"That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful." ～Edgar Allan Poe / "Understood in its metaphysical sense, Beauty is one of the manifestations of the Absolute Being. Emanating from the harmonious rays of the Divine plan, it crosses the intellectual plane to shine once again across the natural plane, where it darkens into matter." ～Jean Delville
To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.
～G. Bachelard
I would define the poetic effect as the capacity that a text displays for continuing to generate different readings, without ever being completely consumed.
～Umberto Eco
Innate in nearly every artistic nature is a wanton, treacherous penchant for accepting injustice when it creates beauty and showing sympathy for and paying homage to aristocratic privilege.
～Thomas Mann
Stay, little ounce, here in/ Fleece and leaf with me, in the evermore/ Where swans trembled in the lake around our bed of hay and morning/ Came each morning like a felt cloak billowing/ Across the most pale day. It was the color of a steeple disappearing/ In an old Venetian sky. (...)
Would they take/ You now from me, like Leonardo's sleeve disappearing in/ The air. And when I woke I could not wake/ You, little sphinx, I could not keep you here with me./ Anywhere, I could not bear to let you go. Stay here/ In our clouded bed of wind and timothy with me./ Lie here with me in snow.
~For a Snow Leopard in October, Lucie Brock-Broido
Fujiwara no Yukinari (藤原 行成, 972 – January 3, 1027) was a Japanese calligrapher (shodoka) during the Heian period. He was memorialized for his prowess in his chosen art by being remembered as one of the outstanding Three Brush Traces (Sanseki 三跡), along with Ono no Michikaze and Fujiwara no Sukemasa.
Yukinari was the son of a courtier by the name of Fujiwara no Yoshitaka. After the early death of his father, he was raised by his grandfather, Prince Kanenori. Yukinari had a fairly successful career as a court official, where he served as a Major Counselor. Yukinari further improved the Japanese style calligraphy (wayoshodo 和様書道), and showed great respect to its founder, Ono no Michikaze (894-966). He even mentioned in his diary, Gonki, that he had a dream wherein he met Michikaze and learnt calligraphy from him. Yukinari was known as the master of kana. His style was mild and easily emulated, his lines were dainty and exquisite, resulting in highly elegant characters. Fujiwara Yukinari is regarded as the founder of the Sesonji lineage of calligraphy, which later became the leading tradition of wayo (和様) calligraphy. His extant works were most written in Mana (Chinese characters used as units of meaning) in Gyosho or Sosho.
One of his most well-known works is the handscroll of 白居易 Bai Juyi's eight poems from volume 65 of his Poetic Anthology. He wrote this masterpiece in 1018 when he was forty-seven years old. The scroll was made by joining together nine pieces of specially prepared paper known as ryoshi, then dyed in light brown, claret, and other shades. This handscroll was treasured by Emperor Fushimi (reigned from 1288 to 1298), and the colophon over the seams on the back of the paper attests to this. Currently, the scroll is stored in the Tokyo National Museum.
*Text via Wikipedia entry on Fujiwara no Yukinari.
“Watteau’s women do not care to represent Womanhood or Love or Beauty, certainly not with a capital W or L or B. They are not the sort of women who want to be regarded as forces of nature. They are not interested in being idealized or idolized. They are too much at ease to be caught up in such fantasies. They stand apart from their own beauty and their amorous adventures, as if they felt free to consider the value of love or beauty, but only the value it might have for them, for now—a private matter. They are in some sense natural aristocrats, with a freedom from social constraints that gives them the aura of supernatural beings, even of goddesses. But Watteau’s women are not goddesses in any classical sense. They have none of the traditional responsibilities of goddesses. They do not personify some value or virtue. They do not have supernatural powers. And that is precisely their charm, the key to their comic exuberance. They are goddesses who are freed from all responsibility. They are goddesses who have resigned from their roles. They are goddesses on the lam.”
～Jed Perl, Antoine’s Alphabet: Watteau and His World
A Muse, by Rosalba Carriera, Italian, about 1725,
pastel on laid blue paper, 12 3/16 x 10 1/4 in., via The Getty Museum.
Portrait of Archduchess Maria Isabella, from The History of Florence: From 59 B.C. to 1966: the two-thousand-year story of a unique city, whose way of life has influenced the world, by Marcello Vannucci.
Lady Beatrice, by George Clausen
Combing Hair, by Torii Kotondo (Japanese, 1900-1976). Japan, Oct 1929.
Prints; woodcuts. Color woodblock print; embossed.
Image: 16 1/8 x 10 5/16 in. (41 x 26.2cm);
Sheet: 18 9/16 x 11 3/4in. (47.2 x 29.8cm)
Mirror (Kagemi), by 恩地孝四郎 Onchi Koshiro (Japanese, 1891-1955), ca. 1930, woodblock print with gofun and mica, 33 x 23.1cm
“Forget this world and all its troubles and if possible its multitudinous Charlatans—everything in short but the Enchantress of Numbers.” ～Charles Babbage to Ada Lovelace
*Portrait (detail) of Ada by British painter Margaret Sarah Carpenter (1836).
Con la rosa tra le labbra, 1895, by Ettore Tito (Italian 1859-1941).
Portrait of Countess Elisa Dadiani, by Savelij Abramovich Sorin, 1919 (via)
Nayika Shringara: the romantic herione adorns herself, preparing her hair.
Jodhpur, circa 1830 (artist unknown). Gouache & gold on paper. 15 x 10.3cm.
Detail of Bacchante tenant un tambour de basque, avec deux enfants (Bacchante holding a tambourine, with two children),
by Jacques Augustin Pajou (1730-1809); Marble, Musée du Louvre.
Three Studies of a Woman and a Study of Her Hand Holding a Fan, by Antoine Watteau c.1717
When the Heart is Young (detail), 1902, by John William Godward.
Oil on canvas, private collection
Jacques-Louis David, Psyché Abandonnée (detail), 1795, Musée du Louvre
Empress Elisabeth of Austria, 1864, by Franz Xaver Winterhalter
Helene Caroline Therese, Duchess in Bavaria (4 April 1834 – 16 May 1890) of the House of Wittelsbach, nicknamed Néné, was a Bavarian princess and, through marriage, temporarily the head of the Thurn and Taxis family.
longed for as the sunwarmed earth is longed for by a swimmer
spent in rough water where his ship went down
under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea.
Few men can keep alive through a big surf
to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches
in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind:
and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband,
her white arms round him pressed as though forever."
~ from, The Odyssey
Homer
translated by Robert Fitzgerald
My friend Leanne's lovely post on 楊貴妃 Yang Guifei has inspired me to re-read Tang poet Bai Juyi's The Song of Everlasting Sorrow (長恨歌), a poetic narrative of the mournful love story of Tang Emperor Hsuan Tzung 唐玄宗 (Xuanzong) and his beloved imperial consort Yang Yu-Huan 楊玉環 (Yang Guifei), and the emperor's perpetual grief and regret at the eventual loss of his love. Yang Guifei is known as 羞花 (xiu hua - literally meaning "shames flowers"), and considered first of the Four Great Beauties of China. 「西施沉魚, 昭君落雁, 貂嬋閉月, 貴妃羞花。」(Xi Shi sinks fish, Wang Zhaojun drops birds, Diaochan closes the moon, Yang Guifei shames flowers.)
In response to Leanne's beautiful post that I enjoyed reading so much, I wrote a rather long comment (see below, after the poem), which rarely happens even in my own blog! I included it here as I write so little these days - where has the writer in me gone...? (A writer friend used to say to me, "Did you choose to write? Or did writing choose you?") At the moment I suppose I am more of a "micro-blog" and visual/sensory type when it comes to recording my daily inspiration... Nevertheless, thank you, all the peonies of Chang'an...
The story of Xuanzong and Guifei, as well as Bai Juyi's Song of Unending Sorrow, are said to have inspired the Japanese Heian literary gem - The Tale of Genji (源氏物語 Genji Monogatari).
* * *
(Here is my comment in response to Leanne's post on 楊貴妃...)
The preservation of Tang dances in Japanese court also interests me very much. In fact Dr. Liu Feng-Xue (founder and artistic director of Neo-Classic Dance Company 新古典舞團, and the first Chinese dance historian/ scholar/ artist/ choreographer to receive a PhD) devotes a large part of her career reconstructing ancient Chinese court music and dance, including getting special permission to study in the royal court of Japan and learning Labannotation from scratch to record the pieces etc. Neo-Classic is premiering Dr. Liu's new work in October, another reconstruction of ancient dance/music - I must be back in Taipei to attend!
I love Dr. Liu's works and have a special affection for Neo-Classic as that was where I learned ballet since 5! I mentioned these in a blog post 唐詩樂舞 Beauty of Tang: Music, Dance and Poetry. (A reader later introduced me to an amazing artist Elyse Ashe Lord. Perhaps you know her work already? If not I highly recommend checking out her paintings...!)
Another gem I adore, Han Tang Yuefu 漢唐樂府, might also interest you - I have almost all their DVDs and CDs. Such beauty... Sigh. I can listen to the music and watch the dances all day long.
I really enjoyed reading the English translations of the Chinese poetry, and must re-read these poems one of these days... I am a lover of Li Bai - when I was a kid it was a drag having to memorise and recite all these classics, but now I realise they do stay with me in my heart (not just poetry, philosophy as well), even though one can no longer recite them! It's fascinating to know that the story of 玄宗 and 楊貴妃 might have influenced 源氏物語, as people tend to associate Tale of Genji to Dream of the Red Mansion, I suppose. I remember when I went to a special exhibition at Kyoto National Museum, I stood in front of a large screen depicting The Tale of Genji, forever. I think I was trying to absorb as much of that quiet yet glorious beauty as I possibly could. A while ago there was a small (yet well-curated) exhibition of noh masks, costumes, manuscripts etc. in Tokyo - it was magical, with quiet gagaku playing in the background at that wonderful little gallery... I miss it.
And the Oedipus Complex (or the reverse) you hinted at the end of this article... How universal and yet how different it is between the East and the West. The stories you mentioned here, and the poems, give me a sense of 無奈, 悵然若失 (I can never seem to find the right words for these in English). These are similar emotions I felt after watching one of my favourite films "In the Mood for Love." A kind of tranquil/peaceful sadness, but perhaps even more heartrending...
I also posted Tamasaburo's Yokihi in my blog post Adieu ma concubine! We do share such similar interests. :) I will search for his Peony Pavilion on YouTube. Do you know Tamasaburo performed Peony Pavilion at the last Hong Kong Arts Festival? Shame I missed it...!! My love for kunqu is even deeper than Peking opera, and Peony Pavilion and Peach Blossom Fan are my favourite.
On a slightly different note, I went to see 北京當代芭蕾舞團 Beijing Dance Theatre's Golden Lotus (adapted from 金瓶梅) at the Hong Kong Arts Festival this year. The choreographer Wang Yuanyuan (王媛媛) also did the full-length ballet drama Raise the Red Lantern, with Zhang Yimou's direction & stage design. Ballet being one of my "core passions," her Raise the Red Lantern is the single best ballet I have ever seen, perhaps as it is very close to my heart (a combination of ballet and Chinese opera - what a dream for me!). Wang Yuanyuan is seriously talented.
Just would like to say again how much I love this post!
Ting-Jen xx
* * *
I will leave you here with a few lines of beautiful poetry exchanged between Genji and Fujitsubo, also from Leanne's post...
"Through the waving, dancing sleeves could you see a heart So stormy that it wished but to be still?"
"Of waving Chinese sleeves I cannot speak. Each step, each motion, touched me to the heart."
"The soul becomes ashes. Its breath spills down my body. I also breathe. My soul spreads out across the vast sky, then becomes ashes and falls." (Kazuo Ohno, translated by John Solt)
From the exhibition Min Tanaka - Between Mountain and Sea, the Yume-no-shima garbage dump, photography by Masato Okada. "I am an avant-gardist who crawls the earth. I am a body with language. Language is symbiotic with the functions of the body. Dance comes into being between body and body, arising as a result of mental effort."(Min Tanaka)
"Once the dance begins, a place that one had believed familiar, a place nothing out of the ordinary, is transformed into a place of celebration. That’s because dance has the power to take us away from our everyday lives. If people can share that transformation, the dancer is admitted to the place; if not, he remains an interloper. So, in that instant when I begin to dance, I am open completely, more than even I can tell. Ideally, I am in a state in which I know exactly what to do, if I can just reach for it."(Min Tanaka)
"When Min Tanaka's body confronts the darkness of the camera, it disperses the light and confuses what we witness. It is an invitation to an expanded kind of perception, beyond the sense of vision. Some sort of 'primeval feelings' are being bared."(Masato Okada)
I first got to know Butoh as an artform when I read a book by Lin Hwai-Min, the artistic director of Cloud Gate Dance Theatre. It was a collection of images of many forms of dance and included one of Kazuo Ohno. I later researched into Kazuo Ohno and was fascinated by him as a person and as an artist, although sadly never had the privilege to see him perform on-stage (I was a high school student in Taipei). Then when Japan's renowned Butoh group Sankai Juku toured Sadler's Wells Theatre in London (probably about 10 years ago) I went to the performance, and fell instantly and deeply in love. I have since seen them perform in London three times, including Toki a while ago, and every time the beauty and magic take my breath away.
For me, what distinguishes Butoh from other forms of dance is its highly philosophical approach and aesthetics, the heavy emphases on grace, strength and concentration (particularly on an abstract level), the focus on form and spirit as well as the transcendence and unity of both, and the meditative (in a way almost trance-like, albeit the contradiction to "meditative" this term might seem to bear) state of mind that it brings to the viewers. It requires just as much silent intensity and interpretative response from the audience to deliver and complete a brilliant Butoh performance.
Frances Barbe (lecturer of Dance and Theatre Studies at University of Kent) has written some very good articles on the developments of Butoh in Japan.
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