may fairly call Kanaoka the father of the various schools to which the term “classical” is usually applied, though he can not be justly regarded as the “founder” of any school, since he did but transmit the inspiration emanating from the Tang masters. There exists to this day among Japanese connoisseurs much uncertainty as to the nature of Kanaoka’s work. The majority believe that delicacy and minuteness were his characteristics: that he aimed at decorative effects rather than at boldness and vigour. That is an error which recent researches ought to have dispelled. Such specimens of Kanaoka’s work as have been clearly identified show that, like the great Chinese artist Wu Tao-tsz upon whom he modelled himself, his conceptions were as broad and lofty as his style was masculine and direct. He bequeathed much of his talent to his lineal descendants, especially to his great grandson, Hirotaka.
Had the intercourse between Japan and China continued to develop, it would doubtless have been fully reflected in the pictorial arts of the two countries. But the opening of the tenth century witnessed a political severance which made itself felt in the region of art, and a gradual divergence from the Chinese style can thenceforth be traced in Japanese secular pictures. Religious paintings still preserved their Chinese affinities, with the natural exception that in proportion as conception was less profound and execution less vigorous, decorative details grew more elaborate. It may be said of all Japanese painters down to the twelfth century, perhaps even down to the thirteenth, that they regarded the religious picture as the field of highest achievement, and that, when their subject was a Buddhist divinity, a Nirvana, an Arhat, or a Rishi, they sought inspiration either directly from the Chinese masters or indirectly from the latter’s most famous disciples. Religious paintings, like religious propagandism, appeal either to the intellect or to the senses. Pictures of the former class are, of course, the exception; those of the latter, the rule. The characteristics of Japanese Buddhist paintings in general are the characteristics of the illuminated missal; a rich display of gold and of glowing but harmonious colours, with conventional drawing, complete absence of chiaroscuro, apparent errors of anatomy, and faithful observance of traditional types. Sometimes, however, just as the noble thoughts of a great preacher impart new and lofty aspects to the familiar faith he inculcates, so Buddhist pictures from a master hand cease to be a mere repetition of hackneyed types, and reveal glimpses of a world of divine inspirations and emotions. It is unnecessary to pursue this part of our subject. The greatest painters whose names have become famous
Kukai had an opportunity of witnessing the superb civilization of the Tang dynasty, and on his return to Japan, he set himself to propagate, under official auspices, a doctrine (the Mikkyo), which depended largely on appeals to the sensuous side of human nature, and enlisted in its service whatever aids were furnished by the beautiful, the gorgeous, and the picturesque. It is not to be supposed that Kukai attempted to revolutionise anything. Revolution has never been the rôle of Buddhism. If he favoured magnificent ceremonials and elaborate decorative effects, it was because the spirit of his day tended in that direction. Kukai obtained renown as a sculptor, and so did a contemporary priest of scarcely smaller fame, Saicho (commonly called Dengyo-Daishi). But neither of these men seems to have made any serious study of painting. Posterity recognises only one painter among Kanaoka’s predecessors, namely, Kawanari, and of his work no specimens survive.
