some landscape techniques
rocks
clouds
mountains
an introduction to Ukai Uchiyama, master calligraphist and sumi painter
An ardent gallery-goer in Tokyo may be surprised to find wall after wall covered with brilliant abstractions in oil pigments on canvas. Many Japanese artists are experimenting with this more lavish medium which does permit of greater freedom of technique and subject matter—or lack of subject matter. Oil painting in Japan is a relatively new challenge after centuries of the rigid discipline of monochrome painting. There seem to be no rules or restrictions in applying oil to canvas excepting the artist’s own, and many of today’s artists are enthusiastically enjoying this new freedom.
Even so, the ancient art of sumi-e, or Japanese ink-painting, though now somewhat in eclipse, has not disappeared from the contemporary scene. To a Westerner who feels sometimes saturated with rampant color, these linear and calligraphic interpretations stand out even monochromatically as the most colorful of all. One wonders what it is that makes this art still thrive though centuries of artists have come and gone, though other styles and schools of thought have had their days of great popularity only to give way to new and different ones. The art of sumi-e has remained essentially the same, varying only according to the skill and imagination of successive artists. For although there are rules to this art, they serve to stimulate rather than to arrest artistic creativity. Following the old techniques without feeling or imagination can perhaps lead to superficial skills, but more than this is required of the sumi artist.
In ancient China, mastery of brush and ink was the accomplishment of scholars who were at once poets, philosophers, and often Buddhist priests, as well as painters. Similar brushes were used for both writing and painting and the two arts invariably shared the same piece of silk or paper. Indeed, the written characters themselves evolved from visual symbols, gradually becoming more and more abstract and losing much of their pictorial quality. It is further evidence of the affinity of the two arts that the strokes used for calligraphy frequently are adopted by the sumi artist to represent, say, the branch of a tree or the tail of a bird. If calligraphy is writing, sumi-e is the painter’s language of nature, with various techniques forming his vocabulary.
When Buddhist priests brought the ink stick and bamboo-handled brush to Japan in the sixth century, the Japanese soon became adept in their use and for the past fourteen centuries have been contributing to their own heritage of ink painting. The artistic accomplishments of successive Japanese artists are to be admired in books, museums, and reproductions, but the techniques themselves have been passed from generation to generation by means of personal instruction and apprenticeship. As a result, not enough information is available to the inquisitive Western artist who is attracted to this art.
It is for this reason that, through my dear friend Mrs. Tadako Arakawa, I sought and found Mr. Ukai Uchiyama, master calligraphist and artist, a contemporary inheritor of the long and honorable line of Japanese sumi artists. (His art name, Ukai, seen both in the last two characters of his signature at the left and in his seal at the upper right, means “Rainy Sea.”) Like his artistic ancestors, he is a philosopher, calligraphist, scholar, and teacher. He continues the tradition of teaching along with his painting as is expected of those with superior gifts. In Japan the sensei—master or teacher—of any subject is one who commands great admiration and respect.
Uchiyama-sensei agreed to take time from his busy schedule to introduce me to his own contemporary calligraphic version of sumi techniques. After we had painted together two or three times I realized there must be many other artists, potential or accomplished, who might like to share this study. Mr. Uchiyama found the idea to his liking since he had received many requests for information from artists and interested persons from other parts of the world. From then on, we worked together to prepare this book, all without benefit of a mutual language other than that of the brush. Fortunately, Mr. Uchi-yama’s daughter, Mrs. Yuko Takenouchi, and his son, Ryuichiro Uchiyama, served as interpreters extraordinary, not only translating their father’s instructions but also helping me interpret his thoughts. Some techniques and strokes needed little or no translation since just watching Sensei execute a masterful stroke with the brush and watching the wet, black sumi flow swiftly and beautifully into a creation of great excitement was beyond any spoken or written language. But how to put into words this magic one has witnessed? Perhaps it is not possible to translate the language of painting into the language of words. Certainly words alone cannot make an artist. In the end it is only the artist himself who, through application and effort, observation and development, can attain his maximum fulfillment. But words may attempt to direct and suggest, perhaps even inspire.
All the words used here are my own, but based directly upon Mr. Uchiyama’s teachings. All the drawings are by him, some drawn for my lessons and some prepared especially for this book. They speak for themselves much more eloquently than I ever could.
In Japan painting is not restricted exclusively to the career artist. It is a creative expression happily pursued by countless numbers of people of all ages and capabilities who constantly travel miles to view seasonal blossoms or honored mountains. It is the desire to record these experiences of beauty, regardless of the individual’s degree of talent, which prompts this creative activity. While the world always seeks great masterpieces, there is also a satisfying joy in every modest attempt.
It is my hope that this mutual effort of East and West will reach those who desire to understand some of the underlying philosophies and contemporary techniques of this old yet ever new form of painting.
at ease
at work
what makes the sumi artist
his materials, his attitude, his subjects, his sketchbooks, his techniques.
The sumi artist is so named because of the materials he uses. Sumi itself is a compressed cake of fine black soot made from the burning of certain vegetable oils, bonded with a pure animal gelatin, and molded into a convenient stick form. The sumi stick, rubbed gently in a little water, becomes the rich, black ink so essential to the creation of sumi-e. The best formulas for the making of sumi have been carefully guarded secrets, handed down for centuries in China and Japan. Many of these formulas, unfortunately, have been lost with their makers. Some of the finest sumi being made today still comes from China, or from Nara, in Japan, where a group of manufacturers continues a tradition of sumi-making which began centuries ago. Of the many grades and qualities of sumi, that most highly desired for painting is called seiboku, which has a slight blue cast to its blackness. Kokuboku, a pure-black sumi, is acceptable, while shiboku, with a slight