Beauty and sadness
Handling them carefully, I removed the 23 photographs of Laura from the satchel and passed them to Mr. Tanaka, who studied each one for several minutes.
“What a woman truly looks like cannot be understood with the eyes alone,” he said. “Each of these portraits is an exploration, adjuncts to my own exploration. I’ll explain. This isn’t yet art history; this is art in process, unfolding.
“When we talk about physical appearance or presence,” he added, “as depicted in works like these, we are intuitively speaking of two things which coalesce into one: the ephemeral and the graceful, which together yield a je ne sais quoi kind of poignancy. Art must transcend what it depicts, which means that the ineffable colors, or shall I say the emotional and intellectual tonality, need to rise to the surface. That rarely happens with a woman who is in her twenties or thirties. Call it an autumnal or late-summer flowering, but this is often when a portrait can capture that moment between the evanescent and the eternal. These portraits of Laura convince me that Laura is aware of time’s passing. Look, this one; it reminds me of Rembrandt’s Bathsheba with its wistful, doleful expression. Very Japanese, actually.”
“Mr. Tanaka, do you find Laura beautiful?”
“Not in the way you’re asking me. We’re not in quest of portraits that flatter her or that make grandmothers swoon. We’re in search of an essence that doesn’t loudly announce its presence; we’re in search of an essence that whispers softly, and we must bend an ear in order to hear it.”
“And that essence has something to do with grace?”
“Yes. Style, elegance, poetry; grace is a most delicate patina, a shawl that encloses the fragile glow of her living soul. And, because I believe firmly in reincarnation, I will add this: her fragile yet timeless soul.”
“You should try your hand at haiku.”
“I was famous for my rhymes. A long time ago.”
“And this soul is represented by an inner light or divine radiance?”
“When you enter a holy place and rest your eyes upon a Bodhisattva, the most appealing aspect will be found in the repose, that is, the self-contained glow that emanates from within. You may conceive of it as a candle flame, or you may describe it as a luminous vibration. We have, of course, journeyed to the heart of the matter, and must now retreat. Suffice it to say that this is what our photographers should seek beneath the mask of the human form.”
“You mentioned Rembrandt’s Bathsheba and her wistful expression. How does that figure into this?”
“Do you know the meaning of mono no aware?”
“Is it something you eat?”
Mr. Tanaka smiled. “No. It corresponds to lacrimae rerum, or the pathos that exists in the world of appearances, and the knowledge that everything is fated to disappear. There is a sense of sorrow and of resignation. Life is sad, beauty fades; all things must pass.”
I gestured towards the pictures. “Even Laura.”
“Tell me, do you know what a Muse is?”
“You asked me that. Okay, what’s a Muse? An abbreviation for museum?”
“A Muse is that which makes you realize that anything is possible. Laura should be your Muse.”
“Laura? She’s very nice, but I feel there are different stars in her constellation.”
Mr. Tanaka pursed his lips and looked towards Jade Turtle Mountain.
“There is a full moon this evening; we’ll see it rising near that pagoda in the distance. But first I want to tell you a little story. Do you like cats, Mr. Wyszpolski?”
“Yes. But I won’t be taking home any kittens.”
“Every year at about this time I used to make a sacred pilgrimage to a certain temple in Nara solely because I loved the sound of its bells. From beyond the valley, as one approaches, the curves of the projecting eaves billow outwards like skirts in a gentle breeze. When we arrived in the early morning we were greeted by the cats that sit on the veranda, dozens of cats, sunning themselves, and gazing out into the rock garden as if they’d been awaiting our arrival.
“In this part of the country, of course, people assume that cats are not merely cats, that they are guardians of one sort or another. And, indeed, they may be right, because on the other side of the rock garden is a river, and there are lanterns set along the banks at intervals because a pair of lovers once drowned there. Each evening, the lanterns illuminate the waters so that the man and woman may better find one another as their souls wander among the stones at the bottom of the river.”
“How did they drown?”
“The woman fell overboard from the little boat that ferried them across the stream and the man leaped in to save her but his heavy garments hindered him. Water was alien to the young woman, and she panicked. They went under together, as one.”
“There are cats here, too,” I said. “I’ve seen them.”
“Yes. There are many cats here.” He paused. “Let me again see the photographs.”
A lavender moon
We sat side by side as Mr. Tanaka sifted through the pages once more.
“Try to imagine what your perception of the world would be if photography had never been invented,” he said. “Imagine all the people and places that you know through photographs existing merely as paintings or drawings.”
I listened to the faraway sound of a woodpecker, and said nothing.
“Look at these,” he continued. “Sometimes photographs foretell the future, but of course we won’t know about that until later.”
“Well,” I replied, “some pictures certainly induce speculation as to what came before and what will follow. Others linger with us long after we’ve placed them aside.”
“Compare this one with these two,” he said. “The subject is the same – Laura appears in each print – but while some photographers can bring out the person depicted, others bring out a little too much of themselves. That is to say, an artist can promote or enhance the subject or an artist can exploit and invade its privacy. As you can see, photography is capable of being aggressive or devious, and I want to be sure that our photographs of Laura intrigue but do not scandalize. Please do not bring photographs that are in questionable taste and do not be swayed by specious arguments to the contrary. At all times, the work should speak for the artist and not the artist for the work.”
He quickly removed several images and, before I could stop him, tore them in half. Then he handed back the others and said, “We have made a good start, but there is a long road ahead of us.”
Mr. Tanaka stood up. “Now come with me.” And I followed him across his vast garden, across footbridges that spanned artificial ponds and streams, until we arrived at what he called his moon-viewing pavilion. We climbed the steps and went inside.
“Kyoto was the capital of Japan for nearly eleven centuries,” he informed me as we took our seats. “When it was Heian Kyō it was referred to as the City of the Moon – tsuki no miyako – because of the imperial presence.”
The full moon rose above the trees with a remarkable pale violet tinge. I’d never seen that before.
“The lilac moon,” Mr. Tanaka said; “a Japanese moon. A Chinese moon is pale yellow, with soft red and green flower patterns. And what is the moon like in California?”
I thought for a moment. “The color of rancid butter.”
I returned to Los Angeles in the morning, having completed the first of 37 trips to Kyoto with photographs (and later paintings) for Mr. Tanaka. And every time Mr. Ibuse, the chauffeur, met me at the train station.
Epilogue
Several weeks later, without notifying him as I always did, I made one last trip to Japan. Our first photography show had been successful and I wanted to bring gifts for the people who had so graciously received me time and time again. But when I arrived at the train station in Kyoto it seemed that I’d lost my bearings, so I found a taxi, gave the driver directions, and we drove out to Lake Biwa. I recognized Blind Turtle Mountain and Jade Turtle Mountain, pointed them out, but then we got lost. I had the driver go up and down every single road, paved and unpaved, but I could not locate The Moonlight of the Grove.
“Blind Turtle Mountain,” the man said, smiling and shaking his head. “You must be a scholar. No one’s called it by that name in hundreds of years.”
Exasperated, we returned to the city and the next morning I tried once again to find the villa. Finally, the terrain looked oddly familiar, so I got out of the car and ran through a wooded field. A red fox darted across my path. There were vague landmarks, or so it seemed, and yet nothing I could recognize until I found some steps that led to an empty platform overgrown with weeds. I hurried up the steps, thinking that I would see Mr. Tanaka’s villa once I reached the top, for it was clearly some kind of lookout. Nothing. Just the wind soughing through the tall pine trees. When I gazed into the distance I became fearful and dizzy, because I was now sure, absolutely positive, that I had stood on this very same spot many times before.
[scrollGallery id = 509]L’aura Borealis: 100 Ways to Look at the Muse opens on Friday, Oct. 26, with a reception from 5 to 7 p.m. in the Palos Verdes Art Center, located in the Promenade on the Peninsula, 550 Deep Valley Drive, Suite 261, Rolling Hills Estates. The guest curator is Bondo Wyszpolski. In Gallery Three, curated by Scott Canty, works by Ruth Weisberg and F. Scott Hess are being shown. Through Dec. 30. Related events include an Art History Talk from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. on Friday, November 2, presented by Jill Kiefer. Titled Muses: the Goddesses of Inspiration, the cost for the talk is $10 for non-members and free for members of the art center. Reservations required. Conversations with the Artists takes place from 2 to 4 p.m. on Sunday, Nov. 18, and features several artists involved in the Muse exhibition. Lastly, a Brown Bag Workshop is set for 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Saturday, Dec. 1, presented by Jill Kiefer. My Materials, My Magic, My Muse is a fee-based workshop, limited to 25 students. Bring your own lunch. Registration required. (310) 541-2479 or go to pvartcenter.org.
Concurrently, Zask Gallery is showcasing Departures, a Muse-themed show that spotlights work by Virginia Katz, Margaret Lazzari, Maggie Tenneson, and Ruth Trotter. As gallery owner Peggy Zask explains, “Our show is a play off of the traditional interpretation of the Muse, with four painters whose work is abstract and largely inspired by nature.” Several images of Laura Orr that complement those on view in L’aura borealis are also on view. The opening reception takes place from 7 to 9 p.m. on Friday, Oct. 26, immediately after the reception at the Palos Verdes Art Center. Zask Gallery is also located in the Promenade on the Peninsula, in Suite 151. Through Nov. 25. Call (310) 429-0973 or go to pszaskgallery.com.
