#it's true that many european artists were influenced during the japonisme craze

[stirringwinds]

just thinking about the artistic connections forged between nations, and it’s one aspect of nedpan i find really cool to ponder— it’s like “your influence on me is immortalised for the whole world to see in the brushstrokes of my greatest artist”: because of how van gogh was inspired by hokusai and hiroshige (whom were themselves exposed to dutch art and techniques). and given how nationally iconic ‘the great wave’ and ‘starry night’ are in world art? if art is part of a nation’s soul, then that’s one really meaningful way to leave a mutual influence on each other. 

[bk-lostintranslation]

Shoddy Shodō / Commentaries on Globalization

We prefer the foppish superficiality of the Japonaiserie to the more prismatic understanding necessary for Japonisme – because the latter rests on the premise of cultivating an understanding of others, and therefore of ourselves...

One needn't be a Zen philosopher to appreciate the elegant simplicity of Japanese calligraphy. An intriguing juxtaposition of stark yet subdued, there is an undeniable dynamism to the text that attests to the visual nature of Japanese aesthetics themselves.  More engaging still is the preparation and ritual imbued within the art:  the water poured into the dark slab of the inkstone, the hand-carved sumi ground against the edge of the basin, the translucent washi paper held down by paperweights, the elegant little compartments for paintbrushes and the rows of glossy ink bottles. During the lesson, when taking everything out and arranging it around the table, there was a pleasing sense of harmony – but also of playfulness, not unlike having a tea-party for dolls. The effect, in my case, was unfortunately spoiled when I first dipped my paintbrush into the ink – then immediately made an ugly blot on the paper.    

Considered one of the most highly regarded forms of Japanese art, calligraphy – or shodō – is perhaps as recognizably tied to Japanese culture as cherry blossoms, ukiyo-e woodblock prints, geisha, kabuki, Hokusai's The Wave or iconic shots of Mt. Fiji (Aato, et al, 2013). Yet this fascination and growing preeminence of the Japanese visual form abroad is by no means a corollary of the recent Japanization-wave that has seen the nation's culture surfacing as a global phenomenon. If anything, as far back as the nineteenth century, Japanese aesthetics have wielded a tremendous influence on their Western counterparts, beginning with the Meiji Restoration, when Japanese imports first began to trickle into European markets.  

Artistic motifs and geometric designs unique to Japanese art were emulated; Japonisme, as defined by Philippe Burty, became a veritable craze in the West. Everything from furniture, crockery, textiles, architecture and performance arts borrowed from stylistic elements unique to Japan. Cloisonne techniques were applied to vases and jewelry; furniture was ebonized to emulate the gloss of Japanese laquerwork (Ji & Ukai, 2013; Ono, 2005). Household names such as Degas, Cassatt, Bonnard, Manet and Van Gogh were inspired by Nipponese woodblock prints, whose refined simplicity and distinct use of figures, shadows, colors and compositions allowed for greater flexibility from traditional artistic conventions. Indeed, Van Gogh would go so far as to claim "...all my work is in a way founded on Japanese art" (Nute, 2000, p. 13)     

Today, vibrant skeins of Japanese art and culture continue to weave themselves through the fabric of daily life. Whether it is dining on gas-station sushi, flipping through the pages of a popular manga at the nearest Barnes and Noble, browsing online for Harajuku-inspired fashions (Milk, Bape, COMME des GARÇONS), sprintzing on the latest perfumes by Issey Miyake or Kenzo, gawping at Takashi Murakami's sakura-infused collaboration with Louis Vuitton – or practicing the ancient art of shodō all the way out in a Texas University – there is no denying that Japanese cultural and artistic trends have proliferated the unlikeliest places. Pink globalization, the proliferation of the kawaii, the superflat, the moe; earnest debates about the art of minimalism as embodied by wabi-sabi, academic works on the iconography and semiotics of anime – the sheer scope of Japanese aesthetic concepts abroad is testament to their transnational allure.      

For many, this enjoyment of all things Japan stems from the nation's protean and hybrid culture itself – one that absorbs multiple outside influences and reinvents them into something undeniably its own. Others argue that this very fixation – almost a fetishization – of all things distinctly Japan-flavored may not be a modern translation of adulatory Japonisme at all, but of the more unkind Japonaiserie, which refers to the superficial transference of Japanese style into Western art, but can also be applied to the broader typecasting of Japan as an exoticized wonderland within which commodity fetishism and orientalist idealization converge.   

The question, then, becomes:  is the image of modern Japan that is absorbed abroad today merely loaded with all the concomitant denotations of cultural otherness, similar to the Japan-fever saturating Europe decades before – or is this obsession with the 'authentic' ethos of Japan the true crux of the issue?   Jean Paul Sartre, of course, has argued that, "If you seek authenticity for authenticity’s sake, you are no longer authentic" (Daigneault, 2000, p. 25). Taken in that sense, true Japaneseness means little on its own. The very notion that in order for something – whether a concept or an object– to be considered Japanese, it must be rigidly and uniformly Zen or Shinto, or unspoiled by the diluting forces of globalization, is patently ridiculous. The different facets of Japanese aesthetics have long been imbued with both ancient philosophies and Western influences alike, in a bricolage that some have dubbed schizophrenic, others multivalent – but which remind us that Japan's relationship with modernization has not been a seamless overnight transition from rustic, Edo-period mura to the glittering neon-soaked streets of Ginza, but an ongoing, discordant and often self-contradictory process that at once borrows from, and lends itself to, external influences.   

Yet, no matter how multifaceted the origins of Japanese aesthetics, or how versatile their range – from a gorgeous Kabuki play of Aoi no Ue to a secondhand store selling lacy Gothic Lolita dresses to my own pitiful attempts at shodō without even a rudimentary inkling of its Zen tenets – the fact remains that these principles are translated as undeniably Japanese abroad (Berger, 2010; Dorman, 2016; McKevitt, 2017). More to the point, in crossing geographic and cultural borders, they become almost emblems of Japaneseness. They are consumed, copied, critiqued for that very quality – a fact that once again harkens back to Sartre's remarks on authenticity: If the self-conscious Japaneseness of these aesthetics is the root of their appeal, are they truly Japanese at all?  Or have they merely become hollow self-referential symbols – a Japan not celebrated as Japonisme, but its blander, shallower cousin of Japonaiserie, which posits pretty fluff and frippery as valuable based simply on their 'cool Japan' provenance?   

To be sure, these concerns have been raised before. Issues with nation branding and soft power have been brought up consistently when examining the worldwide dissemination of Japanese culture and aesthetics. Prominent theorists from Koichi Iwabuchi to Joseph S Nye have remarked on how the carefully crafted face of Japan abroad is meant to foster certain ideas and images; to render Japan a personality that is implicitly institutionalized, and to socialize the rest of the world to a particular viewpoint. Similarly, in her book Pink Globalization: Hello Kitty’s Trek Across the Pacific, Christine Reiko Yano notes how works on nation-branding utilize the "language of marketing," and how the act itself is dependent on "the image others hold" (2013, p. 259).  In essence, by packaging itself abroad, the nation 'others' itself. It transforms its cultural legacy into a collectible object d'art. It can even be said that the very act of nation-branding is an indulgence in the nation's own objectification.  

While this strategy may seem workable from a marketing standpoint, with Japanese art and pop culture serving as a vital export and a tool of diplomacy (MacWilliams, 2015), there is also a disquieting whiff of the transactional that enters the equation – and in particular devalues the relationship between the aesthetic creation and its appreciator. Aficionados of Japanese art and tradition would like to believe that their relationship with the works they love and the nation they spring from is more nuanced than simply consumer and product. The very conception that it might be otherwise erases the link between not only the maker and the product but the seller and the consumer, devolving the cultural output into hollow merchandise unto itself.   In his work, The Rhetoric of Soft Power: Public Diplomacy in Global Contexts, Craig Hayden notes that,

While it is evident that culture appears to predominate in Japanese soft power, the application of culture, both in public arguments and embodied programs and initiatives, suggests a marked tendency toward objectification of culture through products ... [Yet] the value of culture for soft does not stem from its intrinsic capacity to convey deep-seated values or to establish credibility by demonstrating Japanese policy motives – culture "works" by providing a means of access to further engagement with Japan, as part of a fan community, as a student of language, etc. Culture in this sense reflects the networks of connection (2012).

With that in mind, it is difficult to envision that level of connectivity emerging from a purely commercial model of culture. It is equally difficult to imagine this particular strategy of soft power benefiting Japan in the long run. Playful lessons in calligraphy, zany volumes of manga, picturesque Zen garden kits and the frilly extravaganza of Lolita fashion subcultures are all intriguing facets of Japan in and of themselves. But they are not the entirety of Japan – and the very notion that they might be runs afoul of constructing the "Japanese social body as an imagined wholeness (McRoy, 2008, p. 93)." 

More to the point, this over-reliance on tired bromides and artistic stereotypes calls to attention the dangerous Orientalism tacit in both Western consumption of Japanese cultural and aesthetic input, and Japan's own marketing and masquerading of itself as a playground of the fantastical or eccentric – an act that precludes complex global discourse based on mutual learning as well as enjoyment. As Chitty, Ji, Rawnsley and Hayden note, the issue with Japan's formula of "glib branding schemes is the impossibility of capturing the full sweep of Japan's diversity..." and that "public diplomacy ought to be more profound than a beauty contest (p. 410-412)."   

This does not imply, of course, that Japan's efforts to promote itself on the global stage are without merit. As mentioned, Japanese art forms – from Kabuki to calligraphy, from video games to anime – are hailed as vital facets in a broader strategy for fostering both foreign policy and economic growth. Yet, the key to their commercial success, sheathed within pontifications of "cultural odorlessness", is a self-conscious localizatization, or perhaps even "glocalization", which impels Japan to tailor its culture as a product that best fits its contextual reception (Hayden, 2012; Iwabuchi, 2007).   To be fair, where marketization is concerned, culture becomes as easy to convert into a commodity as anything else. But the involvement of money flattens this mode of self-promotion by rendering it public – and by proxy, entrenched in the civic and legal hallmarks of consumption, as all merchandise is. The moment anything – an idea, an item, a sentiment – is placed on sale, its inherent value is measured solely in terms of its economic merit, and therefore its quantifiability.  

It was intriguing to note the internalization of this mindset during the calligraphy lesson. As fellow students grappled with their brushes and dribbled ink across the rice-paper (which, I confess, appealed to my horrid sense of schadenfreude), our chief complaints comprised of "Why isn't this easier?" – "I thought it would be more fun" – "Why aren't I instantly perfect at this?"    Yet, as the teacher was quick to remind us earlier in the lesson, calligraphy – as the purest form of ideography – requires kinetic grace as well as inner focus, neither of which are possible with a rigid composition, especially not on the first try. Easiness, fun and perfection are not the point of the endeavor – the process is. Yet the process is difficult to appreciate when one is accustomed to seeing their enjoyment of Japanese 'products' as transactional – no different from flipping through manga, or browsing the selection of anime on Netflix, or placing a Japanese BB-cream in an online shopping basket at Sephora.   

How does one immerse themselves in the conceptual complexities of an aesthetic when he or she is so used to viewing the culture from within an economic model, where even something as benign as a shodō class absolutely must, somehow, telegraph the entertainment value associated with Japan, as a place of "fantasy and difference? (Anheier, 2011, p. 277)   It is a reminder, that hand-in-hand with quantification goes decontextualization. That, in turn, brings us back to the dilemma of Japonisme versus Japonaiserie – within which commodity fetishism masquerades as exoticism, playing up to Western constructions of an enchanted but ultimately reductionist view of Japan. Learning about another culture should, in theory, be more broad-ranging and multi-faceted than that. There should be a sense of both parties engaging each other over the landscape of the art, the language, the history.      

Yes, we have crossed the point where conceptions of Japanese culture and aesthetics can be understood as statically mystical, existing in a space completely separated from politics or pedagogy. Yet we do ourselves a disservice by imbibing only prettily-packaged, surface-level tokens of would-be Japaneseness – and Japan's soft-power strategy a greater disservice for pandering to it.

Perhaps it is a dark casualty of globalization, to forge not connections but new methods for labeling the objects of our interest into purely superficial categories based on their consumptive appeal, because to examine them from a broader lens runs the risk of them examining us in turn. Far tidier and safer to classify each other, with meta-tags and marketing, into archetypes and icons to consume without any tangible outcomes of a bilateral exchange. Here is a Geisha in a colorful kimono, coyly twirling a parasol – an exoticized symbol of feminine Otherness as much as a performative embodiment of iki. Here is a cup of sake, sipped with no substantive appreciation for its quality, but for the mere fact that it is an extension of the would-be unusual smorgasbord of Japanese cuisine. Here is the shodō lesson designed to suit the American temperament – Zen-free and upholding no aesthetic stance beyond being a straightforward source of amusement.    It is easier to absorb the classifications posited by fetishized images of Japan, and Japan's internalization of that fetishization for marketing and nation-branding, so we can imagine we know the culture without actually knowing it, and to ourselves avoid being known. Why not, when classification conveniently precludes in-depth judgement?   

There is an inherent cowardice in this strategy of soft power – for both parties engaged in the dance. There is a shortsightedness to this act of self-definition which is dependent on flawed teleology and a trap of circular logic wherein culture is served up as a commodity to be devoured, yet the power and resonance in that strategy remains dubious at best, limited at worst. Or perhaps that is the point, because it allows for the luxury of atomizing another culture on our own terms, while conveniently avoiding the dialogic parity that can only emerge with each party possessing an equally strong and honest voice (Tabachnick & Koivukoski, 2004).  

We prefer the foppish superficiality of the Japonaiserie to the more prismatic understanding necessary for Japonisme – because the latter rests on the premise of cultivating an understanding of others, and therefore of ourselves, while the former provides an easy means to evade an external gaze that tells us something about ourselves we aren't comfortable with confronting. It is easier to project a one-dimensional persona into a realm of the same. It is easier buy into the delusion that we have hermetically sealed ourselves and others into an airtight wrapper of self-affirmation – and to cling to it with a blind, nearly onanistic tenacity.   

References

Anheier, H. K., & Isar, Y. R. (2011). Cultures and globalization: heritage, memory & identity. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.

Berger, A. A. (2010). Tourism in Japan: an ethno-semiotic analysis. Bristol: Channel View Publications.

Chitty, N., Ji, L., Rwansley, G. D., & Hayden, C. (2017). The Routledge handbook of soft power. London ; New York: Routledge, Taylor et Francis Group.

Daigneault, P. (2000). Sartres early moral theory. Routledge. Abingdon, UK.

Dorman, A. (2016). Paradoxical Japaneseness: cultural representation in 21st century Japanese cinema. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Hayden, C. (2012). The rhetoric of soft power: public diplomacy in global contexts. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.

Iwabuchi, K. (2007). Recentering globalization: popular culture and Japanese transnationalism. Durham: Duke University Press.

Ji, M., & Ukai, A. (2013). Translation, history and arts new horizons in Asian interdisciplinary humanities research. Newcastle: Cambridge scholars.

Macwilliams, M. W. (2015). Japanese visual culture explorations in the world of manga and anime. Abingdon: Routledge.

McKevitt, A. C. (2017). Consuming Japan: popular culture and the globalizing of 1980s America. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press.

McRoy, Jay (2008), “The Horror Is Alive. Immersion, Spectatorship, and the Cinematics of Fear in the Survival Horror Genre,” Reconstruction, Vol. 6, No. 1

Nute, K. (2000). Frank Lloyd Wright and Japan: the role of traditional Japanese art and architecture in the work of Frank Lloyd Wright. London : New York: Routledge.

Nye, J. S. (2004). Soft power: the means to success in world politics. New York: Public Affairs.

Ono, A. (2005). Japonisme in Britain: Whistler, Menpes, Henry, Hornel, and nineteenth-century Japan. London: RoutledgeCurzon.

Satō, S., Roshi, G. A., Fujiwara, S., & Sato, A. O. (2013). Shodo: the quiet art of Japanese Zen calligraphy: learn the wisdom of Zen through traditional brush painting. Tokyo: Tuttle Publishing.

Tabachnick, D., & Koivukoski, T. (2004). Globalization, technology, and philosophy. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

Yano, C. R. (2013). Pink globalization: Hello Kittys trek across the Pacific. Durham: Duke University Press.