GYOGI-TYPE MAPS
THE HISTORY AND SIGNIFICANCE OF JAPANESE CARTROGRAPHY IN RELATION TO CONTEMPORARY MAPPING SYSTEMS
By Erica Sellers
Gyogi-­‐type maps are the bedrock of the art of Japanese cartography. The genre was used in creating classic panoramic maps and paintings as well as ornamenting everyday objects. And, for centuries, the Japanese adhered to this same stylistic and symbolic quality of mapmaking. But strangely, these particular maps do not accurately depict the topography and infrastructure of the Japanese landscape. Instead, their artistic quality is based on imperial rule and Buddhist ideals applied to geography. By analyzing these values now, we can clearly see how the style separates accurate and scientific representations of geography from symbolic and beautifying displays of space. In other words, Japan’s rich and unique mapmaking tradition never transcended into accurate geography. “Nor” author and expert on
Japanese tradition, Martin Collcutt states, “[did] the country [sever] ties with its history, or [break] the thread of cultural continuity with its past” 1
In Japan, these old habits die hard. In fact, because of Japan’s geographic position on the globe and its distinctive, often isolationist past, it has had the odd virtue of being able to disregard most outer-­‐cultural exposure for centuries. Furthermore, the country’s cartographic evolution is especially unique not only because of its separated landmass, but also because of other factors alongside its geography: its idiosyncratic aesthetics, customs, and religious development. The combination of these factors contributes to the country’s focus on highly specific mapmaking methods and the creation of a genre of maps exclusive to the Japanese culture. Thus, Gyogi-­type maps are also at the heart of an incredibly unique tradition.
However, with the evolution of new communication and technology, cartographic representation has since shifted to a more informative and convoluted genre. Japan no longer uses the Gyogi-­‐type genre to insinuate space—and the Gyogi-­‐
type style has largely been removed from most contemporary Japanese art altogether. With the advent of new GIS systems and the layering of information acquired by satellite and digital ‘spyglasses’, the visual representation of space has been over-­‐quantified. The cartography world is now so bombarded with overly-­‐
detailed representations of the environment through excessive layering of topography, infrastructure, labels, and half-­‐hazard associations that it has forgotten, 1 Martin Collcutt. Cultural Atlas of Japan. (New York: Facts on File, 1988) 12. 1 ironically, the simple objective of a map: to present a contextualized representation of man’s relation to his social, physical, or psychological space. Although we can never go back in time and re-­‐experience the social and political air of the Japanese people during the time of Gyogi-­‐type maps, by looking at all the small, stylistic factors at work in this particular cartography, we can piece together a more holistic understanding of the time. Why in fact was the Gyogi style so popular for so long, and why, in many ways, was this particular style so fundamentally vital in the development of their art—as well as in the development of mine? By understanding the nature and climate of Japan through the early centuries, to modern day, one can draw some significant conclusions about how it’s geography ties into the Gyogi-­‐type-­‐map genre. Japan is made up of a number of islands surrounded by seas that are often plagued by typhoons. To the north is the isle Hokkaido, which is about 30,000 square miles. Below it sits the main island Honshu which, as the largest land mass, is approximately 89,000 square miles in area. Below Honshu is Shikoku, 7,000 square miles, and Kyoshu, 16,000 square miles. Lastly, there is a chain of smaller islands that consists of Osumi as well the Ryukuan Islands. The topography of the archipelago…dates from the end of the ice ages… Although we now think of it as the industrial giant of Asia—a hive of crowded cities, bustling ports, ultramodern factories, clogged highways and bullet trains—Japan remains a land of soaring mountains, fiery volcanoes and deeply etched valleys, silent forests, fast-­‐flowing rivers and shimmering seas. 2 As Collcutt notes, Japan’s topography is vastly interesting, and at times convoluted and angular, with mountains dominating most of landscape. Many Japenese mountains are also volcanic and rise out from the floor of the Pacific. While most of these mountains are dormant with thermal hot springs, others are impacted with free-­‐flowing rivers. The Japanese archipelago is likewise “subject to severe tectonic movements” 3 that cause as many as 1000 earthquakes a year, usually ranging between 4 to 6 on the Richter scale. But despite problematic natural 2 Martin Collcutt 12. 3 Martin Collcutt 12. 2 phenomena, the Japanese have made the most of their often spasmodic natural environment through controlled irrigation systems, shipping posts, and agriculture. [The] latitudinal range from subartic, to subtopic combined with the mountainous character of the islands, makes for considerable regional diversity. This diversity is reflected in the life-­‐styles, dialects and speech patterns, and local products, flora and fauna, and in the differing patterns of historical and economic development 4 The fascinating development of cartography and distinctive communication systems in Japan was conceived specifically because of this diversity in the natural landscape. Thus, from its diverse environment and incredible array of natural phenomenon, Japan saw the evolution of a solitary genre and aesthetic in a disciplined and thoughtful manner. The first maps the Japanese artfully produced date back to the Great Reforms of the Taika period (645-­‐649AD)—not coincidently—at about the same time that Japan was introduced to Buddhism and the rise of imperial rule. The proclaimed ‘founder’ of Japanese cartography was one Gyogi Bosatsu (668-­‐749AD), a Korean monk who spread the message of Buddhism around the nation along with the call to construct roads, bridges, and canals in the country. According to a 14th century Tendai source, “the bodhisattva Gyoki [Gyogi] travelled Japan and determined the boundaries of the country…[and] at that time he drew what he saw: the shape of the country as a one-­‐pointed vajra.”5 The Vajra is a symbol for both a thunderbolt and a diamond. Gyogi Bostasu saw, through travelling the mainland, that Japan was indeed shaped something like a lighting bolt—a symbol of the “natural force” of the land—
and at the same time having the “irresistibility” of a diamond. Having worked in this irresistible locale his entire life, Gyogi Bosatsu is also often considered Japan’s first civil engineer, as he literally paved the way for infrastructure and the creation of places of worship. Thus, Gyogi-­‐type Buddhism is fundamentally congruent to the availability and specific imagery of early Japanese maps. Gyogi’s Buddhism served to broaden the hopes and spirits of Japanese culture when it was just blossoming. While two different sects of Buddhism spread 4 Martin Collcutt 22. 5 Max Moerman, Demonology and Eroticism: Islands of Women in the Japanese Buddhist Imagination. (Nanzan Institute for Religion and Culture, 2009) 357. 3 southwestern Asia in the 6th century, it was only Mahayana Buddhism that traveled across the waters and entered into Japan. Mahayanists such as Gyogi Bosatsu broadened the concept of the dharama: the conviction that all living beings are subject to suffering and impermanence, bound by ignorance and craving to a cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. They underlined this particular belief to draw in people who did not have the time, education, or means to follow the rigorous practices of “the [ideal], mendicant seeker.”6 With mandalas and Gyogi-­type maps, the common folk were given visual cues of what was considered spiritual space and holy architecture (i.e. Temples). This mandala (see Figure A) is not only representative of Buddhist teachings and symbolism, but can also be analyzed as an artistic representation of place. The viewer looks down at the deities seated below the depicted temple, through a ‘bird’s eye’ view. This panoramic ‘up-­‐from-­‐above’ perspective is typical in many religious scenes. The very same style and delineation elements of mandala painting are used in Gyogi-­‐type maps. Buddhism was adopted and patronized by the ruling families of Japan who broke up the land into provinces during the early Imperial periods. Buddhist teachings of universal salvation spread widely among the common people. The families that held the most land and Buddhist values built temples, homes, and early infrastructure within their respective provinces. Likewise, “Gyogi Bosatsu was said to have played a great part at court during the reign of the Emperor Shomu-­‐Tenno (724-­‐748AD), [and] the decree of 738 to the provincial authorities, ordering them to make provincial and regional maps and deliver them to the central government.” 7 These maps are the earliest examples of the Gyogi-­‐type genre. The primitive and graphic formation of these particular maps allows one to readily see and read the boundaries of provinces displayed. Moreover, this early Gyogi-­‐type cartography was typically neither lavish nor beautifully decorated. It acted as a basic schematic for the break-­‐up of the land during Imperial rule. However, early examples of maps that have survived through Gyogi Bostatsu have been difficult to find, despite the fact 6 Martin Collcutt 55. 7 M Ramming. The Evolution of Cartography in Japan. (Imago Mundi, Ltd. 1937) 18. 4 that we have numerous historical texts that describe the importance of Gyogi Bostatsu’s travels through the mainland. The Gyogi-­type genre also developed out of the Japanese people’s curiosity and ignorance of the surrounding environment often depicted in fables and Buddhist texts. As Collcutt states, “Japan’s seasonal climate and its landscape, flora and fauna, have all been reflected in the rich literature, art, and mythology of the country.”8 It is a human condition to make up stories and conclusions from unrecognizable space and form, but the Japanese did this in a bizarrely fascinating way both because of Buddhist ideology and Japan’s physical separation from mainland Asia. Furthermore, since the islands surrounding the main island (Honshu) were still vastly undiscovered, places such as the Rkyukan Islands, were considered isles of mysterious folk-­‐lore and undertakings: In the version of the tale appearing in the Konjaku Monogatari, sailors shipwrecked on an uncharted island are warmly welcomed by its inhabitants—ravishingly beautiful women… only to find that they are, in reality, demons who devour their “husbands” and take new ones each time a ship is wrecked near their shores. 9 The demonic female, an object of male anxiety and desire, has been a long-­‐
standing character in Japanese Buddhist literature. The female in this case is a symbol of the loss of moral code, and thus should be removed from the rest of society and the mainland to a place ‘elsewhere’—in this case, the unexplored Rkyukan Islands. Rasetsukoku, land of these horrific-­‐man eaters, is a particularly isolated realm South of the main land. Through the readings of these mythological accounts, one can see that cartography was traditionally used as a form of fiction. The islands surrounding the mainland are falsely depicted and labeled based on ideology. Thus, there is “a conflicted site of desire and denial, of anxiety and alterity: a realm where boundaries of religion and sexuality were encountered and explored. It lay forever at the margins of the known world, marking the furthest edge of cultural identity.”10 In Figure C, the Rasetsukoku Island appears at the southernmost 8 Martin Collcutt 10. 9 Hugh Cortazzi. Isles of Gold: Antique Maps of Japan. (New York: Weatherhill, 1983) 6. 10 Moerman 352. 5 tip of the land. This Gyogi-­‐map is dated back to 1305 and belonged to the Shingo-­‐
Ritsu Temple Shomyoji. However, the map is observably incomplete, “only the section depicting the western half of Japan has been preserved.”11 Along the edge of the map is an undulating coastline of Rasetsukoku, annotated “women here, those who come here never return.” Strangely, the map maintains an orientation with South on the top, and North on the bottom. This reversal is perplexing, but further readings and evidence indicate that this style was commonplace in early maps to depict geography: A noteworthy feature of this and other early maps produced in Japan is that south is at the top of the map, and as a consequence China and Korea appear on the right. The two northern provinces of Honshu, Mutsu, and Dewa, point outward, whereas in other Gyogi-­‐type maps they are usually shown in rounded form. 12 Although historians are unsure as to why exactly South was ‘the preferred orientation,’ they believe that it was either the ignorance of cartographic development that drew the Japanese to orient maps in this way—similar to the unknowledgeable representation of the shape of the Japan’s landmass—or because directional South represented a “good energy” in Buddhist belief. The other surrounding islands are named in similar mythological fashion (i.e: the land of “the bodies of humans and the heads birds”). Thus, one can argue, as Moerman does, “for the centrality of Buddhism to Japan’s cartographic tradition” and, inversely, for “the importance of cartography in Japanese Buddhist literary and visual culture.”13 Jumping forward to the Edo Period (17th – 18th century), one can see that the elemental notions of mapmaking did not really change. As scholar of the period, M. Ramming notes, “that the maps of the so called Gyogi-­‐type remained in use for eight centuries, until well into the Tokugawa period, is of great interest to the history of the culture”14 But what M. Ramming fails to realize in his The Evolution of Cartography in Japan, is that during the Edo Period this genre of mapmaking did evolve to incorporate the mobility of Japanese people as the country progressed economically—even though, admittedly, the style of these maps was not altered. 11 Moerman 353. 12 Cortazzi 5. 13 Moerman 351. 14 M Ramming 18. 6 Shown in Figure D is a complete map of Japan that can be folded to fit into a bag for travel. The mobility and simplistic nature of this map is more desirable than the detailed iterations of mountains, paved roads, and architectural structure in the earlier Gyogi-­‐type. The provinces here are not only delineated by bubbles, but also by different shades of orange and yellow. Although still primitive, there is something soothing and beautifying about this map, and, moreover, the depiction of the islands are substantially more accurate. Gyogi-­‐type maps also began to be represented on functional objects during the Edo Period. In fact, these maps were frequently used to decorate items of everyday use up until the end of the first half of the 19th century. While the cartographic knowledge of the islands had made significant progress up to this point, Figures E and D still reveal a basic understanding of the geography—here inlayed on a sword guard and an Imari plate. The Tsuba (sword guard) shows “Japan cleverly distorted to fit on this oval hand guard for a Japanese Sword. Stylized waves separate the islands, which are depicted as Gyogi-­‐type ‘balloons’. Tokyo Bay can be seen in the right center.”15 The Imari plate shows not only the main land, but also its surrounding landmasses, Korea, China, the Ryukyus, and Rasetsukoku. These two objects are some of the best representations of the traditional and ideological mimickery of the old Gyogi-­‐type maps that we have to date. Through these many examples, one can conclude that Gyogi-­‐type maps arose out of religious and cultural necessity, not geographical accuracy. The symbolism and imagination the Japanese presented in early maps show no real correlation with compasses, astronomy, and other typical means of land exploration in other cultures: A map was made not only to convey information in the sense of facts, but also to communicate the mapmaker’s experiment of the land [at once] intellectual, perceptual, and affective… [The maps] not only represented the observable world, but also modeled what was unseen: the entire cosmos including realms of spiritual beings, heavens, and netherworlds, different realms of existence, and the configurations of invisible natural forces, as, for example, in sitting a divination. Mapping was important not only for journeying through geographical space but also for spiritual way finding”16 15 Cortazzi 72. 16
Peter Collier. Review: Asia in the History of Cartography. The History of Cartography, Volume Two,
Book One: Cartography in the Traditional Islamic and South Asian Societies by J. B. Harley; David
7 This purposively ignorant conception of geography provided all the information the Japanese needed: imaginative beauty and spiritualism was once more vital than scientifically developed geographical space. Yet, this historical understanding of mapmaking presents a challenging agenda for the future of mapmaking. As technologies have rapidly developed and Japan has become a world superpower, the antediluvian mapmaking techniques and Gyogi-­‐genre has died out. The relevance of religious practice, imperial rule, and mythology in contemporary Japanese cartography has dynamically changed. Mapmaking historically began to change with the new mapping techniques from governmental consolidation and standardization, as seen in Figure F. This piece “was introduced… in [a] series of maps called Kuni-­ezu [or provincial maps],” a style which had been influence by pictorials, partly indigenous, and partly Western. “17 In fact, as westernization came into Japan in the mid 19th century with the advent of the Open Door policy, the country has come to be known as the “economic super-­‐achiever of the late 20th century.”18 Japan has now exponentially increased its visibility on the international scene, and “the Japanese themselves talk constantly of the ‘internationalization’ of their society.”19 Technologically speaking, mapmaking has shifted dramatically alongside this phenomenon. From the once refined technique of woodblock prints, contemporary Japanese artists now turn to their computer screens for information design and cartographic development. Satellites now take incredibly accurate pictures of the topography of our world from up above. This information and imagery is readily available online in such places as Google Maps and GIS software systems. But, we have to ask ourselves, at what artistic cost? Google maps was the particular starting point in my cartographic development. And as I became more involved with trying to mimic digital Woodward; The History of Cartography, Volume Two, Book Two: Cartography in the Traditional East and
Southeast Asian Societies by J. B. Harley; David Woodward Imago Mundi (Vol. 48, 1996) 846.
17
Akira Watanabe, Cartography in Japan. (Tokyo: International Cartographic Information Center, 1980)
16. 18 Martin Collcutt 1. 19
Martin Collcutt 1. 8 topography three-­‐dimensionally, I also began looking for complex software to help me figure out more detailed iterations of space. I found this in GIS software programs and satellite photography. Now working in glass, I’ve developed a passion for trying to draw out iterations of geography using polished, reflective and translucent surfaces. Layering these surfaces sculpturally allowed me to create tangible evidence of space. Moreover, as I continue to experiment with these layers I begin to draw more conclusions on what looks and feels best when juxtaposing layers between one another. The surfaces and maps I create speak as both conceptual versions of computers screens and more beautifying, sculptural pieces. In my piece, Superimposed Genres, I created a map in which the two contemporary and primitive Japanese mapmaking traditions are visually combined. Using one 3/8’’ thick piece of float glass, I made a detailed topographic map of Providence, Rhode Island, the place I currently call my home and where I’ve conducted most of my cartographic studies. The process involved in constructing this side of the glass piece was extremely complex. I had to go through various digital and mechanical means to depict this map in utmost detail. First, I looked at digital photography of Providence and the surrounding area, such as labels of streets, parks, and provinces, along with detailed visuals of topography, land, water, and infrastructure. I then placed these photographs into Photoshop and began to remove certain levels of detail and color in order to get a flat black and white layer of Providence. This black and white ‘print’ became the template I placed on sheets of photoresist paper that I stuck onto the float glass. The photoresist paper acts similarly to a silkscreen; all the black gets washed out, and thus is open material, while all the white areas are blocked off. I sandblasted, through the resist into glass, the topography of the buildings, mountains, and roads. Conversely, all the water and low lands remained untouched and ‘above’ the buildings and hills. I also sandblasted ‘backwards’ to draw reference to Gyogi-­‐type maps that maintain South at the top of the map, and North at the bottom. Furthermore, this method of sandblasting allowed the topography to be quite accurately seen through the other side of the glass panel. One can touch and feel the crevices of the sandblasted side of the glass, 9 and also see the accurate topography of Providence on the other. In this way, sandblasting provided a beautiful optical and frosted effect on the glass. In reference to my study of the historical development of Japanese cartography, the other side of the glass panel is a symbolic representation of Providence in Gyogi-­‐type form. The areas are delineated in the same ‘bubble’-­‐like formations of the provinces on Gyogi-­‐type maps. But the boundaries here are used to label particular names of places within Providence instead of separated provinces of Japan. The labels are written in Katakata, and thus illegible to many people who are unfamiliar with the Japanese alphabet. If translated, however, one can see that the labels suggest ‘RISD’, ‘Brown University,’ ‘College Hill’, ‘Downtown,’ ‘Pawtucket’, and so on. Places that people who are familiar with Providence—and have known Rhode Island as long as I have, have memorized. The delineation of the space is likewise sandblasted lightly onto the glass. I created a black enamel paste to fit into the sandblasted crevices – similar to the way printing ink is pushed into a copper plate and spread across the woodblock. The labels were then all carefully painted on the glass with a refined brush. Once the enamel dried back into its powdered form, I placed the entire piece in a kiln at 1250 degrees F. Once it reached that temperature, I quickly ‘crashed the kiln’ so that the temperature of the kiln and the sheet glass came down to a standard level (approx. 80 degrees) in 8 to 10 hours. (Figure G and H is a depiction of the process). What is left after this whole process is what you see in the photos (Figures I and J), a sublime interplay between primitive diagrammatic Gyogi-­‐type form, superimposed on a scientifically accurate topographic map of Providence. Being able to see both maps simultaneously through the translucence of float glass allows for one to draw more substantial conclusions of contemporary versus primitive mapmaking formats: both sides are equally represented and vital, thus, what one can visually and intellectually comprehend is that there is no real hierarchy of what a map should look like today. The traditionally-­‐driven, Gyogi-­‐type side is just as informative as the more complicated, satellite-­‐driven topographic side. I hope through this process that I can continue to discover the interrelations of new versus old data using such a multi-­‐dimensional and precious material as glass. 10 PLATES (FIGURES) AND COMMENTS
Figure B: Monk Ryuyu,
Map of Japan From Five
Buddhist Maps, 1402,
ink and color on paper.
Figure A: Buddhist Mandala (14th Century) p.54
The Ancient World
Figure C: Map of
Japan, 1305, ink on
paper, 34x52cm.
Figure D: Map
of Japan. Manuscript early 17th
century. Provinces
and main cities
are marked, along
with major routes.
Figure E: Gyogi-type
map on tsuba (sword
guard).
Figure D: Gyogitype map on Imariware plate
Figure F: Takehara Yoshibel : map of Kyoto. Woodblock Print, mid-19th century.
Figure G: Process of creating the sandblasted surface using photoresist paper.
Figure H: Both sides sandblasted previous
to being painted with enamel and fired in
the kiln.
Figure I: Finished Gyogi-type map side
Figure J: Finished topographical map side.