Salon Culture in Japan: making art, 1750-1900, co-published in November 2024 by University of Washington Press and The British Museum, is a window into aspects of the world of Japanese art during the Tokugawa shogunate that I knew almost nothing about.
The term “salon,” when applied to art, brings to mind famous 19th century institutions in England, France, Germany, and Russia, in which artworks were judged and displayed and opened to media attention and criticism. Despite studying Asian art for some time, I had never heard of something like this in Tokugawa-era Japan, so I had no idea what to expect from the book.
The editor, Dr. Akiko Yano, must have anticipated such reactions because she explains immediately in her introduction how, for the purposes of Salon Culture in Japan… “salon” refers to many kinds of gatherings and collaborations in the exchange of artistic ideas, encompassing formal mentorships, informal meetups, and many other forms of interchange.
The book has 220 beautifully-reproduced images of artworks and consists of essays by a range of experts who explore topics such as the relationships between the major cities like Edo, Osaka, Kyoto, and Nagasaki, and how their schools of art differed; how nature, in terms of wildlife and cultivated plants and animals in zoos, was depicted; what nature symbolized for artists; and how artists collaborated.
It is especially interesting to read about how well-known artists with large followings would often host public workshops that people across class divides could attend at their leisure. While the best spots to watch the instruction were reserved for officials, it may be a surprise that this would happen at all, given the extreme social stratification of the samurai-governed Tokugawa era. In a similar vein, Yano’s introduction includes an anecdote about how, in 1881, the prince who would later become King George V visited Kyoto with his brother. One of the artists who entertained them — Professor Kubota Beisen — encouraged the princes to make marks on paper, and when Prince George used a brush to leave dots of varying sizes on the paper, Beisen added details, turning them into an ink painting of fireflies.
Given that the isolationism of Japan’s government was intense during this period, and that many average citizens rarely even left their own home cities, the context only makes this interaction all the more fascinating, and, of course, the firefly painting is gorgeous.
Salon Culture was especially illuminating for me since I have previously reviewed a collection of artwork by women from this same period that included collaborative works such as a painting of turtles, each by a different artist. By reading this book, I was able to learn much more about how people from across class and gender divides produced such works of art.
In fact, Salon Culture in Japan, is as much about the relationship between art and politics as it is about artwork and technique. Countless times throughout the book, the authors present the idea that art can form its own world and be an escape to a community beyond the social distinctions that would normally have kept people apart.
For instance, C. Andrew Gerstle’s essay on “art names” explains how art and the highly-respected form of poetry were encouraged to be pursued by all people, and that artists would often identify themselves by a professional name. Yano’s introduction also describes how eccentricity was encouraged in citizens who would be artists. However, the limitations of escapism were apparent. Artists were not permitted to depict many current events, especially not anything remotely critical of the government, and thus had to do so in a coded way. A painting by Nishiyama Hōen of insects, parodying the procession of a samurai, is particularly memorable.
When artists became too wealthy and popular, they were sometimes exiled or their possessions were seized by the shogunate. Oppressive regimes may permit a certain amount of freedom and allow citizens to go against the norm to some degree in order to keep them compliant, while still having firm lines in place. But there is a more hopeful way to view this. For example, Gerstle describes how two kabuki actors, banished from their home cities for living above their stations, simply moved and became even more popular, proving that the audience they had gained for their art was there to support them.
In our world’s current political climate — and as an artist myself — reading this book was an especially meaningful experience. It caused me to reflect on many difficult questions while also feeling hopeful for the future. As an art historian, I know the oppression of people under samurai did not last forever.
While other national traumas would occur in the generations that followed, being able to look back and see how transient things can be — and how art can connect people through it all — was a great help to me. I highly recommend Salon Culture in Japan: making art, 1750–1900 to anyone who loves art and wants to know more about its meaning and creation across time.
