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Lot Essay
Carp in Streaming Water
Paintings of subjects from nature are obviously a smaller group in Hokusai’s painted oeuvre, even later in his life. And this also goes for his printed works if we just focus on his single prints. In addition to the two series popularly known as the Large Flowers of around 1832 and the Small Flowers that was announced in 1834 as ‘extremely colorful depictions of flowers and birds on colored paper,’ there are some incidental designs for fans, among which one of Two Carp Swimming by Seaweeds dating from 1831 (Fig. 1). Most impressive, no doubt, is a series of five prints published by Moriya Jihei around 1833 in the large nagaōban format of some 52 x 23 cm. This series features two cranes on a snow-covered pine tree, a falcon on a ceremonial stand by blossoming cherry, horses in a pasture by a lake, two carp in a waterfall (Fig. 2), and three tortoises swimming under water through seaweeds (Fig. 3). Interestingly, three of these themes can also be found in the format of paintings by Hokusai. And though you might think that I am now going to make a comparison between the print of two carp and the painting under discussion here, I think that the turtles make a much more interesting comparison. But more about that later.
As for the theme of Carp in a Waterfall, preferably ascending, this refers to the popular belief that it will turn into a dragon when it manages to reach the top and then leap through the so-called Gateway to Eminence, the Tōryūmon. Hence, the connotation is very auspicious. The Carp streamers, koinobori, flown on the fifth Day of the fifth Month to celebrate the Boys Festival also associate with this auspicious aspect, although some belief that there is also a sexual connotation. In the work of Kuniyoshi we find representations of traditional Japanese heroes, such as Kintarō and Benkei, struggling with giant carp in waterfalls.
Hokusai also handled the theme of a carp ascending a waterfall in early Bunka, probably circa 1805-06, in a painting signed Tōyō Gakyōjin Hokusai (present whereabouts unknown). It shows a carp with mouth open, its body twisted, in a vertical position. There is also another quite similar painting, unsigned.
Let us now just focus on the composition, so we come back to what I said above about the relation between this painting of a carp in streaming water and the print of the tortoises (Fig. 3). What is really interesting in both works are the bands, or streams, that Hokusai introduces in the water, marked by curved lines across the width of both the painting and the print surface, so as to give us the notion of streaming water. He had already been trying this out earlier and would be coming back to it also later in his life. The earliest example I can think of is a horizontal painting on paper of two carp and two tortoises swimming by seaweeds, that was completed on the 25th Day of the 4th Month of 1813 in the collection of Saitama Prefectural Museum of History and Folklore (Image accessible at https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/picture-of-koi-carp-and-turtles-color-painting-on-paper-hokusai-katsushika/lwH5MI8ukYag2A). On that occasion, Hokusai passed on his ‘Kimo dasoku’ 亀毛蛇足 seal to his pupil Hokumei, the seal that had been underlining his self-claimed ‘unique talent’ since 1801 – the seal reading ‘Hair on Turtles and Feet on Snakes’. It is not very clear how many bands or streams Hokusai is introducing here, but the effect is that we see the carp and the tortoises more clearly in some areas, and less clearly in other areas of the streaming water. In the fan print of almost twenty years later, 1831, mentioned above (Fig. 1), signed Hokusai aratame Iitsu no fude, such bands in the water are omitted, most likely as this would surpass the budget of the unidentified publisher who would normally just make smaller investments for his seasonal items such as fans, just necessary in the hot summer months.
The next example would probably be the print of the three tortoises also already mentioned above (Fig. 3). The three bands that Hokusai introduces here serve to help us realize – we that is, this time Hokusai is addressing a larger audience as it is in the format of a print, not a painting seen by just the intimate friends of the commissioner -- that streaming water results in different intensities of transparency. This clearly affects the color of the tortoises, one only having its back sticking out of the water, the other just popping out its head. This is exactly like it also affects the carp in the painting under discussion here, obscuring the parts of its body under water, even to the extent that these are partly rendered invisible, maybe even due to the reflection of the sun? It is then interesting to speculate that Hokusai chose the tortoises from this series of five prints as the theme where he would play with this effect of streaming water, whereas he preferred to render parts of the bodies of the two carp completely obscured by several streams of water pouring down (Fig. 2). Of the ascending carp, part of its back and dorsal fin are sticking out of the water and of the descending carp, this goes for its tail and head. Before him, both Maruyama Ōkyo and his pupil Ōshin are known to have worked with this aspect in their paintings of carp ascending a waterfall to the effect that we only see a shade of the carp in between unpainted streams of falling water.
Around the same time, in 1833, Hokusai coincidentally also completed a large commission for a set of six-panel screens on the theme of the Six Crystal Rivers, Mutamagawa, on paper, signed Saki no Hokusai Iitsu with two seals, aged 74 (National Museum of Asian Art, Washington DC, F 1904.204-205; Nagata Seiji, Hokusai nikuhitsuga taisei. Tokyo: Shōgakkan 2000, p. 90, no. 84) (Fig. 4). One of the panels has a painting of a carp diving down in the water towards water weeds, with Hokusai here introducing four streams in the water that affect to what extent we see it clearly – just the tail is apparently above the surface of the water. Anyway, this is a playful illustration on the theme of the Ide Crystal River, traditionally associated with a poem that begins with the lines ‘Halting my pony and watering him again, Traditional representations, such as, for example one by Harunobu and another one by Hiroshige, have a party with one man on horseback, the horse drinking (Fig. 10). But more in tune with the Floating World, both Harunobu and later also Kubo Shunman in an impressive six-panel print, also illustrated this with some young women walking in the water of the river. And with his carp in the water, Hokusai even introduces another possibility.
Some six years later, in 1839, as Hokusai took up painting seriously as his main occupation and hardly doing any more prints, he came back to the effects of streaming water in at least two paintings of carp. One is a painting on silk, signed Gakyōrōjin Manji no fude, aged 80 years, dating from 1839, with the seal now usually read as Katsushika (now in the Okada Museum, Hakone; Siebold & Hokusai and his Tradition. Tokyo: Edo-Tokyo Museum, 2007, 204). It portrays a carp diving down, with just its tail seen above the surface of the water as in the panel associated with the Ide Crystal River discussed above. Moreover, a large part of the middle of its body, about a third of it, is not seen. The other one is the painting under discussion here, signed Gakyōrōjin Manji no fude, aged 81 years, thus dating from a year later, 1840, equally with the Katsushika seal. The shape of the seal, which is known in a few variants, corresponds with the one that Nagata Seiji illustrates as figure 73 in his Hokusai nikuhitsuga taisei. p. 235. He there identifies this shape of the seal with paintings from Hokusai at the age of 81 (as here) and when he was 88 and 89 years old. It seems that Hokusai now came to realize that his handling of the carp the year before was not altogether successful. This time, we see the carp’s head and tail clearly, as they are above the surface of the water and only parts of its body are obscured in the water, each time corresponding with the five streams figuring in the composition. The result is much more convincing than the painting of a year earlier, 1839.
What is probably the last example of streaming water is a painting Two mallard ducks paddling in a flowing stream, by waterweeds and in autumn as maple leaves are falling down, signed Yowai hachijuhachi Manji (The 88-year-old Manji) with Momo seal (1847) from the Arthur Morrison Collection, now in the collection of the British Museum (1913, 0501,0.320) (Fig. 5). Here, Hokusai introduces no less than eight bands of streams, not affecting the male duck as it floats on the surface, making it a perfect juxtaposition with the female who is just diving under the surface. Was this for Hokusai the best he could accomplish with this concept that had been on his mind for so some three decades?
Interestingly, Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831-1881), a great connoisseur of art and one of the most fascinating artists of the late nineteenth century, was an earlier owner of this painting. Moreover, he was a keen and critical observer of his time and the changes in Japanese society – the introduction of Western customs, clothing, rickshaws, dancing, and other kinds of entertainment. But could it be that it was this Hokusai painting of a carp that inspired him to adopt the various bands or streams in one of his paintings of around 1887 (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 14.76.61.10) (Fig. 6)? Here we see a carp and its young in a maelstrom, the mother swimming up to the surface, its young diving deep under, and a shoal of smaller fish approaching, overall in very subdued tones of grey. And what would the two carp in the maelstrom mean in Kyōsai’s days? Of course, the possibility of some Hokusai inspiration is speculative, and yet an interesting thought and not impossible. It would be great to listen in to the conversations between Kyōsai and his pupil Josiah Conder (1852-1920), known by his Japanese art-name Kyōei, something like ‘Mad Brit,’ about this painting, its meaning, and whether it related to the Hokusai painting or not. Anyway, the Hokusai painting would eventually land in the Conder collection, adding to is already great pedigree.
Dr. Matthi Forrer
Senior Researcher Japan Collections, National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden
Paintings of subjects from nature are obviously a smaller group in Hokusai’s painted oeuvre, even later in his life. And this also goes for his printed works if we just focus on his single prints. In addition to the two series popularly known as the Large Flowers of around 1832 and the Small Flowers that was announced in 1834 as ‘extremely colorful depictions of flowers and birds on colored paper,’ there are some incidental designs for fans, among which one of Two Carp Swimming by Seaweeds dating from 1831 (Fig. 1). Most impressive, no doubt, is a series of five prints published by Moriya Jihei around 1833 in the large nagaōban format of some 52 x 23 cm. This series features two cranes on a snow-covered pine tree, a falcon on a ceremonial stand by blossoming cherry, horses in a pasture by a lake, two carp in a waterfall (Fig. 2), and three tortoises swimming under water through seaweeds (Fig. 3). Interestingly, three of these themes can also be found in the format of paintings by Hokusai. And though you might think that I am now going to make a comparison between the print of two carp and the painting under discussion here, I think that the turtles make a much more interesting comparison. But more about that later.
As for the theme of Carp in a Waterfall, preferably ascending, this refers to the popular belief that it will turn into a dragon when it manages to reach the top and then leap through the so-called Gateway to Eminence, the Tōryūmon. Hence, the connotation is very auspicious. The Carp streamers, koinobori, flown on the fifth Day of the fifth Month to celebrate the Boys Festival also associate with this auspicious aspect, although some belief that there is also a sexual connotation. In the work of Kuniyoshi we find representations of traditional Japanese heroes, such as Kintarō and Benkei, struggling with giant carp in waterfalls.
Hokusai also handled the theme of a carp ascending a waterfall in early Bunka, probably circa 1805-06, in a painting signed Tōyō Gakyōjin Hokusai (present whereabouts unknown). It shows a carp with mouth open, its body twisted, in a vertical position. There is also another quite similar painting, unsigned.
Let us now just focus on the composition, so we come back to what I said above about the relation between this painting of a carp in streaming water and the print of the tortoises (Fig. 3). What is really interesting in both works are the bands, or streams, that Hokusai introduces in the water, marked by curved lines across the width of both the painting and the print surface, so as to give us the notion of streaming water. He had already been trying this out earlier and would be coming back to it also later in his life. The earliest example I can think of is a horizontal painting on paper of two carp and two tortoises swimming by seaweeds, that was completed on the 25th Day of the 4th Month of 1813 in the collection of Saitama Prefectural Museum of History and Folklore (Image accessible at https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/picture-of-koi-carp-and-turtles-color-painting-on-paper-hokusai-katsushika/lwH5MI8ukYag2A). On that occasion, Hokusai passed on his ‘Kimo dasoku’ 亀毛蛇足 seal to his pupil Hokumei, the seal that had been underlining his self-claimed ‘unique talent’ since 1801 – the seal reading ‘Hair on Turtles and Feet on Snakes’. It is not very clear how many bands or streams Hokusai is introducing here, but the effect is that we see the carp and the tortoises more clearly in some areas, and less clearly in other areas of the streaming water. In the fan print of almost twenty years later, 1831, mentioned above (Fig. 1), signed Hokusai aratame Iitsu no fude, such bands in the water are omitted, most likely as this would surpass the budget of the unidentified publisher who would normally just make smaller investments for his seasonal items such as fans, just necessary in the hot summer months.
The next example would probably be the print of the three tortoises also already mentioned above (Fig. 3). The three bands that Hokusai introduces here serve to help us realize – we that is, this time Hokusai is addressing a larger audience as it is in the format of a print, not a painting seen by just the intimate friends of the commissioner -- that streaming water results in different intensities of transparency. This clearly affects the color of the tortoises, one only having its back sticking out of the water, the other just popping out its head. This is exactly like it also affects the carp in the painting under discussion here, obscuring the parts of its body under water, even to the extent that these are partly rendered invisible, maybe even due to the reflection of the sun? It is then interesting to speculate that Hokusai chose the tortoises from this series of five prints as the theme where he would play with this effect of streaming water, whereas he preferred to render parts of the bodies of the two carp completely obscured by several streams of water pouring down (Fig. 2). Of the ascending carp, part of its back and dorsal fin are sticking out of the water and of the descending carp, this goes for its tail and head. Before him, both Maruyama Ōkyo and his pupil Ōshin are known to have worked with this aspect in their paintings of carp ascending a waterfall to the effect that we only see a shade of the carp in between unpainted streams of falling water.
Around the same time, in 1833, Hokusai coincidentally also completed a large commission for a set of six-panel screens on the theme of the Six Crystal Rivers, Mutamagawa, on paper, signed Saki no Hokusai Iitsu with two seals, aged 74 (National Museum of Asian Art, Washington DC, F 1904.204-205; Nagata Seiji, Hokusai nikuhitsuga taisei. Tokyo: Shōgakkan 2000, p. 90, no. 84) (Fig. 4). One of the panels has a painting of a carp diving down in the water towards water weeds, with Hokusai here introducing four streams in the water that affect to what extent we see it clearly – just the tail is apparently above the surface of the water. Anyway, this is a playful illustration on the theme of the Ide Crystal River, traditionally associated with a poem that begins with the lines ‘Halting my pony and watering him again, Traditional representations, such as, for example one by Harunobu and another one by Hiroshige, have a party with one man on horseback, the horse drinking (Fig. 10). But more in tune with the Floating World, both Harunobu and later also Kubo Shunman in an impressive six-panel print, also illustrated this with some young women walking in the water of the river. And with his carp in the water, Hokusai even introduces another possibility.
Some six years later, in 1839, as Hokusai took up painting seriously as his main occupation and hardly doing any more prints, he came back to the effects of streaming water in at least two paintings of carp. One is a painting on silk, signed Gakyōrōjin Manji no fude, aged 80 years, dating from 1839, with the seal now usually read as Katsushika (now in the Okada Museum, Hakone; Siebold & Hokusai and his Tradition. Tokyo: Edo-Tokyo Museum, 2007, 204). It portrays a carp diving down, with just its tail seen above the surface of the water as in the panel associated with the Ide Crystal River discussed above. Moreover, a large part of the middle of its body, about a third of it, is not seen. The other one is the painting under discussion here, signed Gakyōrōjin Manji no fude, aged 81 years, thus dating from a year later, 1840, equally with the Katsushika seal. The shape of the seal, which is known in a few variants, corresponds with the one that Nagata Seiji illustrates as figure 73 in his Hokusai nikuhitsuga taisei. p. 235. He there identifies this shape of the seal with paintings from Hokusai at the age of 81 (as here) and when he was 88 and 89 years old. It seems that Hokusai now came to realize that his handling of the carp the year before was not altogether successful. This time, we see the carp’s head and tail clearly, as they are above the surface of the water and only parts of its body are obscured in the water, each time corresponding with the five streams figuring in the composition. The result is much more convincing than the painting of a year earlier, 1839.
What is probably the last example of streaming water is a painting Two mallard ducks paddling in a flowing stream, by waterweeds and in autumn as maple leaves are falling down, signed Yowai hachijuhachi Manji (The 88-year-old Manji) with Momo seal (1847) from the Arthur Morrison Collection, now in the collection of the British Museum (1913, 0501,0.320) (Fig. 5). Here, Hokusai introduces no less than eight bands of streams, not affecting the male duck as it floats on the surface, making it a perfect juxtaposition with the female who is just diving under the surface. Was this for Hokusai the best he could accomplish with this concept that had been on his mind for so some three decades?
Interestingly, Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831-1881), a great connoisseur of art and one of the most fascinating artists of the late nineteenth century, was an earlier owner of this painting. Moreover, he was a keen and critical observer of his time and the changes in Japanese society – the introduction of Western customs, clothing, rickshaws, dancing, and other kinds of entertainment. But could it be that it was this Hokusai painting of a carp that inspired him to adopt the various bands or streams in one of his paintings of around 1887 (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 14.76.61.10) (Fig. 6)? Here we see a carp and its young in a maelstrom, the mother swimming up to the surface, its young diving deep under, and a shoal of smaller fish approaching, overall in very subdued tones of grey. And what would the two carp in the maelstrom mean in Kyōsai’s days? Of course, the possibility of some Hokusai inspiration is speculative, and yet an interesting thought and not impossible. It would be great to listen in to the conversations between Kyōsai and his pupil Josiah Conder (1852-1920), known by his Japanese art-name Kyōei, something like ‘Mad Brit,’ about this painting, its meaning, and whether it related to the Hokusai painting or not. Anyway, the Hokusai painting would eventually land in the Conder collection, adding to is already great pedigree.
Dr. Matthi Forrer
Senior Researcher Japan Collections, National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden