Though considered one of the greatest Japanese artists of the postwar period, Inoue Yūichi (1916-1985) is even today little known in the West. His works are rarely exhibited here in New York, although his most famous painting Ah, Yokokawa National School (1978) was included in the Guggenheim Soho's 1994 show Japanese Art After 1945: Scream Against the Sky. Yūichi himself is partly responsible for this oversight. He worked for decades as an elementary school teacher in Tokyo and rarely exhibited his work in his own lifetime. All the more reason then to be grateful to the Erik Thomsen Gallery for mounting such a well thought out exhibit of the artist's kanji paintings dating from the late 1950's and early 1960's.
In viewing these works it should first be understood that they are not simply oversized examples of Japanese calligraphy. Rather they are full blown abstract paintings in which the personality of the artist fairly explodes on paper. Like any great artwork, they demand the viewer's full attention before revealing their meaning. As one stands in contemplation before them, level after level of detail can be discerned in these monochromatic images. The challenge in viewing any abstract work, in which the presentation of content is necessarily ambiguous, is to discover within it the artist's true intent rather than to impose one's own meaning on it from without.
The paintings I found myself most attracted to were those in which the ink had been applied more thinly in order to create a "wash" effect. These seemed better able to draw in one's attention than those in which the black ink had been applied in so thick a layer that they had become opaque and so held the viewer at a greater distance. My own favorite was Kei ("Favor") (1963). According to the catalog, the technique used to create this work was "frozen ink" in which the ink is "dissolved in water with gelatin; the brush is dipped in this mixture and left to freeze overnight."
Probably the most moving works shown were those which Yūichi painted late in life when his health had already begun to fail. Prominent among these was Namu Kanzeon (1980), a gorgeous hanging scroll containing a prayer to Kannon, the Bodhisattva who for Buddhists embodies the ideal of compassion. Also intriguing were earlier works such as Ippiki-ōkami ("Lone Wolf") (1970), Ran ("Lazy") (1969) and Hin ("Poverty") (1968). If the first of these had to do with Yūichi's conflicts with fellow artists in the Bokujinkai ("Men of Ink") group he had helped form, one can only speculate to what extent Yūichi related the second and third subjects to his own condition at the time he painted them.
While the subject of kanji - as well as its relationship to calligraphy and the practice of sho - is fascinating in itself, I lack the scholarly knowledge needed to discuss it in any meaningful manner. I would instead refer the interested reader to an excellent essay by Joe Earle entitled "Sho: Utter Foolishness, Wonderful Poverty" featured in the catalog. The article has the rare advantage of being both erudite and highly readable. It also provides a wealth of background information regarding Yūichi, his teachers, and the art movements which most deeply influenced him, all of which are essential to understanding the ends to which the artist was striving. It was a quest that led him to destroy any works he considered inferior.
It was while reading Earle's essay that I came across a piece of information regarding Yūichi's life I had not encountered in any of the other scarce biographical materials available. Earle wrote:
"As the only survivor of more than 1,000 people gathered helplessly for shelter in his school yard during the American firebombing of Tokyo in March 1945, Yūichi was perhaps even more deeply affected than some other artists by the horrors of the war..."
One can only imagine how intensely Yūichi must have been traumatized by this event. (Were the elementary schoolchildren whom he taught among the victims?) Certainly the firebombing of Tokyo and the subsequent nuclear attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were without parallel for their wanton destruction of entire civilian populations in the most horrific manner possible. Who could have witnessed such atrocities first hand and, seeing the dead all about him, come away with his reason fully intact? I do not believe it is possible to properly evaluate Yūichi's subsequent life and work without taking this incident into account.
The exhibit continues through June 27, 2014.
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