Day 69 - Edo jar with kirin
July 10, 2018
Gallery 203 centers on 17th century Chinese porcelains and the creation of new shapes and designs for changing domestic markets and markets in Southeast Asia, Japan, and Europe. I learn that the Japanese commissioned many Chinese porcelains for use in the tea cèremony, a ritual that we think of as quintessentially Japanese but that was actually imported from China in the eighth century. I also learn that Japanese porcelains began to be made only in the 17th century and were heavily influenced by Chinese models. That the Japanese adopted and adapted Chinese forms was, of course, known to me, but in a vague way, so it's interesting to see specific examples in practice. This also somewhat increases my interest in visiting Japan, a country that until now has not been high on my list of "musts."
There are a number of pieces I like a lot. They include: a large multicolored Qing dish whose center shows a dragon and waves; a Qing vase that incorporates poems into scenes of landscapes; two small Ming dishes that depict, respectively, pomegranates and peonies in their upper areas; and a Ming pouring vessel shaped like a frog (!).
Today's object is, however, Japanese, and it is stoneware rather than porcelain: a jar from the Edo period, made around 1660. Perhaps about 15 inches high, it is painted in colored enamel in somewhat muted but lovely shades of rose, green, gold, and violet against a white ground. Th upper band, under the top, has a repetitive pattern of rose brush strokes, amidst which are nestled "cartouches" showing flowers. (I am sure "cartouche" is not the right term, but it seems appropriate.) The main body of the jar shows chrysanthemums and a happy-looking mythical creature, known in Chinese as the qilin and in Japanese as the kirin (like the beer, I suppose!). I think it's this combination of the abstract and the representational, the real and the imaginary, and the way in which these elements work so harmoniously together, that draws me to the piece.
A caption explains that the qilin was a ubiquitous figure in both Chinese and Japanese art. It combined the head of a dragon, a horn, hooves and scales, a deer's body, and the tail of a bear. But unlike other mythical creatures, it was not meant to frighten (which is, I suppose, why the kirin on this jar looks smiling and friendly). Rather, the qilin represents virtues such as benevolence and wishes for good things - a long life, offspring, and wise administration. There's another jar, this one Chinese, that shows a scholar riding a qilin (which bears very little resemblance to the kirin on my jar); it makes me think of my brother. Long life to him!
It is interesting to me that many, perhaps most, of the museum visitors who are inspecting these porcelains as closely as I are Chinese, or of Chinese origin. Two of them actually say something to me - the first time this has happened in 69 visits! A young man inquires about my interest; he actually seems quite knowledgeable about the porcelains and is particularly interested in the more experimental wares produced during a period of governmental instability in China, when the emperor exercised less control over the manufacture of porcelain. I ask him anout other collections of Chinese porcelains he would recommend, and he mentions the British Museum. I wasn't aware of its collection, but upon a millisecond of reflection, it seems like an obvious choice. And a middle-aged woman, looking at a caption, points to a jar and says "Ming." At first, I think she's proud of her ability to read Roman characters ("I Chinese," she explains unnecessarily), but then she correctly identifies another jar as Japanese without looking at the caption. I couldn't do that, at least not at this point.
How much there is to learn in the world!
There are a number of pieces I like a lot. They include: a large multicolored Qing dish whose center shows a dragon and waves; a Qing vase that incorporates poems into scenes of landscapes; two small Ming dishes that depict, respectively, pomegranates and peonies in their upper areas; and a Ming pouring vessel shaped like a frog (!).
Today's object is, however, Japanese, and it is stoneware rather than porcelain: a jar from the Edo period, made around 1660. Perhaps about 15 inches high, it is painted in colored enamel in somewhat muted but lovely shades of rose, green, gold, and violet against a white ground. Th upper band, under the top, has a repetitive pattern of rose brush strokes, amidst which are nestled "cartouches" showing flowers. (I am sure "cartouche" is not the right term, but it seems appropriate.) The main body of the jar shows chrysanthemums and a happy-looking mythical creature, known in Chinese as the qilin and in Japanese as the kirin (like the beer, I suppose!). I think it's this combination of the abstract and the representational, the real and the imaginary, and the way in which these elements work so harmoniously together, that draws me to the piece.
A caption explains that the qilin was a ubiquitous figure in both Chinese and Japanese art. It combined the head of a dragon, a horn, hooves and scales, a deer's body, and the tail of a bear. But unlike other mythical creatures, it was not meant to frighten (which is, I suppose, why the kirin on this jar looks smiling and friendly). Rather, the qilin represents virtues such as benevolence and wishes for good things - a long life, offspring, and wise administration. There's another jar, this one Chinese, that shows a scholar riding a qilin (which bears very little resemblance to the kirin on my jar); it makes me think of my brother. Long life to him!
It is interesting to me that many, perhaps most, of the museum visitors who are inspecting these porcelains as closely as I are Chinese, or of Chinese origin. Two of them actually say something to me - the first time this has happened in 69 visits! A young man inquires about my interest; he actually seems quite knowledgeable about the porcelains and is particularly interested in the more experimental wares produced during a period of governmental instability in China, when the emperor exercised less control over the manufacture of porcelain. I ask him anout other collections of Chinese porcelains he would recommend, and he mentions the British Museum. I wasn't aware of its collection, but upon a millisecond of reflection, it seems like an obvious choice. And a middle-aged woman, looking at a caption, points to a jar and says "Ming." At first, I think she's proud of her ability to read Roman characters ("I Chinese," she explains unnecessarily), but then she correctly identifies another jar as Japanese without looking at the caption. I couldn't do that, at least not at this point.
How much there is to learn in the world!
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