Starlit
Mountain—How White Space and Imagination Work in Haiga
An Interview with Jeanne Emrich by Linda Papanicolaou
This interview first appeared on Haigaonline in 2008. It is reprinted here by permission of Linda Papanicolaou.
Welcome Jeanne—although, since you are the originator of Haigaonline, this is really “Welcome back.” You and I met at the 2005 Haiku North America conference in Port Townsend, Washington. You gave a paper entitled “The Unscrolling of Haiga: The Traditional Aesthetic and Contemporary Media.” In it you discussed traditional haiga aesthetic, the “apparent impossibilities” for applying it to contemporary Western artistic style, and a way of reconciling these different sensibilities to achieve modern works of art that are both true to the haiga aesthetic while also expressively original.
Q: What I especially remember about your presentation was your discussion of white space. It changed my style and my way of thinking about haiga. Would you tell us what is white space and why is it considered to be an important formal element in 2-dimensional art and in haiga specifically?
A: White or negative space is the field that surrounds the rendered images. It can be white, a single uniform color field, or a subtly modulated color field, but for the purposes of this interview we’ll call it white. If the space is in fact white, we may have a quite natural tendency to think it is empty or devoid of information and tend to overlook it. But it really isn’t empty at all. It has shape, color, and other elements, including energy, which the eye notices even if we are not aware of it. The proof of this that if you stare at a high contrast image, such as a black horse on white paper, for a minute or two and then look away or close your eyes, you will see the “ghost” of the image in reverse – a white horse on a black field. The negative space, then, is part of the visual field. Artists know of the importance of both positive and negative space and incorporate each as a creative element into the design of their work.
In traditional haiga, where ink brush painting is done on rice paper, the white space is literally the white paper. Historically, haiga has been quite sketchy—just a few lines and perhaps a bit of color—with plenty of space left for the calligraphy. The moment the positive images are painted, they change the entire dynamics of the negative space that surrounds them. For example, the painted space divides the negative space into various shapes which take on interesting edges of their own where they meet the positive images. White space also works as a field for the imagination to come into play, particularly when the painted image and the haiku suggest more than one interpretation. Then it works like the silver screen of cinema, with the imagination projecting the images in the verse or new images of its own onto it.
A
particularly good example of this kind of dynamic use of white space is the sumi-e
painting over the wall below:
Ion
Codrescu’s energetic brushstrokes zigzag up the page dividing the white space
into strong shapes that jut into the center from all sides and suggesting the
liveliness and speed of quick action. We read Gabriel Rosenstock’s verse,
over the wall and gone; / but/ for a second--/ the fox’s (sic) tail, and
learn the cause of all this excitement. Prompted by the verse, we then look for
the fox, the tail, the wall it zigzags over, and the landscape beyond. But
these are not depicted (except perhaps the brushstroke in the bottom left of the
painting which might be construed to represent the tail). Instead, we largely
are left on our own to imagine the verse’s image in the painting. All this is
made possible by the uncluttered white space provided us.
Q: White space appears to have been a part of haiga aesthetics early in the form’s history. How did the practice of leaving a large part of a haiga painting blank start and why does this continue today in Japanese as well in Western haiga?
A: Over the centuries in both Japan and China, leaving a portion of a work unpainted or perhaps lightly toned was part of an aesthetic of abbreviation and simplification. By reducing a visual image to a few descriptive lines, the artist was able to quickly characterize the subject, often with a degree of humor. The white space also left room for any calligraphy that accompanied the visual image and could be either prose or poetry. By the time haiku came into being in the seventeenth century, poet-painters started to give the verse more space, and the calligraphy itself, both its rendering and placement, became more than ever a creative and much admired element in the painting. We see this in the Portrait of Bashō (1799), the legendary haiku master, painted by Suzuki Nanrei (1775-1844) with a humorous inscription by Kameda Bōsai ((1752-1826). The calligraphy is given just as much space as the painted figure, and the curling lines in the verse’s calligraphy have counterparts in the lines of the seated figure.
Notice, by
the way, the affectionate parody of Bashō’s famous verse (Old pond--/ a frog
jumps/ the sound of water):
Furu ike
ya
sono go
tobikomu
kawazu
nashi
Old pond—
after
jumping
no frog
Today, the practice of leaving a lot of white space continues among practitioners of the traditional style in both Japan and the West. In Japan, contemporary masters of the form are known for their traditional haiga and there is the Japan Sekiho Haiga Association (www.haiga.com) which promotes the haiga aesthetic as it has been understood throughout the past three hundred centuries. Now, there also is considerable experimentation with contemporary styles and media, the products of which may or may not incorporate white space as a creative element, according to what aesthetic choices the poet-painters make. Kuniharu Shimizu, a highly prolific graphic designer in Japan, has produced over 1000 computer-rendered haiga. In the West, poet-painters are working in such varied media as pencil, pen, pastels, watercolors, photographs, and collage and other mixed media—again, with or without white space integrated into the works.
Q: You have said that there is a distinctive order in the psychology of perception when we look at a haiga. What is this order and what role does white space play in it?
A: A haiga is like a cartoon, where you first see the visual rendering, then read the caption, and then look again at the visual image to re-imagine it in light of the new information gained from the caption. But in haiga, where the text is usually a haiku, there is another set of perceptions prompted by the middle step, the reading of the text. In this middle step, the reader becomes temporarily blind to the visual images rendered in the haiga and now is involved in mentally visualizing the images as they are presented in the haiku. The reader might spend quite a bit of time reading and rereading the lines in the haiku to savor whatever resonates within the verse, including nuances of meaning, mood, and atmosphere, as well as new subject matter. When he or she is ready to look again at the rendered image—the painting, collage, photograph, or whatever medium might be the presentation vehicle—the reader now has considerably more mental images in mind than an ordinary cartoon caption might encompass. The more resonance and connotations in the verse, the more the reader is likely to pass back and forth between the visual images and the verse, and with each pass, “see” more in the white spaces of haiga. So, in this order of perception, the negative space is never static, never empty, but always filling with the reader’s imaginings.
Starlit Mountain below is a good example.
At first
glance, we see Susan Frame’s very abstract sumi-painting. The images could be
trees, clouds, mountains, or nothing at all. Right away, we are prompted by the
ambiguity of the image to try to complete it in our imaginations, but Andrew
Riutta’s verse awaits us:
starlit
mountain
the sound
of water
returning
to itself
Lingering in the verse for a while, we savor the beauty and wonder of the visual and aural images—the stars and starlight, the mountains, the cascading water and the (implied) body of water below, a lake perhaps, or the river itself continuing on in the lowlands – all in the haiku and subsequently in our imaginations. Then, we return to the sumi-e painting and, with this new information fresh in our minds, we complete the haiga. The white space at the top of the painting turns from white to the star-studded blue-black of night. The large black forms become mountains and the space between them a waterfall. Our eyes sweep down that cascade as we hear the roaring water returning to itself. The painting has suddenly become larger, even epic, as our eyes and minds “see” the painting anew, imagining the white space into a majestic landscape.
Q: Could white space in a haiga operate as a kind of empty or open-ended metaphor--a space or plane in a painting that could signify almost anything?
A: White space encourages free association. And when a haiga, like a good haiku, suggests multiple interpretations, the white space does indeed become an empty metaphor ready to be filled with virtually anything the reader/viewer might conjure up.
There are other ways white space might operate in the metaphorical realm as
well. The very starkness of the space itself quite literally can suggest subtle
poetic comparisons. In Lidia Rozmus’s wooden pier below, for example, the
white space with its sheer blankness might be understood as a metaphor for the
bleakness of the “double-loneliness” felt by the persona in the verse. In a way,
this is just like the use of juxtaposition to suggest a metaphor in a haiku all
by itself, only in haiga it’s the juxtaposition of an image (white space) in the
visual field with an image in the verse that results in a metaphor by
association. It can add considerable nuance to a work.
Another way
white space might act in the metaphorical realm is to assist in the perception
of an overt literary metaphor in the positive or rendered images in a haiga. In
this case, an image in the verse is likened to an image in the painting. In
effect, the juxtaposition says X is Y. The combination of the two is so
compelling that it is almost impossible not to “see” both images in the
painting itself. We find this in Stephen Addiss’s entangled below
In this wittily erotic haiga, the “April willow” of the verse is the female nude figure rendered in the painting. The unexpected juxtaposition of the two surprises us to the point where we are instantly compelled to visualize the willow in the white space, the better to appreciate the comparison and say, “Ah yes, the April willow is like this lovely lady—her gracefulness, her flowing lines.”
As an aside, I think it would be interesting to do a study of how people visualize images in the white spaces of haiga. In particular, might they imagine the real thing—either as the eye or a camera might see an actual willow—or might they actually render it mentally in the graphic style of the poet-painter? How did you imagine the willow in Addiss’s haiga? Did you mentally paint it in? Did you use Addiss’s calligraphic style?
Q: Are there some parallels in Western art or commercial media in the use of white space?
A: We see
white space in Western sketches, vignettes, advertisements, posters, and
cartoons. Most simplify a visual image to depict only what is important or
germane to the purpose of the work and which can be quickly perceived. Some
artists, such as Robert Rauschenberg (especially in his posters where he
includes quite a bit of white space) use mixed media combining collage,
photography, silk screen printing, and brush painting. Other artists might work
in a single medium and do a sketch, leaving a good part of the paper white with
the effect that the white space conveys the impression of freshness with the
feeling of a moment captured and quickly rendered before the perception or the
feeling fades. Much of traditional haiga resembles a sketch, almost like a
cartoon or a doodle, using the common writing and painting tool of the day – the
brush. Today, our most common writing tool is the pen, which is ideal for
doodling with a haiku in mind. We can see a charming example in Cor van den
Heuvel’s while watering:
All the energy and freshness of a quick sketch, as well as the humor of the author, spring from van den Heuvel’s pen, augmented by the whiteness of the negative space. There are no distracting details, no heavy color masses to wade through or otherwise impede a viewer’s quick smile of recognition. It’s a delightful format for a haiga – the doodle penned on clean white paper.
Q: How can poets and artists combining photography or computer rendering with haiku use “white space” in their work?
A: The important thing is to include it in your design process right from the very beginning. With a photograph, you need not use the entire image that fills the frame with visual information. Nor, in a computer rendering, do you need to click the “fill” icon in your computer software to flood the visual field with color. You can cut and paste. You can fade-in and fade-out. You can edit with your scissors or with your computer. You can scan cut-up or torn photographs, your own painted work, your own calligraphy, and found scraps of all sorts of visual material to make a collage. And, knowing all these options, you can plan how white space might resonate with these elements.
With a collage, you can brainstorm different designs for your haiga by assembling the bits and pieces of your collage items and, one-by-one, drop them randomly on white paper, letting them overlap slightly. Work with only three to five pieces at first and make them different shapes and sizes for visual interest. Now frame them with your hands or a mat. How does the white space work with these elements? Is the white space visually interesting—that is, varied in size and shape? Is there a place where you can put the verse? Does the overall field feel too crowded with details or is there room for the imagination? If not, simply rearrange the pieces or add or subtract one or two until it feels right to you, being careful not to eliminate the white space.
A good
example is Virginia seas by Gary LeBel.
Lebel presents us with a sea-side town, half-photo collage, half-sketch, with considerable white space in and around the rendering. We see the waves rolling in—and have all the information we need to imagine blue skies above and a sandy beach below. He even has left room for us to imagine the haiku’s bathers in the midst of the waves “stumbling over/our middle-aged knees.” Notice, too, that though the verse is in a typical caption position, it has been hand-written, adding a expressive dynamic to the painting. It also is enlarged enough to be a balancing weight in the triad of town, waves, and calligraphy. A particularly charming aspect of this haiga is that Lebel did not make all the work a photo-collage, but added his own lively sketches of the buildings, the windows and doors of which look like faces glaring out at us.
When you
create a haiga with your computer, you must plan to put in the white space from
the very beginning. You can do this by starting with a thumbnail sketch before
you even turn on your computer. Later, with a click of your mouse, you can
experiment with adding or taking out white spaces in your design. The creative
possibilities are endless. Kuniharu Shimizu’s “Lying by the hot spring” below
began with a thumbnail sketch integrating Issa Kobayashi’s verse with a simple
but very elegant pastel image of the poet’s reclining face with a butterfly on
his forehead.
In the white spaces around the face, Shimizu has left ample room for us to imagine the hot spring and the surrounding environment—gardens, people, buildings—all of which were thought of and planned for from the very first thumbnail sketch. Although the verse is mechanically word-processed in this haiga, it is also possible to scan your own handwritten verse and digitally insert it into the computer rendering.
Q. In your teaching of haiga, you have talked about how a painting must not be just an illustration for a verse nor the verse be a mere caption for the painting. How does this pertain to the use of white space in haiga?
A. If the verse and painting simply repeat each other’s presentation, image-by-image, there is little stimulus for the imagination to use the white space to fully realize the haiga. The haiga then becomes more of a show-and-tell presentation and, as a result, it has the effect of telling too much and the reader becomes the passive receiver of the information provided. Instead, the reader must be invited into the haiga as an active participant. There are two ways for the poet-painter to do this. One is to leave something out in the painting that is mentioned in the verse, and the other is to add new information in the painting that is not in the verse. Either way, the reader is prompted to supply the missing or new information by visualizing it in the white space, just as we have seen in our earlier examples. With this in mind, it’s a good practice to make a decision right at the very beginning of the design of the haiga about what to leave out of the visual rendering and what to add that is new. Those who collaborate in haiga will particularly enjoy the surprises that adding something new in the painting brings. The poet may discover that the painter visualized something in the verse the poet never imagined but which might be particularly apt or add a whole new layer of meaning to the haiga.
Q: What is the danger, if any, of white space becoming “dead space”? How might the presentation of verse, calligraphy, and visual images make this space a dynamic element in haiga?
A: White space can become “dead space” when it is locked out of the positive image. When the haiga is all color and image and incased in a square or rectangle, the outer edges are like walls against the rest of the world. Just putting a white “frame” around that closed image will not work. It makes the white space inert with nowhere to go. The rendering must be open with varied points of entry for the eye so that the white permeates portions of the image and even has a path through it. The painting then starts to breathe and takes on a feeling of movement and energy.
The Chinese, whom Japanese painters have emulated over the centuries, talk of qi which is an unseen, moving life spirit or energy important in both nature and painting. Painters will plan a painting around questions about where the qi will enter the painting, what paths it might take through the painting, and where it will exit. Very often qi will be depicted by unpainted white paper or light colors. Once you get used to this aesthetic you miss it when it’s not there. A painting may feel claustrophobic or too cluttered with detail. But let qi flow through and there is an airiness and movement that energizes the work. If you look again at the haiga already discussed here, you will see the many different ways qi can flow through a haiga. In starlit mountain, it enters at the top of the painting and proceeds right down the waterfall. In Virginia seas, it comes in over the top of the town, then under it just above the waves, and then around the verse.
Ultimately,
it is the dynamic use of white space that largely makes a haiga in accord with
the spirit of haiku—the freshness of a moment, its essence captured in a quick
sketch alive with energy in the verse, the visual images, and the white spaces
flowing through the whole.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“over the wall” Ion Codrescu, painting; Gabriel Rosenstock, verse. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga, 2007, Vol. 5, (Lone Egret Press, Minneapolis).
“Portrait of Bashō” Suzuki Nanrei, painting; Kameda Bōsai, verse. From
Haiga: Takebe Sōchō and the
Haiku-Painting Tradition by Stephen
Addiss, Marsh Gallery, University of Richmond in association with University of
Hawai’i Press, Honolulu, 1995.
“starlit mountain” Susan Frame, painting; Andrew Riutta, verse. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga, 2006, Vol. 4.
“wooden pier” Lidia Rozmus, painting and verse. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga, 2005 , Vol. 3.
“entangled” Stephen Addiss, painting and verse. “Still Surprising—Haiga by Stephen Addiss,” an online exhibition. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga http://reedscontemporaryhaiga.com.
“while watering” Cor van den Heuvel, drawing and verse. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga, 2007, Vol. 5.
“Virginia seas” Gary LeBel, collage and verse. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga, 2006, Vol. 4.
“Lying by the hot spring” Kuniharu Shimizu, computer rendering; Issa Kobayashi, verse. Reeds: Contemporary Haiga, 2005, Vol. 3.
Return to Reeds:
Contemporary Haiga Main Page.