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Snow, Moon and Flowers from the Ōgiya Tea House (Setsugekka Hanaōgi), Kansei period (1789–1801).

Ōban, nishiki-e, 36.2 × 24.9 cm.

Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.

Woman Making up her Lips (Kuchibiru), c. 1795–1796.

Ōban, nishiki-e, 36.9 × 25.4 cm. Private Collection, Japan.

To leaf through albums of Japanese prints is truly to experience a new awakening, during which one is struck in particular by the splendour of Utamaro. His sumptuous plates seize the imagination through his love of women, whom he wraps so voluptuously in grand Japanese fabrics, in folds, contours, cascades and colours so finely chosen that the heart grows faint looking at them, imagining what exquisite thrills they represented for the artist. For women’s clothing reveals a nation’s concept of love, and this love itself is but a form of lofty thought crystallised around a source of joy. Utamaro, the painter of Japanese love, would moreover die from this love; for one must not forget that love for the Japanese is above all erotic. The shungas* of this great artist illustrate how interested he was in this subject. His delectable images of women fill hundreds of books and albums and are reminders, if any were needed, of the countless affinities between art and eroticism. Thus Utamaro’s teacher, the painter Toriyama Sekien, could say of the magnificent Picture Book: Selected Insects (Illustrations 1, 2, 3, 4): “Here are the first works done from the heart.” The heart of Utamaro shines forth in the quest for the beauty of animals through this effusion with which he depicts the women of the Yoshiwara*: the love of beauty in an artist is not real unless he has the sensuality for it. Love and sex are at the foundation of aesthetic feelings and become the best way to exteriorise art which, in truth, never renders life better than by schematisation, by stylisation.

Among the artists of the Japanese movement of the “floating world” (Ukiyo), Utamaro is one of the best known in Europe; he has remained the painter of the “green houses”, as he was called by Edmond de Goncourt. We associate him at once with the colour prints (nishiki-e*) of his great willowy black-haired courtesans dressed in precious fabrics, a virtuoso performance by the printmaker.

In addition to romantic scenes set in nature, he dealt with themes such as famous lovers together, portraits of courtesans or erotic visions of the Yoshiwara*. But it is Utamaro’s portrayals of women which are the most striking by their sensual beauty, at once lively and charming, so far removed from realism, and imbued with a highly-refined psychological sense. He offered a new ideal of femininity; thin, aloof, and with reserved manners. He has been criticised for having popularised the fashion of the long silhouette in women and giving these figures unrealistic proportions. He was, to be sure, one of the prominent representatives of this style, but his portraits of women, with their distorted proportions, remain works of an art which is marvellous and eminently Japanese. In truth, the Japanese value nobility in great beauty more highly than observation and cleverness. Subtly, the evocative approach brings beauty to full flower, offers its thousand facets to the eye, astonishes by a complexity of attitudes which are more apparent than real and takes absurd liberties with the truth, liberties which are nonetheless full of meaning.

Little is known of the life of Utamaro. Ichitarō Kitagawa, his original name, is said to have been born in Edo around the middle of the eighteenth century, probably in 1753, certainly in Kawagoe in the province of Musashi. It is a time-honoured tradition of Japanese artists to abandon their family name and take artistic pseudonyms. The painter first took the familiar name of Yūsuke, then as a studio apprentice the name Murasaki, and finally, as a painter promoted out of the atelier and working in his own right, the name of Utamaro.

Utamaro came to Edo at a young age. After a few years of wandering, he went to live at the home of Tsutaya Jūzaburō, a famous publisher of illustrated books of the time, whose mark representing an ivy leaf surmounted by the peak of Fujiyama, is visible on the most perfect of Utamaro’s printings. He lived a stone’s throw from the great gates leading to the Yoshiwara*. When Tsutaya Jūzaburō moved and set up shop in the centre of the city, Utamaro followed and stayed with him until the publisher’s death in 1797. Thereafter Utamaro lived successively on Kyūemon-chō St, Bakuro-chō St, then established himself, in the years “preceding” his death, near the Benkei Bridge.

“Naniwaya Okita”, 1792–1793. Hosōban, nishiki-e (double-sided (back view shown)), 33.2 × 15.2 cm. Unknown Collection.

“Naniwaya Okita”, 1792–1793. Hosōban, nishiki-e (double-sided (front view shown)), 33.2 × 15.2 cm. Unknown Collection.

He first studied painting at the school of Kanō. Then, while still quite young, he became the pupil of Toriyama Sekien. Sekien taught him the art of printing and of Ukiyo-e* painting. In his early years, Utamaro published prints under the name of Utagawa Toyoaki. It was his prints of beautiful women (bijin-e) and of erotic subjects which would make him famous. The masters Sekien and Shunshō passed on to Utamaro the secrets learned from the great Kiyonaga and from the amiable and ingenious Harunobu (1752–1770). He became a sort of aristocrat of painting, not deigning to paint people of the theatre or even men. At the time, painters’ popularity depended on the popularity of their subject. And, in a country where all strata of the population adored theatre players, it was common for a painter to take advantage of their fame by integrating them into his work. Utamaro refused to draw actors, saying proudly: “I don’t want to be beholding to actors for my fame, I wish to found a school which owes nothing except to the talent of the painter.” When the actor Ichikawa Yaozō had an enormous success in the play of Ohan and Choyemon and his portrait, done by Utagawa Toyokuni (1769–1825), became famous, Utamaro, did indeed show the play, but represented it by elegant women, playing in imaginary scenes. It was his way of demonstrating that the artists of the popular school, who had replicated the subject in the manner of Toyokuni, were a troop swarming out of their studios, a troop which he compared to “ants coming out of rotten wood”. Women were his only interest, filling his art, and soon he became the wonderful artist we know. Amongst those who played an influential role for Utamaro at the time, Tsutaya Jūzaburō (1750–1797) published his first illustrated albums. Jūzaburō was surrounded by writers, painters and intellectuals, who gathered to practise kyōka* poetry, which had more liberal themes and more flexible rules than traditional poetry, and which was meant to be humorous. These collections of kyōka* were lavishly illustrated by Utamaro. His collaboration with Tsutaya Jūzaburō, whose principal artist he soon became, marked the beginning of Utamaro’s fame. Around 1791, he left book illustration to concentrate entirely on women’s portraits. He chose his models in the pleasure districts of Edo, where he is reputed to have had many adventures with his muses. By day, he devoted himself to his art and by night, he succumbed to the fatal charm of this brilliant “underworld”, until the time when, seduced by the “tiny steps and hand gestures”, his art undermined by excess, he “lost his life, his name and his reputation”.

But, make no mistake, the Yoshiwara* has nothing in common with western houses of prostitution. It was, in the eighteenth century especially, a garden of delights. In it one paid an elaborate court to prostitutes of great charm, versed in letters and in the rituals of the most exquisite etiquette. Eros assuming the figure of love. Utamaro had no trouble gathering all the elements of his work in “the green houses”, of which he was the recognised painter. For many connoisseurs of Japanese prints, Utamaro is the undisputed master of the representation of women, whom he idealises and whom he depicts as tall and slim, with a long necks and delicate shoulders, a far cry from the real appearance of the women of the time.

In terms of style it was around 1790 that Utamaro took his place as the leader of Ukiyo-e*. This style captivated the Japanese public from the very beginning. Its spread was the product of the time of Edo, that is to say, a great renaissance of middle-class inspiration, which flourished in the midst of a civilisation brilliantly developed by the aristocracy, the military, and the clergy. However, in the early years of the nineteenth century, Utamaro’s talent and his incessant production began to lose originality. The artist grew old along with the man. He who had been so opposed to the representation of theatrical themes, goaded by the success of Toyokuni, who was beginning to become his rival, began to deal with subjects taken from plays, and he produced several mitiyuki*. In these compositions, as well as in others, the elongated women, those slender creatures of his early period, put on weight and become rounder and thicker. The feminine silhouettes became heavy, yet still without the fatness found in Torii Kiyonaga (1752–1815). Against the women, who had filled his first works alone, he juxtaposed male figures who were comical, grotesque caricatures. The artist no longer wished to please through that ideal gentility with which he had adorned his women. He forced himself, by the presence of these “ugly men”, to flatter the public of the time, whose taste was compared by Hayashi Tadamasa to the taste of certain collectors of modern ivories from Yokohama who, as he says, “prefer grimace to art”, more interested in the drollness rather than the true beauty of the image.

Gun’ Prostitute (Teppō), from the series “Five Shades of Ink in the Northern Quarter” (Hokkoku goshiki-zumi), 1794–1795.

Ōban, nishiki-e, 37.9 × 24.2 cm.

Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.

The Style of a Feudal Lord’s Household (Yashiki-fū), from the series “Guide to Contemporary Styles” (Tōsei fūzoku tsū), c. 1800–1801. Ōban, nishiki-e, 37.5 × 25.5 cm. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris.

Hanamurasaki of the Tamaya, [kamuro: ] Sekiya, Teriha (Tamay uchi Hanamurasaki), from the series “Array of Supreme Beauties of the Present Day” (Tōji zensei bijin-zoroe), 1794. Ōban, nishiki-e, 54 × 41.5 cm.

Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.

Takashima Ohisa (Takashima Ohisa), 1793.

Ōban, nishiki-e, 37.7 × 24.4 cm.

Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.

Obvious Love (Arawaru koi), from the series “Anthology of Poems: The Love Section” (Kasen koi no bu), 1793–1794. Ōban, nishiki-e, 37.5 × 25 cm.

Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.

“Love for a Farmer’s Wife” (Nōfu ni yosuru koi), c. 1795–1796.

Ōban, nishiki-e, 36.9 × 24.5 cm. Huguette Berès Collection.

“Love for a Street-Walker” (Tsuji-gimi ni yosuru koi), c. 1795–1796. Ōban, nishiki-e, 36.2 × 24.6 cm.

Huguette Berès Collection.

Takashima Ohisa (Takashima Ohisa), 1795.

Ōban, nishiki-e, 36.1 × 23.8 cm.

Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.

Utamaro was not afraid to caricature the saints and the sages of the sacred legends of Buddhism, using the exaggerated features of famous courtesans. Banking on his immense popularity, he published a satire with images of a famous shogun, Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536–1598) with his wife and five concubines. But this act of lèse-majesté led to his disgrace with the sovereign, who was very interested in the arts. The work was considered to be an insult against the shogunate; Utamaro was arrested for violation of the laws of censure and imprisoned. This experience was extremely humiliating for the artist. The jolly butterfly of the Yoshiwara* emerged from his cell, exhausted and broken, no longer daring to put forth even the slightest audacity. He died in Edo, probably in 1806, on the third day of the fifth month of the lunar calendar. In the old copies of the Ukiyo-e ruikō (Story of the Prints of the Floating World), the date of Utamaro’s death is incorrect. The artist cannot have died on the eighth day of the twelfth month of the fourth year of the Kansei era (1792) since certain prints were still coming out in the beginning of the nineteenth century. The Yoshiwara Picture Book: Annual Events, or Annals of the Green Houses (Illustrations 1, 2, 3, 4) was published in 1804, and the plate representing a Japanese Olympus is dated on the first day of 1805.

The true inspirations for the manner and style of Utamaro were Kitao Shigemasa (1739–1820) and Torii Kiyonaga. From the latter Utamaro took the graceful elongation of the oval of his women’s faces, a bit of the lazy softness at their waists, of the voluptuous undulation of fabrics around their bodies. This borrowing from Kiyonaga’s drawing style is immediately obvious in two prints. One shows a teahouse by the sea, with a woman bringing his outer cloak, black with coats of arms, to a Japanese nobleman taking tea. A composition, which, were it not signed Utamaro, would be mistaken by any Japanese collector for a Kiyonaga. It must have been done in the Kiyonaga atelier between 1770 and 1775, at a time when the painter was barely twenty years old. The other shows a tall woman in a dress covered with cherry blossoms on a red background, to whom a figurine of wrestlers is being brought; it would date from 1775 at the latest. This relationship is also found in the six stunning prints of geishas celebrating the Niwaka*, the Yoshiwara* carnival, the first printing of which probably dates from 1775. These prints, even though more personal, are marked by the powerful style and the slightly Juno-esque proportions given to his women by the master of Utamaro, who had himself borrowed some of Kiyonaga’s details such as the pretty, dishevelled kiss curls around the temples or the cheeks, which bring such a loving aspect to the faces.

Beautiful Bouquet of Irises. The Courtesan Hitimoto.

Ōban, nishiki-e, 37.5 × 25.5 cm.

Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris.

The Fancy-free Type (Uwaki no sō), from the series “Ten Types in the Physiognomic Study of Women” (Fūjin sōgaku juttai), c. 1792–1793. Ōban, nishiki-e, 36.4 × 24.5 cm. The New York Public Library, New York.

While Utamaro shows a truly personal talent, certain of his works are clearly influenced by Kiyonaga or Heishi. For the works related to the end of his career, collectors are troubled by the borrowings from the latter and the resulting loss of quality. When considering this disappearance of the artist’s original technique, they go so far as to wonder, in their more sceptical moments, if there was just one Utamaro or several.

Utamaro must have had a good many imitators during his lifetime, whether they were trained under him or elsewhere, and there were undoubtedly many more after his death. Among them, the new husband of Utamaro’s wife figured prominently. After Utamaro’s death, she married one of his pupils, Koikawa Harumachi II, who took the name of Utamaro II and continued, under that name, to fill orders taken by the late artist. Many prints bearing the signature of the master, with unimaginative compositions, expressionless heads, and jarring colours came to be included in the work of Utamaro. One must not only deal with the prints of his widow’s husband and with the imitations which were being turned out during the peak of the artist’s popularity, leading him at one point to sign his prints as “the real Utamaro”, but one must also exclude a certain number of prints done in his own atelier by his pupils Kikumaro, Hidemaro, Takemaro and others, who had his permission to sign using his name. However, they were pale imitators and plagiarists.

Yūgiri and Izaemon (Yūgiri Izaemon), from the series “Love Games with Musical Accompaniment” (Ongyoku koi no ayatsuri), 1801–1802. Ōban, nishiki-e, 37.3 × 25.3 cm. Staatliche Museen, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Museum für Asiatische Kunst, Berlin.