,
1862.

The UCSF woodblock print collection was begun in 1963 as part of the library's East Asian Collection. UCSF Provost and University Librarian, later Chancellor, John B. de C. Saunders, M.D., founded the collection, which was expanded over the next 30 years by Librarian/Curator Atsumi Minami. Ms. Minami's dedication to the collection is evident in its comprehensiveness and fine quality. According to the libraries website, she frequently "traveled to Japan and China and purchased items from various smaller, private collections, acquiring the woodblock prints as well as hundreds of rare Chinese and Japanese medical texts, manuscripts, and painted scrolls." The prints are housed in the Library's Archives and Special Collections, and are often featured in exhibits in the library's gallery. Luckily for online visitors, this fascinating virtual exhibit is always just a mouse-click away.

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Chicago Library Is Turning Japanese

Tadanori Yokoo, Made In Japan, Silk Screen, 1998.

(Images Courtesy Of University of Chicago Libraries.)

Critics trying to sum up the work of artist Tadanori Yokoo have called him, "The Japanese Andy Warhol." That's like calling James Joyce, "The Irish Dr. Seuss." Both artists use silk-screen techniques to create prints, and that's where the similarity ends. Warhol's clear, linear, flat, and repetitive surfaces have a visceral visual impact. The eye instantly recognizes and grasps the content, often a colorful take on an already iconic image. Throw away all of that pop-art kapow, replace it with chaos, complexity, commotion, clutter, and more layers than a twelve-tiered wedding cake. The resulting merry-go-round of confusion is the art of Tadanori Yokoo. Viewers ready for Yokoo's wild ride should form a line at the University of Chicago's Joseph Regenstein Library. Dramamine is optional, but recommended.

Tadanori Yokoo, Shin Sangokushi, silk screen, 1999.

The library's exhibit, co-sponsored by the Japan Foundation Toronto, the Center for East Asian Studies, the University of Chicago Library, and the Consulate General of Japan at Chicago, contains posters Yokoo produced for commercial advertising, art exhibits, theatrical performances, record albums, and cultural events between 1997 and 2005. These recent works are among the artist's most complex.

Tadanori Yokoo, Poster for Atrium Gallery Exhibit, silk screen, 1999.

Born in 1936, Tadanori Yokoo was deeply influenced by Japan's rapidly-changing post-World War II culture. His art reflects Japan's transition from an insular, tradition-bound nation to a modern, global economic powerhouse. A single Yokoo silk screen can contain motifs from 19th century Japanese woodblock prints, Botticelli's Birth of Venus, traditional samurai swords, Dada photo collage, yakuza tattoos, Michelangelo's Laurentian Library, manga and anime characters, and 1960's psychedelia. About the only thing you won't find in Yokoo's everything-but-the-kitchen-sink aesthetic is any trace of hard-edged abstraction.

Tadanori Yokoo, Echigo Tsurukame, silk screen, 2000.

The multilayered, jam-packed symbolism of Yokoo's work is a microcosm of the overloaded modern subconscious mind, so relentlessly bombarded with unfiltered images that space, time, and context no longer provide a meaningful framework. High and low, East and West, ancient and modern, all compete for the observer's focus. The meaning is in the delectably complex mixture, never mind the taste of any individual ingredient. Believers in "less is more" have got the wrong guy.

Tadanori Yokoo, Gohatto, silk screen, 1999.

Not surprisingly for a visual artist with such an amalgamated style, Tadanori Yokoo is also a filmmaker, musician, actor, set and costume designer, photographer, writer, and window dresser. (And he's pretty sure he was contacted by extra-terrestrials at some point.) One of his closest friends was novelist, poet, paramilitary right-wing ideologue, and seppuku suicide Yukio Mishima. Several blood-tinged images of Mishima are found in his early works. Friendship with Mishima introduced Yokoo to the literary world. Both homoerotic Japanese poet Mutsuo Takahashi and American novelist and painter Henry Miller have been subjects of Yokoo's posters.

Tadanori Yokoo, Change Izu Tourism Festival, silk screen, 2000.

Coupled with Mishima's death, a serious auto accident caused Yokoo to give up art for a period of religious reflection in the early 1970's. Travels for the study of Buddhism and Hinduism brought him into contact with spiritually inclined musicians. Yokoo reentered the art world by designing record album covers and commercial images for Miles Davis, The Beatles, and Carlos Santana. By the early 1990's he began digitally reconfiguring previous works with computer technology. Book design became a favorite outlet, notably intricate covers for Japanese manga, and the slip case and cover for David LaChapelle's compendium of photos, LaChapelle Land.

Tadanori Yokoo, Floating Bridge of Dreams, Noh Theatre Poster, silk screen, 2000.

Remaining true to his mix-master mentality, Tadanori Yokoo continued to seek wildly different venues for his artistic output. He created posters for the gangster movies of his friend, Ken Takakura, illustrated Japanese science fiction stories, and produced an ad campaign for Absolut Vodka. A thirteen-day retrospective exhibit of his graphic works in Japan attracted forty thousand visitors. He became fascinated by water imagery, putting a modern twist on the Japanese tradition of Ukiyo-e, or "the art of the floating world." The mutability of waterfalls as a symbol of the impermanence of life is a favorite motif. In 1999, in a group exhibition for the Mito Museum, Yokoo filled an entire room from floor to ceiling with postcards of waterfalls which were reflected in a black mirrored floor.

Tadanori Yokoo, Lucky Gods Festival, Kobe Harbor Circus, silk screen, 1998.

What sums up Tadanori Yokoo's work is that it can't be summed up. It is fine art and graphic art. It is successfully commercial and deeply personal. It is filled with pop culture images and suffused with spirituality and mysticism. It is distinctly Japanese and defiantly Westernized. Oklahoma graphic artist, and longtime friend, Paul Davis put it this way: "There isn't any other artist like him. Instead of taking a subject and just presenting it, he opens it up; and in finding so many ways to express himself and his passions, he has changed graphic design in the process." Visit the Joseph Regenstein Library to see Tadanori Yokoo's old-fashioned, avant-garde, commercial, outsider art. Whatever it is, it will be there through June 15, 2010.

Posted by Nancy Mattoon