Emma Crichton-Miller on Japanese folding screens
Originally imported from China in 686, the folding screen became a fine art in Japan, developed over centuries. More recently, the demand for these objects has been greater in the West, where collectors prize their raw materials and workmanship – as well
As an architectural feature, the folding screen existed in China at least as early as the Han dynasty (206 BC–220 AD). But it was in Japan that the artistic potential of the medium was fully realised. The first byobu (‘enclosure’) reached the Japanese court in 686 as a diplomatic gift, sparking a fashion; by the beginning of the Heian period (794– 1185), highly decorated examples were found in imperial and noble households, as well as in Buddhist temples, helping to decorate and even dramatise architectural space in a flexible way. The earliest complete extant example is from the Toji temple in Kyoto, founded in 796. The invention in the 14th century of ‘invisible’ paper hinges increased the appeal for artists, providing an expansive surface for the unfolding of their ambitious designs; meanwhile the structure became much lighter owing to the use of washi paper stretched across a bamboo lattice frame. Already in the Heian period a distinctively Japanese genre of painting had emerged: yamato-e, featuring idealised Japanese landscapes, depictions of the four seasons, and scenes from the Tale of Genji, the 11th-century Japanese literary classic; other patrons favoured more refined, Chinese-influenced ink-drawn landscapes and representations of Zen patriarchs.
In the turbulent Momoyama period (1573– 1603), which was characterised by ostentatious castle-building by rival warlords, artists developed an opulent and dynamic style, with gold lavishly applied to screens that shimmered in gilded interiors. Alongside the decorative compositions, fine line-work and brilliant colour of the Tosa school, particularly prized were the bold depictions of animals and plants against gold ground by the artist Kano Eitoku (1543–90), grandson of the founder of the Kano school in Kyoto, Kano Masanobu (1434–1530). One interesting subsection of screens made around this time are the so-called Nanban screens; inspired by the arrival in Japan of the Portuguese – dubbed ‘southern barbarians’ (Nanban) – in 1543, they feature stylised Western ships and long-nosed Europeans in ballooning trousers. In this period of open communication with the world, the shogun ruler Tokugawa Ieyasu sent 10 sets of gold screens to James I as diplomatic gifts. The Edo period (1615–1868), meanwhile, which saw the end of foreign relations, brought a revival of Heian themes, as in the work of Hon’ami Koetsu (1558–1637) and Tawaraya Sotatsu (died c. 1640), leading to the Rinpa school of highly decorative, vibrantly coloured screens.
Gregg Baker, a specialist dealer in Japanese screens, soon to move his premises from London to Brussels, says, ‘Since 1985
[when Baker started his business], people have become much more discerning. You need a lot of stock to have a screen of precisely the right dimensions, subject-matter, colour and budget, the day the client walks in.’ His market is focused on the UK, Europe and the United States: ‘The Japanese no longer have house space to accommodate screens. The reason we absorb them into the West is that we are happy to put them on the wall.’
Collectors are not primarily focused on particular named artists: individual signatures were rarely added to screens at the time, although occasionally a master would stamp the products of his workshop. (No master would dare sign the most prestigious screens, commissioned by fearsome shoguns.) Instead, the quality of the workmanship is almost always in parallel with the quality of the raw materials used – the mineral pigments such as lapis and malachite, gold and silver – and the work’s technical complexity (Fig. 2). Thereafter, it is a question of taste, although earlier examples are more soughtafter than later ones: ‘It is all about schools – the Tosa school, the Kano school, the Rinpa school,’ Baker explains. Popular subjects today include the black-ship Nanban screens; willows with a bridge over the Uji river – two six-panel silk screens depicting this scene, attributed to Hasegawa Tohaku (1539–1610), sold for $605,000 at Christie’s New York in 2015 (estimate $600,000–$800,000); and the ‘Tagasode’ (‘Whose Sleeves?’) image of kimonos hanging over a rack – a pair on this theme from the Hasegawa school sold at Christie’s New York in 2006 for $968,000. ‘Genji screens, samurai screens of battles or weaponry are less sought after today,’ Baker adds. Prices have only been going up. But as Baker remarks, with £200,000–£300,000 the average high price for a good-quality screen, in comparison with contemporary art or European Old Masters, ‘you get an awful lot of bang for your buck’.
Tsumugi Shoji, director of the Londonbased dealership Grace Tsumugi, has available a pair of finely painted early Edo period screens (c. 1700) depicting the Genpei War (1180–85), a ferocious five-year conflict between two clans for dominance over the imperial court (£85,000). Tsumugi explains that ‘this is a very important part of Japanese history, with a beautiful story behind it’. She acknowledges, however, that today’s market favours the Rinpa school, which is less busy and more stylised, although there is still an appetite on the continent for the Genji and samurai scenes among collectors of samurai artefacts. She also notes a developing interest among a younger generation of American collectors for screens from the Taisho period (1912–26), which offer an aesthetic that chimes with Arts and Crafts and art deco movements in the West. This is confirmed by Erik Thomsen, of the eponymous gallery, in New York: ‘In the 1980s my main focus was older screens, the earlier the better, the rarer and more valuable. From 2000 I discovered the fantastic screens from the early 20th century which, while still using traditional formats and materials, show a mix of East and West in the more precise, less stylised depictions of nature. The subjects were often influenced by the artists’ being able to travel abroad, which they could not do before.’ Thomsen explains that an upsurge in wealth and national pride during that period encouraged artists to excel. He has available a highly refined folding screen, ‘White Peacocks and Fatsia’ (c. 1915), created using ink, mineral colors, and gofun (powdered shell) on silk with gold wash, by Ito Kinsen, in the low six figures.
Takaaki Murakami, head of the Japanese art department at Christie’s New York, confirms however that at the very top end it is the early screens (late 16th and early 17th century) that achieve the highest prices, sought after both by collectors and museums in Japan and the United States. He cites a pair of previously unknown six-panel screens, ‘Southern Barbarians Come to Trade’, attributed to Kano Naizen (1570–1616), which sold for $4.8m – a world auction record for a Japanese painting – in New York in 2011. Mark Hinton, director of Japanese art at Sotheby’s London, comments that the Portuguese market for Nanban screens has taken off in the last 10 years. In the 1970s, ’80s, and ’90s screens were bought across Europe, especially in France; but since the 1990s they have also become popular in the UK, with flowers and floral patterns, as well as the distinctive motif of fans scattered on water, particularly appealing. Sotheby’s reopened its Japanese department in London three years ago in recognition of strengthening interest from Japan and the persistent interest across Europe. A pair of screens illustrating a stable full of boisterous horses, from the Edo period (late 17th century; Fig. 1), achieved £125,000 on an estimate of £80,000–£100,000 in May 2019, confirming Hinton’s view that where quality of painting and subject matter are sufficiently appealing, there are enthusiastic bidders. o