Читать книгу Blue & White Japan - Amy Sylvester Katoh - Страница 7

Introduction

Japan Speaks in blue and white. Azure waves wash over worn Imari shards half-buried in white sand; cotton-ball clouds drift across cobalt skies. Indigo doorway curtains distinguish shop fronts in small mountain towns; old ladies on their way to the neighborhood bath shuffle by in blue and white robes. An unknown dyer has captured the magic of cranes on a graceful padded indigo sleeping kimono. "Mountain flowers like white brocade, valley water brimming indigo," wrote the poet lssa in the eighteenth century. This felicitous marriage of color is loved the world round, but its transcendent expression is found in Japan, where nature's prototype has long inspired artists and craftsmen to apply blue and white to cloth and clay, picture and poem. Blue and white porcelains and textiles in particular have played an integral part in the history of Japan and figure prominently in myth and literature. From the blue and white streamers that helped lure the Sun Goddess Amaterasu out of the cave where she hid in anger at her brother, plunging the world into darkness, to the bolts of blue and white silk given in tribute to Chinese emperors centuries ago, to the blue and white Imari porcelains that were staples in the Dutch East India Company's trade with Europe, blue and white have long been the colors Japan has made its name with throughout the world. Today, new combinations and arrangements are constantly being created, but the essential impact of this basic color combination remains as fresh and powerful as it first was thousands of years ago. The objective reasons for my love of blue and white are easier to explain than the subjective ones. When I first arrived in Japan, fresh out of college, I was struck by the constant presence of these colors. The blue and white aesthetic was one I had grown up with in Massachusetts, and it made me feel instantly at home when I found it repeated everywhere in Japan. Craftsmen responded to the natural world around them with blue and white creations in textiles and ceramics. From futon quilts and cotton kimono, to bowls and plates and porcelains of all kinds, many of the things I used each day were blue and white. Blue and white seemed to surround me and invite me to stay. But it wasn't just an aesthetic attraction. Most appealing was the fact that blue and white was the basic color combination of ordinary life. Not of fancy, sophisticated Japan, but of down-to-earth Japan. It was the tenugui hand towel. It was the last thing worn at night, the crisp, comforting yukata robe slipped on after the bath. Blue and white recurred at every level of daily human activity. Craftsmen pulled on indigo workclothes to perform their labor. Men and women in the fields wore baggy indigo trousers and short wrapped jackets. Workmen tied cotton hand towels dyed in simple blue stenciled designs around their heads or tucked them into their belts. Although a haughty, aristocratic blue and white was visible in the most precious porcelain platters and bowls, the blue and white that caught my twenty-year-old eye was the homely blue and white of everyday Japan. The no-big-deal teapots hanging from nails in the rafters of neighborhood crockery shops. The plates and cups of every shape and size that overflowed a table to serve even a simple breakfast. Blue and white dishes were so commonplace, no one thought twice about the luxury of using them unsparingly, though I used to despair when it was my turn to wash. Handmade crafts were one of the few things old, frugal Japan had in profusion. Human effort and unmatched craftsmanship compensated for a lack of resources and natural bounty. With dextrous hands, craftsmen produced dishes and cloth for daily living that they colored blue and white. From about the sixth century in Japan, indigo was domesticated and used to dye cloth. Cobalt underglaze-decorated porcelain was already well developed by 1700. Artisans used blue against the absence of blue (white) to create basic patterns, distillations of larger motifs in nature that were masterpieces of design. When I came to Japan thirty years ago, it was another time, another country. Today's high-tech, fast-paced society ignores old traditions. The knowledge of how to create some of the intricate patterns found in antique textiles is being lost. The soft colors on porcelain bowls of long ago are rarely found on new pieces sold in department stores. The blues are harsher now, the whites too white. Many of the craftsmen I used to visit are gone, and their sons do not want to learn the old techniques. And yet-the economic doldrums of the 1990s may provide a way for Japan to find itself again. As the country comes to terms with the limitations of growth, it is beginning to reconsider and rediscover what is real, what is precious, and what is quintessentially Japanese. To me, blue and white is Japan. Though these colors occur elsewhere, the Japanese response to blue and white is original and inspired. It pervades crafts and arts and daily life in a way that is found in no other country. As such, blue and white Japan is worth searching out and celebrating. Most of all, it is worth trying to capture its magic in our houses and living spaces today.