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Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
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The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
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Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
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We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
Before we begin this series about Japan, some thoughts: regional identity and craft really matter here. The country has not one, but many, National Museums in various cities. Many more collections pepper its prefectures and wards, some partnered with another in the capital. Considered decentralisation towards – or respect and recognition of – ‘local’ institutions is also rising. Politicians in pursuit of cultural ‘levelling up’ or devolution, take note.
This wealth and diversity can be overwhelming, especially if you are short of time. Fortunately, cultural institutions work in collaboration, promoting each other with posters and leaflets for discounted entry, and sharing exhibitions with tours. It’s an ecosystem which encourages people to travel, participate, and engage; and they do, more than I have seen anywhere else.
I did my best to plan – Tokyo Art Beat is an excellent resource, which travels far beyond the capital – but I found many of my favourites thus, whilst in these spaces. (Likewise, things I had missed, things I would just miss, and many, many, many reasons to return.) So be prepared to travel and be flexible; one exhibition will always lead you to another.
Historically, most Japanese museums come from private, not public, collections. (‘Westernisation’ promoted after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 partly explains why 19th and 20th century art still pervades galleries and gift shops.) As such, few have permanent collections or displays, and even where they do, they may only be open during temporary exhibitions, which too rotate their works. Check ahead; closed days – Mondays, mostly – and late openings vary.
English-language captions are not always readily available, but larger institutions often provide websites, QR codes, or physical paper printouts on request - always ask. Download a translation app. (Photographs are often restricted, so do explain you’re photographing the texts, not artworks.) Try to read from websites in Japanese using automatic Google Translate, rather than their English-language versions, which often skimp on detail. Though sometimes didactic, the writing is typically accessible, meaningful, and scarcely dumbed down; another case of respectful curation. People, and culture, taken seriously.
The National Museum of Modern Art (MOMAT) in Tokyo is perhaps the leading large institution in the capital. Its current exhibition, Secrets of Important Cultural Properties, celebrates the museum’s 70th anniversary whilst exploring some of the ideas of ‘official Japan’ – established narratives about seasons, transience, and the natural environment; Washoku and woodblock prints; Manga and ukiyo-e; Expos and - often silenced - imperialism.
Long, sweeping galleries languor in familiar folding screens and scrolls. Take Yokoyama Taikan’s ‘Metempsychosis’ (1923), a work due to debut on the day of the Great Kantō earthquake, rescued by a cancelled exhibition, and sheer luck.
The first National Important Cultural Property was designated in 1955, an award exclusive to objects produced in and after the Meiji period. There are now over 10,000, but only 68 are considered visual arts. 51 of those feature here, a mix of nihonga (‘Japanese painting’), yoga (‘Western-style painting’), sculpture, and crafts.
The curation explicitly acknowledges how the value of an Important Cultural Property was defined by the Japanese internalisation of contemporary Western/European values – and how artistic materials and techniques of realism, perspective, shading, were proxies for political modernity, freedom, and liberation. It’s implied in their order and number too. Ogiwara Morie, a sculptor who had studied under Auguste Rodin in Paris, took priority in award season. Crafts, meanwhile, were marginalised as ‘over-decorative’ in the gaze of ‘foreign [market] demand’, none designated with the title until 2001.
More subtly, names are written in the Western order (unlike the permanent collection). Captions detail works which ‘imitate’ or ‘copy’ Western and European models, rather than appropriate forms. (Another common trope across Japanese museums; more nuanced curation will speak of Western influences as something additional, and of artists which ‘combined’ or ‘hybridised’ plural influences, acknowledging individual agency and avoiding national stereotypes).
Yorozu Tetsugorō’s ‘Nude Beauty’ (1912) is well-known in the West for its European influences, including Vincent van Gogh and Henri Matisse. In the permanent collection, we learn how the artist picked up post-Impressionism – a movement influenced by 18th and 19th century Japanese prints – imported in the magazine Shirakaba. It’s an unbelievable translation, from grainy, monochrome reproductions, into shockingly colourful works.
We see how modern art and artists play a critical role in challenging the canon of art history - but Secrets doesn’t hold back on enjoying art. Seeing Takahashi Yuichi’s ‘Salmon’, we picture his ‘excitement of having become able to depict an exact likeness of the real thing’. Other works reveal the contradictions in popular and critical reception; condemned by many as ‘manga-like’, people still ‘rushed in’ to purchase Yu Rang’s modern folding screen ‘Hirahuku Hyakusui’ (1917).
Hishida Shunso’s works were condemned for their morotai (haziness), but his approach to light was far more complex than that of any Impressionist. Likewise, ‘Ripples’ (1932) is not an abstract rendering of water, but evidence of the artist’s ‘minute observation of nature’. Both are examples of a wider cultural tendency towards a ‘deeper’ relationship and engagement with one’s environments.
As with all institutions, men dominate. (Partly addressed by the complimentary displays in the permanent collection, where women like Kusama Yayoi are presented as masters.) But more can, and is, being done - as this series will show.
Secrets of National Important Cultural Properties is showing at The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo until 14th May.
Make sure to collect your Yamos on the gowithYamo app when you visit!
