Color and Seals in Traditional Haiga
by Stephen Addiss
In Japan, a large number of haiga have no color, except perhaps for the seal of the artist which creates an important visual punctuation in the total work. The poem-paintings by such masters as Issa are almost entirely in ink, and for his haiga he did not even affix a seal. There is an advantage, some have believed, in allowing the viewers to add any colors they might wish in their own minds, rather than being too specific in the work itself. After all, haiga are like haiku in suggesting more than they define, and color not only adds a specificity of its own, but also brings an emotional element that may not require such direct expression.
However, many Japanese traditional haiga do have color, usually light rather than heavy, and often just a single tone or two. Full color works are rare but not unknown; most poet-artists have felt that this technique did not suit the direct and informal expression of both image and text.
One marvelously sparing use of color comes in a haiga by the major painter-poet Yosa Buson (1716-1784). This is his famous depiction of Matabei, a fun-loving man about town, seen walking with his coat slipping from his shoulders and a wine gourd abandoned below his unshod feet. The brushwork is expertly casual, giving a sense of movement while adding a touch of humor.
Here Buson uses only one touch of color, the red hat that looks as though it may not long remain on Matabei’s head. Visually, this touch of red relates to the double-seal that lies below the artist’s signature, but why did Buson find it necessary in the painting?
Before venturing to answer this question, we should consider the text above the figure. First, on the upper right there is Buson’s prose introduction, reading,
The cherry blossoms in Kyoto beginning to fall are like bits of paint dropping from a image by Tosa Mitsunobu.
Here Buson is referring to a well-known court artist who had painted traditional scenes, such as from the Tale of Genji in a highly refined style with thick colors. These colors falling away, then, may be interpreted as the old court style giving way to a new more casual and plebian painting tradition, and also alludes to the hat about to fall from Matabei’s head.
After the introduction, Buson adds a haiku in a single column to the left:
you will meet
Matabei of Omuro
at cherry-blossom season
People in Kyoto have for centuries gone out in the spring to see the cherry trees, from which the blossoms fall so soon, and they often get a bit drunk while viewing (or instead of viewing) the flowers. Therefore the touch of red in Matabei’s hat also suggests the color of the blossoms, which he is taking home with him (if he does not lose his hat in the process). As viewers, we can find multiple associations for the color in this haiga; Buson is bringing us a reference to Japan’s artistic past while allowing us to share in the happy occasion of spring flower-viewing, and perhaps we too can take the blossoms home with us in our imagination.
While at first glance this painting may seem very simple, it can have a much deeper resonance as we consider its implications of nature, art, enjoyment, and ultimate transience. Without the visual focus of the one touch of red, we would lose some of that experience; this haiga is a remarkable example of how one small dab of color can enliven a work of art.
Returning to the idea of how the red of a seal can be enough color for an entire work, one haiga of my own makes use of a seal for multiple purposes. The poem reads:
still surprising
this crescent
moon
The character on the seal is the semi-pictorial graph for “bamboo,” part of my art name “bamboo voice,” and in this case the seal functions in three ways. First, it represents my name as a poet-artist; second, it adds a visual punctuation by being the only touch of color; and third, it can be seen as the moon peeping between the high-rise buildings of a city, and therefore visually surprising. Through the use of this crescent-shaped seal, perhaps there is an additional surprise that the moon is both red and contains a name.
Some Western poet-artists have carved, or had carved, their own seals, and these can represent one’s name, initials, a name in Chinese or Japanese, or may even be a small picture. In addition, a simple fingerprint or thumb-print pressed in red stamp-pad ink can also serve as a seal (and guarantee your authenticity to future generations). Of course, the color does not have to be red, although that has worked well for many generations, but in creating a haiga, one touch of color can be vital in its total expression.
In deciding where to put the visual punctuation, some poet-artists have stamped their seal or fingerprint on a small piece of paper and moved it around their haiga before deciding where to add it permanently. This is especially important because in haiga, where the interaction of words and image is vital, the location of the seal can enhance the total focus and balance of the work. In Japanese haiga, seals have usually been placed after the signature, if there is one, or in a lower corner of the work, but as in the crescent moon haiga, seals can come anywhere.
To sum up, when creating haiga, poet-artists have three choices rather than two. They can work in black-and-white or in color, but the third possibility is black-and-white plus a seal. All three choices were used in traditional Japan, and each has its own artistic and expressive potential. I myself like to work in the third manner, because I want the viewer to be able to imagine the colors while still including that significant touch of red, but as you can see from the different haiga in this issue of Reeds, all of the choices can inspire fine work.
Stephen Addiss is the author of Haiga:Takebe Socho and the Haiku Painting Tradition (1995) as well as of numerous articles and essays about haiga published in journals and books internationally.