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Envisioning fascist space, time, and body : Japanese-painting during the Fifteen-Year War (1931-1945) 2012

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   ENVISIONING FASCIST SPACE, TIME, AND BODY: JAPANESE PAINTING DURING THE FIFTEEN-YEAR WAR (1931-1945)    by   Asato Ikeda  B.A., The University of Victoria, 2006 M.A., Carleton University, 2008     A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY   in   The Faculty of Graduate Studies  (Art History, Visual Art and Theory)     THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Vancouver)    June, 2012     © Asato Ikeda, 2012 	
   ii   Abstract This dissertation investigates how fascist ideology—the modern political ideology that promotes spiritual collectivism—was translated into the Japanese context and was mediated through the visual culture.  My study ultimately locates wartime Japan in the global politics and culture of the 1930s and the 1940s. The dissertation scrutinizes the development of both Japanese-style paintings (Nihon-ga) and Western-style paintings (yōga) in the wartime period, exploring how they manifest fascist imaginations of social space, historical time, and the human body.  It considers the Japanese paintings in relation to ideas that have been identified as fascist.  I examine works by such artists as Saeki Shunkō, Uemura Shōen, Miyamoto Saburō, and Fujita Tsuguharu, focusing on issues of social regimentation, new classicism, eugenics, and the mechanized human body. My study is not only an important contribution to scholarship on the art produced during the war—the period that was long considered “the dark valley”—but is also the first comprehensive study to investigate the question of Japanese fascism in the discipline of art history.  Using cultural translation as a model of analysis and developing a nuanced vocabulary to describe wartime Japan within the framework of fascism, I challenge the notion that fascism was a phenomenon that existed only in Europe. 	
   iii Table of Contents Abstract ............................................................................................................................... ii	
   Table of Contents ............................................................................................................... iii List of Figures .................................................................................................................... vi	
   Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................... xii	
   INTRODUCTION .............................................................................................................. 1	
   Introduction ............................................................................................................. 1	
   Historical Background ............................................................................................ 3	
   Literature Review/ Methodology .......................................................................... 17	
   Fascism ................................................................................................................. 25	
   Chapter Summary ................................................................................................. 49	
   CHAPTER ONE The Fascist Social Space of "Proper Place" and Japanese-style Machine-ist Paintings 1935-1940 ..................................................................................... 52	
   Introduction ........................................................................................................... 52	
   The Genealogy of Machine Aesthetics in Modern Japan ..................................... 61	
   The Fascist Society: Gleischschaltung, Gerarchia, and Proper Place .................. 70	
   Shifting Politics of Modernist Art in Wartime Japan ........................................... 80	
   The Japanese Machine-ist Paintings Revisited ..................................................... 87	
   Conclusion ............................................................................................................ 96	
   CHAPTER TWO Uemura Shōen's Bijin-ga, New Classicism, and Fascist Time ............ 99	
   Introduction ........................................................................................................... 99	
   Uemura Shōen ..................................................................................................... 101	
   Shōen and Edo .................................................................................................... 107	
   The New Classicism ........................................................................................... 115	
   iv New Classicism, Fascist Kitsch, and Death ........................................................ 133	
   Lady Kusunoki .................................................................................................... 138	
   The Role of Female Artist in Fascism ................................................................ 142	
   Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 145	
   CHAPTER THREE War Campaign Record Paintings ................................................... 147	
   Introduction ......................................................................................................... 147	
   Historical Background ........................................................................................ 148	
   War Campaign Record Painting and Nazi Germany .......................................... 155	
   War Campaign Record Painting and Photography ............................................. 160	
   Representations of Human Bodies in War Campaign Record Paintings ............ 164	
   Disembodiment of Individuals and Embodiment of Kokutai ............................. 169	
   Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 180	
   CHAPTER FOUR Representing the Fascist Body I: Scientific Racism and the Japanese Concept of Minzoku ........................................................................................................ 182	
   Introduction ......................................................................................................... 182	
   German Science and Eugenics in Japan .............................................................. 185	
   Wartime Japanese Eugenics ................................................................................ 189	
   Eugenic Photography .......................................................................................... 194	
   The Japanese Concept of Minzoku ...................................................................... 200	
   War Campaign Record Painting and Minzoku .................................................... 204	
   Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 211	
   CHAPTER FIVE Representing the Fascist Body II: Human Weapons and Japanese Traditional Aesthetics ..................................................................................................... 214	
   Introduction ......................................................................................................... 214	
   Kamikaze Special Attack Forces ........................................................................ 216	
   The Mechanized Human Body ........................................................................... 220	
   Eagles, Cherry Blossoms, the Sun, and Mt. Fuji ................................................ 231	
   Shinto, Buddhism, and Bushido: Reactionary Modernism ................................. 243	
   v Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 250	
   CONCLUSION ............................................................................................................... 251	
   Bibliography ................................................................................................................... 261	
   Figures............................................................................................................................. 292	
   vi List of Figures Figure 1-1. Saeki Shunkō, Tearoom, 1936 ..................................................................... 292	
   Figure 1-2. Kobori Tomoto, Abolition of the Han System, 1871 .................................... 292	
   Figure 1-3. Tsuchida Bakusen, Maiko in Landscape, 1924 ............................................ 293	
   Figure 1-4. Yamakawa Shūhō, Three Sisters, 1936 ........................................................ 293	
   Figure 1-5. Shibata Suiha, Biwa Concert, 1930s ............................................................ 294	
   Figure 1-6. Ōta Chōu, Women Observing the Stars, 1936 .............................................. 294	
   Figure 1-7. Kobayashi Kokei, Bath, 1921 ...................................................................... 295	
   Figure 1-8. Chair, from Machine Art Exhibition, 1934. ................................................. 295	
   Figure 1-9. Telescope, from Machine Art Exhibition, 1934 ........................................... 296	
   Figure 1-10. Laboratory Microscope, from Machine Art exhibition, 1934 .................... 296	
   Figure 1-11. Boiling Flasks, from Machine Art Exhibition, 1934. ................................. 297	
   Figure 1-12. Koga Harue, Sea, 1929 ............................................................................... 297	
   Figure 1-13. A diagram showing the structure of the Military Police ............................ 298	
   Figure 1-14. National Daily Product Exhibition, 1941 .................................................. 298	
   Figure 1-15.  Asahi Graph, March 1936 ......................................................................... 299	
   Figure 1-16. Katsura Rikyū, built in the 17th century ..................................................... 299	
   Figure 2-1. Uemura Shōen, A Long Autumn Night, 1907 ............................................... 300	
   Figure 2-2. Nishikawa Sukenobu, ................................................................................... 300	
   vii One Hundred Women Classified According to Their Rank, 1723 ................................. 300	
   Figure 2-3. Suzuki Harunobu, Three Evenings: Reading on an Autumn Evening, ca. 1768 ......................................................................................................................................... 301	
   Figure 2-4 Uemura Shōen, Sudden Blast, 1939 .............................................................. 301	
   Figure 2-5. Teisai Hokuba (1771-1844), Shunpū Bijin-zu .............................................. 302	
   Figure 2-6. Suzuki Harunobu (1725?-1770), Wind ........................................................ 302	
   Figure 2-7. Tsuchida Bakusen, Fisherwomen, 1913 ....................................................... 303	
   Figure 2-8. Paul Gauguin, Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going? 1897-1898 .......................................................................................................... 303	
   Figure 2-9. Kitagawa Utamaro, Fisherwomen, 1790-1800  ........................................... 304	
   Figure 2-10. Uemura Shōen, Flower Basket, 1915 ......................................................... 304	
   Figure 2-11. Uemura Shōen, Flames, 1918 .................................................................... 305	
   Figure 2-12. Kaburaki Kiyotaka, Saikaku’s Five Women, Oman, 1911 ......................... 305	
   Figure 2-13. Uemura Shōen, Oman in the Costume of the Youth, 1915 ......................... 306	
   Figure 2-14. Uemura Shōen, Maiden, 1942 .................................................................... 306	
   Figure 2-15. Uemura Shōen, Late Autumn, 1943 ........................................................... 307	
   Figure 2-16. Kobayashi Kokei, Acalanatha, 1940 ......................................................... 307	
   Figure 2-17. Kobayashi Kokei, Hair Combing, 1931 ..................................................... 308	
   Figure 2-18. Kobayashi Kokei, Cave in Kanzaki, 1907 ................................................. 308	
   Figure 2-19. Yanagi Ryō’s analysis of Seurat’s painting, 1941 ..................................... 309	
   viii Figure 2-20. Yanagi’s analysis of Fujita’s painting, 1944 .............................................. 309	
   Figure 2-21. Yanagi’s analysis of Yasuda’s painting, 1944 ........................................... 310	
   Figure 2-22. Yanagi’s analysis of Shōen’s painting, 1944 ............................................. 310	
   Figure 2-23. Itō Shinsui’s The Image of Contemporary Women as reproduced in Yanagi’s article, 1944 ..................................................................................................................... 311	
   Figure 2-24. Uemura Shōen, Lady Kusunoki, 1944 ........................................................ 311	
   Figure 2-25. The Recipients of the Order of Culture, 1948 ............................................ 312	
   Figure 3-1. Pablo Picasso, Three Women at the Spring, 1921 ........................................ 312	
   Figure 3-2. Asahi shinbun, October 30, 1937 ................................................................. 313	
   Figure 3-3. Asahi shinbun, February 20, 1942 ................................................................ 313	
   Figure 3-4. Eugène Delacroix, Liberty Leading the People, 1830 ................................. 314	
   Figure 3-5. “Jap Suicides on Attu,” Life, April 3, 1944 .................................................. 314	
   Figure 3-6. “Jap Suicides on Attu,” Life, April 3, 1944 .................................................. 315	
   Figure 4-1. “National Railroad Exercise,” Asahi shinbun, February 10, 1943 ............... 315	
   Figure 4-2. Illustration explaining “Japan Exercise” ...................................................... 316	
   Figure 4-3. Asahi shinbun, June 26, 1943 ....................................................................... 316	
   Figure 4-4. Male and female winners of “The Healthiest Child in Japan,” .................... 317	
   Asahi shinbun, July 5, 1934 ............................................................................................ 317	
   Figure 4-5. Asahi shinbun, July 5, 1934 ......................................................................... 317	
   ix Figure 4-6. “Nordic Types” in Hans Günther’s Racial Science of the German People, 1930................................................................................................................................. 318	
   Figure 5-1. Asahi shinbun, September 20, 1944 ............................................................. 318	
   Figure 5-2. Asahi shinbun, June 26, 1944 ....................................................................... 319	
   Figure 5-3. Shashin shūhō, July 29, 1942 ....................................................................... 319	
   Figure 5-4. Shashin shūhō, October 4, 1944 ................................................................... 320	
   Figure 5-5. Gakusei no kagaku, April 1944 .................................................................... 320	
   Figure 5-6. Gakusei no kagaku, April 1944 .................................................................... 321	
   Figure 5-7. Umezawa Kazuyo, Kamikaze pilots with branches of cherry blossoms ..... 321	
   Figure 5-8. Chiran High School female students waving cherry blossom branches. April 1945................................................................................................................................. 322	
   Figure 5-9. Ikegami Shūho, The Image of Angry Rough Eagle, ..................................... 322	
   from Asahi shinbun January 7, 1942 ............................................................................... 322	
   Figure 5-10. Sake cup from the war years ...................................................................... 323	
   Figure 5-11. Ikegami Shūho, The Image of Mountain Cherry Blossoms, 1943 ............. 323	
   Figure 5-12. Yokoyama Taikan, Japan, Where the Sun Rises, 1940 .............................. 324	
   Figure 5-13. Yokoyama Taikan, Painting of Fuji reproduced as poster ......................... 324	
   xii  Acknowledgements Though my dissertation is about arguably the most dramatic years of the twentieth century in Japanese history, this section is the most emotional part for me to write.  To begin with, this study is deeply indebted to my supervisors, John O’Brian and Joshua S. Mostow.  My gratitude to John for his support and guidance throughout my PhD program is beyond my ability to put into words.  Without his generous offer to supervise my work, I would not have been able to study in the Department of Art History, Visual Art and Theory at UBC.  Joshua brought the topic of Japanese fascism to my attention, and more than any art historian he has taught me the importance and joy of visual analysis, which, I must admit, I have to continue working on in the future.  His profound knowledge of both premodern and modern Japanese visual arts and literature and extensive scholarly network in North America, Europe, and Japan were invaluable to me.  I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to Katherine Hacker and Sharalyn Orbaugh.  Katherine has given me valuable feedback and new perspectives on my work as a member of my examining committee, supervisor of my minor comprehensive exam, and the instructor of one of the graduate courses I enrolled in.  Sharalyn was willing to let me audit her courses, and her graduate seminar on modern Japanese science fiction has proven enormously helpful for the last chapter of this dissertation.  She shared with me her precious wartime materials, and her expertise and critical insights were indispensable for my work.  Though she was not directly involved in my project, I owe much to Bronwen Wilson.  Her thoughtfulness and help as a graduate advisor at the beginning of my first year at UBC made it possible that for me to work both with the Art History 	
   xiii department and the Asian Studies department.  My research received generous financial support from the Department of Art History, Visual Art and Theory, the Faculty of Graduate Studies, the Center for Japan Research at UBC, and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council in the form of a Doctoral Fellowship from the Canadian government. My PhD dissertation closely built on my MA thesis, which I completed at Carleton University under the supervision of Ming Tiampo and Reesa Greenberg.  I am very grateful to Ming for her continuing mentorship and friendship.  She is truly my role model.  Comments and suggestions I received on my MA thesis from Laura Brandon and Mitsuyo Wada Marciano were helpful even for my PhD dissertation.  In retrospect, my interest in the critical inquiry into wartime Japan and its art was formed during my studies at Temple University Japan.  I would not have chosen this line of inquiry without taking Jeffrey Kingston’s class on Japan’s war responsibility, Leonard Horton’s class on art (music) and politics, and Mehta Geeta’s class on critical art history.  Additionally, my undergraduate studies under Kathlyn Liscomb at the University of Victoria laid out a ground for my later scholarship and her encouragement for my pursuit in graduate school was essential. Because of the theoretical aspect and disputable nature of the topic, this dissertation was the most difficult study I have ever undertaken.  It was because of encouragement from senior scholars like Laura Hein, Helen Hardacre, Christine Yano, Kendall Brown, Bert Winther-Tamaki, and Aya Louisa McDonald that, despite a great deal of criticism I received, I did not give up on this project.  Their words were reassuring to remember when I questioned the value of this project. During my research, I have benefited from 	
   xiv kind help and suggestions from John Carpenter, Reiko Tomii, John Szostak, Kawata Akihisa, Tamaki Maeda, Maki Kaneko, Iwakiri Yuriko, Matsumoto Naoko, Ogura Jitsuko, Scott Johnson, and William Wood.  Also, comments I received at the Japan Studies Association Canada PhD dissertation-writing workshop in 2010 were tremendously helpful.  Although my plan for a year-long research trip in Japan did not materialize because of the unfortunate situation following the 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake, I am thankful to Tan’o Yasunori at Waseda University for kindly accommodating me in one of his seminars.  Compiling the anthology Art and War: Japan and its Empire, 1931-1960 (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming in 2012) with Ming Tiampo and Aya Louisa McDonald was another project that progressed simultaneously with this dissertation.  I learned very much from the essays written by the other contributors including Mikiko Hirayama, Mayu Tsuruya, Michael Lucken, Hirase Reita, Gennifer Weisenfeld, Kure Motoyuki, Aida-Yuen Wong, Kim Hyeshin, and Julia Adeney Thomas. I thank them for their scholarship as well as their willingness to collaborate with me. Darcy Gauthier, Ben Whaley, and Francesca Simkin have worked as my language and copy editors, but N. J. Hall looked through the entire dissertation.  I truly thank Nick for picking up my most basic grammar mistakes and doing it in a very timely manner. Literally, nobody but he had to read this dissertation word by word more times with care and attention to the language.  I would also like to thank my colleagues for support, encouragement, and friendship: Dafna Zur, Kari Shepherdson-Scott, Kanna Hayashi, Robban Toleno, Nathen Clerici, Rie Shirakawa, Simon Nantais, Kazuko Kameda-Madar, Gergana Ivanova, Bianca Briciu, and Matsuba Ryoko.  I also truly appreciate that Tony and May Tiampo helped my family in so many ways and made our life in Vancouver a 	
   xv great experience.  This may be unusual, but I must thank Semperviva Yoga Studio, where I sometimes spent more than three days a week.  Without practicing yoga with them, I would not have survived the dissertation-writing, both physically and mentally. Finally, I would like to thank my family.  My grandparents often shared with me their war memories.  My parents and sisters gave me emotional support and occasionally helped me with my research by obtaining relevant books and bringing them to Vancouver. I thank my husband for his love and patience.  He has followed me from Victoria through Ottawa to Vancouver, passionately and almost blindly believing in my strength and ability.  I thank my parents-in-law for allowing him to do so.  In addition to the dissertation and the anthology, there was in fact a third project: baby-bearing.  My daughter Aili has made pregnancy and motherhood an unexpectedly pleasurable and rewarding experience.  It is both daunting and joyous to state that there will be no “end” to this project.             	
   1  INTRODUCTION Introduction In 1940, the year in which Germany, Italy, and Japan signed the Axis Pact, art critic Maruo Shōsaburō declared that the alliance among the three nations should be not only political and economic but also cultural.1  Indeed, there was a great deal of artistic exchange among them.  In 1930, an exhibition of contemporary Japanese-style paintings was organized in Rome, which was already in Mussolini’s control.  Artist Yokoyama Taikan travelled there for the occasion, stating that exhibiting Japanese art in Rome was more meaningful than it would be in London or Paris.2  When the Hitler Youth went to Japan in 1938, Taikan gave them a lecture about the spirituality inherent in Japanese art.3 	
   Notes Unless otherwise noted, translations are all mine.  Except for those whose names are known outside Japan, all Japanese names are written according to Japanese convention, with surname first. While Western-style painters are always referred to by their last names, in regard to Japanese-style painters, some are referred to by their studio names. I follow the convention of how a particular artist was referred to by art critics and the public. In this dissertation, I am only reproducing works whose copyright have legally expired. 1 Maruo Shōsaburō, “Bijutsu ai no nichi doku kōryū” [Japan-German Relationship through Art], Tōei, October 1940. 2 “Shuppatsu ni saishite” [Upon Departure], Asahi shinbun, January 23, 1930. 3 “Bijutsu no gosan” [Lunch over Art], Asahi shinbun, September 28, 1938. 	
   2 At the same time, contemporary art from Germany and Italy was introduced to Japan.  In 1937, art critic Uemura Takachiyo translated Eugène Wernert’s book about Nazi art, which Uemura considered useful for Japan,4 and the magazine Bijutsu published photographic reproductions of sculptures and paintings from Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy in 1944.  These exchanges are emblematic of the global flow of political and artistic ideas during the 1930s and 1940s.  In this dissertation, I argue that Japan, Germany, and Italy shared the same political ideology, that is, fascism, and that art played an important role in disseminating this ideology. This dissertation examines Japanese art during the Fifteen-Year War (1931-1945) and investigates the question of Japanese fascism.  The Fifteen-Year War refers to the Japanese context of the Second World War, which began with the country’s advancement into Manchuria in 1931; its undeclared war with China in 1937; the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941; and finally ended with its unconditional surrender in 1945.5  My study 	
   4 Uemura Takachiyo, “Nachisu geijutsu seisaku no zenyō” [Nazi Art in its Entirety], Atorie, October 1937. The translated French book here is L’Art dans le III Reich: Une tentative d’esthétique dirigée (Paris: Paul Harmann, 1936). 5 I chose to use the framework of the “Fifteen-Year War” because, unlike other names for the conflict—the Asia-Pacific War (Ajia-taiheiyō sensō, 1937-1945), the Great East Asian War (Daitōa sensō, 1941-1945), the Pacific War (Taiheiyō sensō), or the Second World War (dai niji sekai taisen, 1939-1945)—it acknowledges the importance of Japan’s territorial expansion into Manchuria in 1931 and the intricate connection between colonialism (beginning in 1931) and the war (beginning in 1937). The Manchurian Incident importantly marked the Imperial Army’s control over the government and the 	
   3 scrutinizes both Japanese-style ink paintings (Nihon-ga) and Western-style oil paintings (yōga) created by such artists as Saeki Shunkō, Uemura Shōen, Miyamoto Saburō, and Fujita Tsuguharu, and contextualizes these works with reference to wartime social and aesthetic discourses.  The dissertation will for the first time employ the concept of Japanese fascism as a heuristic tool to understand Japanese war art by looking at how fascism was mediated through the visual field of war art.  What is fascism? How was it mediated through Japanese wartime culture, paintings in particular? How were the visual manifestations of fascism potentially different in Japan, and why? This dissertation is an attempt to answer these questions.  More specifically, my study presents analyses of works of art in relation to the concepts of social regimentation, new classicism, eugenics, and the mechanized human body.  Using cultural translation as the project’s theoretical underpinning, I develop a nuanced vocabulary to describe wartime Japan and its visual culture within the framework of fascism and locate Japan in the global politics and culture of the 1930s and 1940s, thereby challenging the notion that fascism is a phenomenon exclusive to Europe.  Historical Background On September 18, 1931, a section of railroad was blown up near Mukden in southern Manchuria.  This event, now known as the Manchurian Incident, was staged by the Kwantung Army (Japanese Imperial Army in Manchuria), which blamed the Chinese for the action and retaliated by launching a military attack on the Chinese army and 	
   beginning of Japan’s aggressive foreign policies toward Asia, as well as state mobilization of material and human resources for the war. 	
   4 establishing Japan’s puppet government in Manchuria the following year.  The Imperial Army’s advance had not been ordered by the civilian government in Tokyo, and the incident therefore symbolized the military’s control over Japan’s foreign policy, which would last for the next fifteen years.6  As historian Mary Hanneman writes, the incident marked “the beginning of Japan’s drive for hegemony in Asia that directly led to the explosion of the . . . ‘Fifteen Year War.’”7  Criticized by the United States, Britain, and France, among others, Japan withdrew from the League of Nations in 1933, isolating itself from the international community. Despite the fact that it was undertaken without official approval from the government, the military’s action in Manchuria was hailed by the Japanese public.  The period that preceded the incident was characterized by economic devastation resulting from the Great Depression and ideological conflict between the Left and the Right. Many ultranationalist organizations were established during this period, including Sakurakai, Gen’yōsha, and Kokuryūkai, led by ultranationalists like Kita Ikki and Ōkawa Shumei, who called for a “Shōwa Restoration” to restore the emperor as the ultimate political authority.  The military officials and ultranationalist group members, who often came from economically devastated rural areas and who believed that expansion into Asia would help Japan’s domestic economy, had been utterly frustrated by the civilian government.  Already in 1930, a year before the Manchurian Incident, Prime Minister 	
   6 The Imperial Army in the Meiji Constitution was only accountable to the emperor, not to the Diet or the cabinet. Mary L. Hanneman, Japan Faces the World: 1925-1952, (Harlow: Pearson Education, 2001), 40. 7 Hanneman, Japan Faces the World, 41. 	
   5 Hamaguchi, who had signed a treaty at the London Conference that would prevent Japan from acquiring naval power equal to that of the United States and England, had been shot by a young member of one of the ultranationalist organizations, Aikokusha.  Similarly, on May 15, 1932, Prime Minister Inukai Tsuyoshi was murdered by a group of young ultranationalists.  The assassination was praised by War Minister Araki Sadao as benefitting Imperial Japan.8  Also on February 26, 1936, 1400 troops from three army regiments staged an attempted coup d’état, surrounding the Diet building, declaring the Shōwa Restoration, and killing three government officials.  Although the attempt failed and those who participated were swiftly executed, the incident underscored the impotence of the civilian government.  Between 1932 and 1936, membership in ultranationalist groups doubled from 300,000 to 600,000.9 After the Manchurian Incident, Japan’s domestic life became militarized and this process prepared Japan for the subsequent “total war” with China and the Allies.  As historian Louise Young explains, Japan’s colonialism in Manchuria was distinct from that in Taiwan and Korea, because of the degree to which it influenced the lives of the Japanese themselves.  As she writes, Japan’s empire was “made on the home front”: Japan’s colonialism in Manchuria “entailed the mass and multidimensional mobilization of domestic society: cultural, military, political, and economic…The process of empire building in Manchuria touched the lives of most Japanese in the 1930s in one way or 	
   8 Hanneman, Japan Faces the World, 48. 9 Hanneman, Japan Faces the World, 44. 	
   6 another.”10  Japan’s advancement into Manchuria attracted “mass audiences” that included all citizens, not just the elites, including workers, women, and youth.11 Indispensable to this national scale of mobilization were modernization (popularization of modern mass media, such as radio, magazines, and newspapers) and the development of civil organizations that took place in the preceding period.  In the National Defense Campaign (kokubō) launched in the early 1930s, the army reached out to disseminate its militarist ideology using local communities, youth groups, and women’s and religious organizations, most of them founded in the 1920s.  Festivals, spectacles, and exhibitions regarding national defense were organized by local elites such as government officials, newspaper executives, and educational and religious leaders at temples, shrines, and schools.12 Some artists were already glorifying Japan’s militarist activity.  Nihon Bijutsu-in (Japan Art Institute), a non-governmental Japanese-style painting organization, dedicated the proceeds from sales of their paintings to the army as early as 1932.13  In 1934, the Cabinet Information Bureau, in collaboration with the modernist photographer group Nippon Kōbō, founded a propaganda photographic magazine called NIPPON, which was 	
   10 Louise Young, Japan's Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 13. 11 Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 117. 12 Young, Japan’s Total Empire, 138. 13 Hariu Ichirō et al., Sensō to bijutsu 1937-1945/ Art in Wartime Japan 1937-1945 (Tokyo: Kokusho kankōkai, 2007), 285. 	
   7 targeted at Western audiences.14  In the same year, Japanese-style painter Yokoyama Taikan offered one of his paintings to the puppet emperor of Manchuria, Puyi.15  In 1935, the Ministry of Education initiated reform of state sponsored-exhibitions (teiten), aiming to bring young artists in numerous private organizations under state control.16 Decisive change to the lives of Japanese people came in 1937, when Japan advanced further into northern China, engaging with the Chinese forces at the Marco Polo Bridge just outside Beijing.  Chiang Kai-shek, the nationalist leader who initially collaborated with Japan to fight the Chinese communist forces, decided to work with the communists and refused to acknowledge Manchuria as Japanese.  Prime Minister Prince Konoe Fumimaro decided that Japan would fight China, and at the same time justified the decision by developing, in his 1938 “New Order in East Asia,” the rhetoric that Japan would liberate Asia from Western colonialism.  Konoe presented the grand vision of a Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere in which China, Manchukuo (Manchuria), Taiwan, Southeast Asia, and the South Pacific would live under Japan’s leadership with a self-sufficient economic structure free from Western exploitation.  In reality, of course, as Mary Hanneman aptly points out, “Japan simply sought to establish its own hegemony over Asia,” and many Asians suffered from Japanese atrocities such as the Nanjing 	
   14 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 285. 15 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 285. 16 Maki Kaneko, “Art in the Service of the State: Artistic Production in Japan during the Asia-Pacific War,” Ph.D. diss. (University of East Anglia, 2006), 75. 	
   8 Massacre in 1937, systematized sex slavery, biological experimentation, and forced labor.17 The friction between Japan and Western democratic nations worsened, and the United States placed an embargo on the sale of war materials to Japan in 1938. Meanwhile, Germany invaded Poland, and Japan signed the Tripartite Pact with Germany and Italy in 1940, updating the Anti-Comintern Pact that Japan had signed with Nazi Germany in 1936.  In 1940, Prime Minister Konoe declared the creation of the “New Order,” re-organizing economic, political, and cultural structures under the state, and founding the Imperial Rule Assistance Association (IRAA), a single unified political entity which officially ended party politics.  In 1941, the United States placed a total embargo on exports to Japan.  With 80% of its oil supplies coming from the U.S., Japan sought reconciliation; as the American government demanded Japan’s withdrawal from Manchuria, however, negotiations fell apart.  Unable to make a decision on whether or not to go to war with the United States, Prime Minister Konoe resigned and was replaced by Army General Tōjō Hideki.  Tōjō immediately took the path to the war, and on December 8, 1941, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, declaring war also against the British and Dutch forces that occupied Guam, Wake Island, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Singapore, Burma, Fiji, Samoa, Indonesia, and New Caledonia, among others.  What Japan needed from the Southeast Asian countries was oil, which they could no longer buy from the United States. Beginning with the Battle of Midway in June 1942, Japan lost in a series of actions in Guadalcanal, Attu, Saipan, and Iwo Jima, to name a few.  In these battles, despite the 	
   17 Hanneman, Japan Faces the World, 57. 	
   9 certainty of defeat, the Japanese military chose the path of collective suicide attacks (gyokusai), hoping to inflict any damage it could on the enemy, however slight.  Both wounded soldiers and civilians (in Saipan) were asked to kill themselves to avoid the humiliation of capture.  The last, desperate hope in the final months of the war were the kamikaze suicide bombers (to which I return in Chapter Five), who deliberately crashed their planes into enemy ships.18  In March 1945, the American landing in Okinawa, which resulted in approximately 100,000 civilian deaths, and the air raids on Tokyo in the same month, which also caused more than 100,000 deaths, dealt a fatal blow to Japan.19 Until the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945, however, surrender or defeat were not an option.  Wartime Minister Shigemitsu Mamoru recalled in 1958: It was a “total war”: kill or be killed. The Army was resolved to fight to the very end. If anyone spoke of making peace before that, he was ruthlessly punished. The War Minister rigidly enforced the autocratic powers of the Army and used the gendarmerie as state police. To them a peace advocate was a pacifist and anyone who mentioned defeat was a rebel and such people were to be suppressed.20 Several days after the atomic bombings, Japan accepted the Potsdam Declaration and unconditional surrender. 	
   18 The Kamikaze Special Attack Forces program was launched in October 1944. 19 Hanneman, Japan Faces the World, 79. 20 Quoted in Hanneman, Japan Faces the World, 77. 	
   10 The Fifteen-Year War was indeed a “total war,” in which the state mobilized both human and material resources.21  Unlike previous wars (the First Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese Wars), civilians as well as soldiers were asked to work and fight for the nation.  The government launched the National Spiritual Mobilization Movement (Kokumin Seishin Sōdōin Undō) in 1937, in which nationalist organizations rallied the nation, propagating war with (very creative) catchphrases such as “extravagance is the enemy” (zeitaku wa teki da) and “covet nothing until we win” (hoshigarimasen katsu made wa), and prohibiting such things as permed hair, dance halls, Hollywood movies, and Western loan words.  The government’s investment in the war was also buttressed by the National Mobilization Law in 1938, which justified state control of industries and civil organizations.  The state ultimately nationalized the local communities and independent organizations that they used during the National Defense Campaign, destroying civil society.  As historian Andrew Gordon writes, citizens were “linked to the state and the emperor through a vast and expanding network of functional organs imposed upon them by the state: youth groups, women’s groups, village and neighborhood associations, and Sanpō workplace associations, and agricultural and industrial producers’ unions.”22  Most important was the state’s creation and control of 	
   21 Yamanouchi Yasushi, “Total-War and System Integration: A Methodological Introduction,” in Total War and “Modernization,” ed. Yasushi Yamanouchi, J. Victor Koschmann, and Ryuichi Narita (Ithaca; New York: Cornell University, 1998), 3-4. 22 Andrew Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy in Prewar Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 330. 	
   11 the tonarigumi (neighborhood associations), each of which consisted of several households and functioned as a local surveillance system. Citizens were mobilized ideologically as well as physically.  The war was conceived as a “thought war” (shisō sen), and the state imposed control over both mass media and education.  After 1937, all information about the national economy and foreign policies was considered a state secret, and it went through a screening process before publication.23  Journalists also regarded their job as leading public opinion to Japan’s victory in the war.  Hōjō Seiichi wrote in the Nichi Nichi newspaper in December 1942: “In time of war journalists are the front-line fighters in the ideological war, and newspapers are the ideological bullets.”24  Newspapers typically manipulated the number of causalities in the war.25  At the same time, the militarist government took control over education, renaming elementary school kokumin gakkō (citizens’ school) in 1941.  The Essence of the National Polity (Kokutai no hongi), which reiterates the concept of the national polity (kokutai), the belief that Japanese citizens maintain an organic connection to the sun goddess Amaterasu, was issued by the Ministry of Education in 1937 and taught to every school child.26 	
   23 Ben-Ami Shillony, Politics and Culture in Wartime Japan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), 93. 24 Quoted in Shillony, Politics and Culture, 98. 25 Ienaga Saburō, The Pacific War, 1931-1945 (New York: Pantheon, 1978), 99. 26 Alan Tansman, The Aesthetics of Japanese Fascism (University of California Press, 2009), 150-151; Ienaga, The Pacific War, 107. 	
   12 Intellectuals and writers also collaborated with the state for the war effort.  The Literary Patriotic Association (Nihon Bungaku Hōkokukai), for example, was established in 1942, and 3100 novelists, playwrights, critics, and poets joined.27  In the same year, members of the Kyoto School of philosophy, the Literary Society, and the Japan Romantic group (Rōman-ha) held a symposium on “overcoming the modern” (kindai no chōkoku), at which they discussed the meaning of the war with the United States and claimed that Japan must eliminate Americanism and restore “authentic” Japanese culture.28 Meanwhile, the state intensified surveillance, especially on Marxists, and the Peace Preservation Law allowed the kempeitai, the military police, to use physical force to suppress those who opposed the war.29  On the other hand, after they were imprisoned, many Marxists recanted their beliefs (called “conversion” or tenkō) and supported the wartime state: it is difficult to determine how many were “forced” to convert and how many were wearing “a convenient disguise (gisō tenkō),” but only a small number of Marxists refused to recant.30  Japanese historian Ienaga Saburō argues that some Marxists indeed strongly supported the state, and contends that both Marxist and non-Marxist intellectuals were responsible for the war.31  Notably, there was no organized anti-war movement, and nobody fled Japan to avoid involvement in the war effort.32 	
   27 Shillony, Politics and Culture, 116. 28 Harry Harootunian, “Overcoming Modernity,” in Overcome by Modernity: History, Culture, and Community in Interwar Japan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001). 29 The Peace Preservation Law was in effect from 1925. Ienaga, The Pacific War, 113. 30 Shillony, Politics and Culture, 120. 31 Ienaga, The Pacific War, 121-122. 	
   13 With the beginning of the war with China in 1937, more and more artists worked with and for the state under the slogan of “serving the nation by art” (saikan hōkoku).33 In 1937, the Japan Art Institute (Nihon Bijutsu-in) donated seven thousand yen to the army, and both Japanese-style and Western-style painters organized “dedication exhibitions” (kennō-ga ten) at the department stores Matsuzakaya and Matsuya, and the proceeds from the sales of their paintings were donated to the army.  From 1938 on, artists (many Western-style and a few Japanese-style) were sent to the front to produce War Campaign Record Paintings (Sensō Sakusen Kirokuga).  Within a year, ten artists including Nakamura Ken’ichi were sent to Shanghai, two artists (Kawabata Ryūshi and Tsuruya Gorō) to North China, and several, including Fujita Tsuguharu, followed the Navy.34  Numerous art exhibitions—called “War Art Exhibition” (Sensō Bijutsu-ten), “Holy War Art Exhibition” (Seisen Bijutsu-ten), and “Army Art Exhibition” (Rikugun Jūgun Gaka-ten), to name a few—were held at department stores and art museums and funded by the army and by newspaper companies.  These were continued throughout the war: the last Army Art Exhibition (Rikugun Bijutsu-ten) was held in April 1945, four months before Japan’s defeat.35 	
   32 Shillony, Politics and Culture, 126. 33 In addition, numerous artists and art students were sent to the battlefield as soldiers. For artists who died on the battlefield, see Kuboshima Sei’ichirō, Mugonkan nōto [The Silence Museum Notebook] (Tokyo: Shūei sha, 2005). 34 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 283. 35 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 273. 	
   14 Matsumoto Shunsuke, who wrote “The Living Artist” (Ikiteiru gaka) in 1941, was one of the very few artists who publicly protested against the militarist views of art.36 Referring to the symposium where militarist officials declared that artists should contribute to the war by producing propaganda paintings, Matsumoto wrote, “I regret to say in the symposium entitled ‘National Defense State and the Fine Arts’ I found no value.  It is wise to keep silent, but I do not believe keeping silent today is necessarily the correct thing to do.”37  Although independent art groups continued to exist during the war (for example, the surrealist groups Bijutsu Bunka Kyōkai and Shinjin Gakai were founded in 1939 and 1943 respectively), the state imposed a high degree of control over their activities by consolidating art magazines, whose number was reduced to eight in 1941 and to only two in 1944.38  The Patriotic Association of Japanese-style Painters (Nihon Gaka Hōkokukai) and Patriotic Association of Japanese Artists (Nihon Bijutsu Hōkokukai) were formed in 1941 and 1943, bringing almost all active artists under national control.  It was generally difficult to obtain art supplies, especially after the American embargo, and naturally official war artists were given privileged access to them.39  Authorities and police labeled surrealist works “unhealthy” and linked them to 	
   36 Mark H. Sandler, “The Living Artist: Matsumoto Shunsuke’s Reply to the State,” Art Journal 55.3 (Autumn, 1996): 74-82. 37 Quoted in Sandler, “The Living Artist,” 78. 38 Seisaku [Production] and Bijutsu [Art] were the last two magazines.  More research is necessary, but I do not think that these two “private” organizations Bijutsu bunka kyōkai and Shinjin gakai were necessarily against the state ideology. 39  Kaneko, “Art in the Service of the State,” 135-137. 	
   15 “dangerous” thoughts of communism.  In 1941 they arrested the leaders of the Japanese surrealist movement, Fukuzawa and Takiguchi Shūzō.40 According to art historian Kawata Akihisa, over three hundred Western-style painters participated in official war art production and painted War Campaign Record Paintings.41  It is important to note that the prominent war painters—Fujita Tsuguharu, Miyamoto Saburō, Mukai Junkichi, Inokuma Gen’ichirō, and Ihara Usaburō—were leading prewar modernists who studied in Paris.  In 1944, military official Akiyama Kunio spelled out the meaning of War Campaign Record Paintings as works that “have the significant historical purpose of recording and preserving the army’s war campaign forever.”42  Another official, Yamanouchi Ichirō, advocated the realist style of European 	
   40 John Clark, “Artistic Subjectivity in the Taisho and Early Shōwa Avant-Garde,” in Japanese Art After 1945: Scream Against the Sky, ed. Alexandra Munroe (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1994), 48. 41 Kawata Akihisa, “Sensō-ga towa nanika” [What Is Sensō-ga?], Geijutsu Shinchō, August 1995. For more on Japanese official war art, see Geijutsu Shinchō, August 1995; Kawata Akihisa and Tan’o Yasunori, Imēji no nakano sensō: nisshin, nichiro sensō kara rēsen made [War in Images: From the Sino-Japanese War to the Cold War] (Tokyo: Iwanami, 1996); Hariu Ichirō et al., Sensō to bijutsu 1937-1945. 42 Akiyama Kunio, “Honnendo kirokuga ni tsuite” [On This Year’s Record Paintings], Bijutsu, May 1944, 2. 	
   16 neo-classicism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, especially works by Jacques- Louis David, as proper models.43 It was generally agreed that Japanese-style paintings were not suitable for realism and depicting the war.44  Japanese-style painters nevertheless found ways to support the the state: Kawabata Ryūshi and Ikegami Shūho went to the front, Hashimoto Kansetsu and Kohayagawa Shūsei painted battles and soldiers, and the army commissioned Yasuda Yukihiko to paint a portrait of Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, who died in the Battle of Midway.45  Yokoyama Taikan never went to the front, but his wartime activity illuminates how one could support the state without going to battle: among his numerous military-related wartime activities, he made an offering of one of his paintings to Hitler and, as we saw, delivered a lecture to a Hitler Youth group that visited Japan in 1938.46 He also donated a painting to Etajima Naval Academy in Hiroshima in 1942 and became president of the Patriotic Association of Japanese Artists (Nihon Bijutsu Hōkokukai) in 1943.47  The paintings of Uemura Shōen, Kobayashi Kokei, and Maeda Seison were 	
   43 Yamanouchi Ichirō, “Sakusen kirokuga no ari kata” [How War Paintings Should Be], Bijutsu, May 1944, 2-5. 44 “Daitōa to bijutsu” [Great East Asia and Art], Kikan bijutsu, May 1942. Reproduced in Nihon bijutsuin hyakunenshi [One Hundred Year History of Nihon Bijutsu-in], vol 7 (Tokyo: Nihon bijutsuin, 1998), 846-849. 45 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 278-283. 46 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 283. 47 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu, 276-277. 	
   17 praised by art critic Okazaki Yoshie as “truly Japanese” art that stood in opposition to the art of the enemy.48  Literature Review/ Methodology Since the war, the art of the late 1930s and early 1940s has been excluded from Japanese art survey books and considered taboo.  There are several reasons for this.  First, war art has been largely neglected in the history of art in general.  For example, Janson’s History of Art: the Western Tradition, one of the most popular introductory art history survey textbooks in North America, covers twentieth century art in three chapters— “Toward Abstraction: The Modernist Revolution, 1904-1914,” “Art between the Wars,” and “Postwar to Postmodern, 1945-1980”—with remarkable gaps between 1914 and 1919, and again between the early 1930s and 1945.49  Even though various countries (Britain, Australia, Canada, and the United States, among others) produced official war art, it tends to be stored in military institutions, and has thus evaded art historical evaluation.50  Second, access to some of the Japanese art produced during the Fifteen- Year War has been physically limited.  The Japanese state and war artists purposely destroyed many documents and paintings before the landing of the Occupation forces, and the United States confiscated the most important collection of propaganda war 	
   48 Okazaki Yoshie, “Gendai Nihonga to kokumin sei” [Contemporary Japanese-style Painting and its National Characteristics], Kokuga, May 1942, 5. 49 H.W. Janson, Janson’s History of Art: The Western Tradition, 7th ed (New Jersey: Pearson Education, 2007). 50 Laura Brandon, Art & War (London: I.B. Tauris, 2006). 	
   18 paintings in the 1950s, which they returned to the National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo only in 1970 and on “indefinite loan.” 51  Third, especially in the Euro-American context, where an Orientalist view of Japanese art still prevails, Japanese art has been discussed separately from politics.  As I explain in Chapter One, paintings of modern girls (moga) were rendered signs of the exotic in exhibitions such as Taishō Chic (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 2006) and Shōwa Sophistication (Honolulu Academy of Art, 2008) even though most of the paintings they displayed were from the mid and late 1930s. Overtly militaristic Japanese propaganda paintings have never been displayed in the United States or in Europe. Last and most important, the Fifteen-Year War has been a particularly sensitive topic both within and outside Japan.  In Japan, views on the war are contested.  Members of the Left seek to interrogate the country’s past violence toward Asia.  Members of the Right, who tend to dominate the government, reiterate the positive effects of colonialism (such as modernization), deny that Asian people suffered under Japan’s control, and justify the war on the grounds that it was inevitable in the face of Western colonialism and that its purpose was to free Asians from Western exploitation.  The issue is most prominent and contested in the field of education.  Historian Ienaga Saburō (1913-2002) is well known for fighting censorship by the Ministry of Education that seeks to eliminate “inconvenient” facts from school history textbooks, such as mass rapes and murders, systematized sex slavery, biological experimentation on Chinese civilians and POWs, and 	
   51 Asato Ikeda, “Japan’s Haunting War Art: Contested War Memories and Art Museums,” disClosure 18 (April 2009): 5-32. 	
   19 forced labor.52  The Japanese government has issued official apologies for some of these, but they are constantly undermined by national leaders’ frequent ill-conceived comments that make it difficult to believe in the sincerity of the apologies.  Prime Minister Abe Shinzō, for example, stated in 2007 that there had been no Nanjing Massacre and that Asian women enslaved by the state were prostitutes, even though an apology had already been made to “comfort women” (ianfu), not “prostitutes,” by the Hashimoto government in 1995.53  The conservative government’s views naturally anger formerly colonized nations, especially Korea and China, and Japan’s diplomatic relations with those nations are still affected by a war that ended over sixty years ago. This friction between Japan and its neighbors is partly a result of the way the American Occupation government handled the reconstruction of Japanese politics in the immediate postwar years.  The Occupation government did not hold the emperor accountable in the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal even though the “holy war” was fought in his name, and they restored former militarists to the government in order to fortify Japan against the Cold War communist threat.  What emerged within this context was what 	
   52 Jeff Kingston, “Historian Battles to Redeem the Past,” The Japan Times, April 7 2001 < > (accessed November 9, 2010). 53 Hiroko Tabuchi, “Soldier Confirms Wartime Sex Slavery,” The Japan Times, March, 2007 <>; Reiji Yoshida, “Sex Slave History Erased From Texts; ’93 Apology Next?” The Japan Times, March 11, 2007 <> (Accessed November 9, 2010). 	
   20 historian Igarashi Yoshikuni calls the “foundational narrative” that the United States restored Japan’s peace with the atomic bombs and that the emperor symbolizes that peace.54  This narrative obscured both the ethical question of America’s use of nuclear weapons and Japan’s responsibility for suffering in Asia by (re)presenting Japan as victim rather than perpetrator.55 The art of the Fifteen-Year War is located within this highly polarized political discussion about Japan’s role in the war, but there are issues particular to war art.  For one thing, we cannot ignore the ethical issue of those artists who collaborated with the militarists.  As early as 1945 there began a public discussion about artists’ culpability, which dissolved into ugly disputes over who did or did not paint propaganda and who had or had not been a willing collaborator.  Although none of them was actually tried by the Allies, some leading war artists were blacklisted and expelled from art communities as “war criminals.”  This war responsibility (sensō sekinin) discussion virtually ended when the most famous war painter, Fujita Tsuguharu, left Japan permanently in 1949. Since then, no war artists have spoken of their ethical and political responsibility, yet examination of wartime art cannot be separated from the question of artists’ complicity with the state.56  Furthermore, the war responsibility of Japanese-style painters, who were 	
   54 Igarashi Yoshikuni, Bodies of Memory (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 19-28. 55 Lisa Yoneyama, Hiroshima Traces: Time, Space, and the Dialectics of Memory (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 56 Most of them did not speak about their wartime works. On the other hand, Miyamoto Saburō praised his own works as counterparts to European war art when they were found 	
   21 active during the war but produced seemingly non-militaristic paintings, has never been interrogated.  Uemura Shōen and Yasuda Yukihiko, who frequently exhibited their works in state-sanctioned exhibitions, for example, received the Order of Culture (bunka kunshō) from the emperor in 1947. Visual representations of militarism (the war in particular) have the potential to evoke powerful emotional reactions.  The “Visualizing Cultures” website project at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, launched in 2006 by one of the most established historians of Japan, John Dower, is important in this regard.  The website, which features images of the Sino-Japanese War (1894-1895) that depict Japanese executions of Chinese, came under harsh attack from the Chinese community within and outside the university. The emails and phone calls to the scholars involved in the project were so threatening that the institution reported them to the police.57  The purpose of the website project, along with Dower’s texts, which are critical of Japan’s conduct, was to analyze the power of propaganda, but opponents argued that Dower was insensitive to the suffering of the Chinese people.  The “Visualizing Cultures” controversy is an extreme example, and it is reasonable to wonder why one hundred year-old prints triggered such controversy when 	
   in the United States in the late 1960s. Ogawara Shū was virtually the only artist who spoke critically of his past. Asato Ikeda, “Twentieth Century Japanese Art and the Wartime State: Reassessing the Art of Ogawara Shū and Fujita Tsuguharu,” The Asia- Pacific Journal, 43-2-10. October 25, 2010. 57 Peter C. Perdue, “Reflections on the ‘Visualizing Cultures’ Incident,” MIT Faculty Newsletter, Vol. XVIII No.5 May/ June 2006 <> (accessed November 9, 2010). 	
   22 images of violence seem to be everywhere in modern culture—on TV, in movies and magazines, and on the Internet—but it must be remembered that the power of visual propaganda and the potential for the abuse of images is precisely why Nazi art, for example, was not released to the public for decades after the war.  The MIT incident suggests that the art of the Fifteen Year War, much more recent than the Sino-Japanese War, could be an even more sensitive issue and could stir heated, emotional reactions. Since the death of Emperor Hirohito in 1989, scholars have begun investigating Japanese war art in a more critical light.  In Japan, art historians Kawata Akihisa and Tan’o Yasunori co-authored the book War in Images: From the Sino-Japanese to the Cold War (1996), which pioneered the field by examining woodblock prints, Japanese- style paintings, and Western-style oil paintings.58  The book covered the Sino-Japanese War, the Russo-Japanese War, and the Fifteen-Year War, and demonstrated how works on both military themes (battles, swords, war machinery) and non-military themes mirrored Japan’s militarist ideology.  The 2006 retrospective of Fujita Tsuguharu, the leading war painter who was once ostracized by the Japanese public, was organized by the National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo, and renewed scholarly interest in war art.59 The book Art in Wartime Japan 1937-1945 (2007) brought together major scholars in the field, such as Kawata Akihisa, Ōtani Shōgo, Haru Ichirō, and Sawaragi Noi, and reproduced a few hundred paintings produced during the war, including some that had 	
   58 Kawata and Tan’o, Imēji no nakano sensō. 59 Asato Ikeda, “Fujita Tsuguharu Retrospective 2006: Resurrection of a Former Official War Painter,” Review of Japanese Culture and Society 21 (December 2009): 97-115. 	
   23 been lost and those once confiscated by the United States.60  American art historian Bert Winther-Tamaki published a ground-breaking article in 1997, “Embodiment/ Disembodiment: Japanese Paintings during the Fifteen Year War,” which analyzed wartime works by artists including Matsumoto Shunsuke, Yokoyama Taikan, and Fujita Tsuguharu in relation to the issue of embodiment and disembodiment.61  The Ph.D. dissertations of Mayu Tsuruya (2005) and Maki Kaneko (2006), completed in the United States and England, respectively, followed Winther-Tamaki and showed how war art was entrenched in the development of a Japanese modern art that was intricately related to Japan’s nation building.  In so doing, both Tsuruya and Kaneko refuted the previous assumption that war art was a product of historical aberration.62  Art and War in Japan and Its Empire: 1931-1960, which I am currently co-editing with Ming Tiampo and Aya Louisa McDonald, will be the first English anthology on Japanese war art and will bring together scholars from Asia, North America, and Europe—Bert Winther-Tamaki, Mayu Tsuruya, Maki Kaneko, Kawata Akihisa, Laura Hein, Julia Thomas, and Michael Lucken 	
   60 Hariu et al., Sensō to bijutsu 1937-1945. 61	
  Bert Winther-Tamaki, “Embodiment/Disembodiment: Japanese Painting during the Fifteen-Year War,” Monumenta Nipponica 52. 2 (Summer, 1997): 145-80. 62 Mayu Tsuruya, “Sensō Sakusen Kirokuga [War Campaign Documentary Art Painting]: Japan’s National Imagery of the ‘Holy War’ 1937-1945,” Ph.D. diss., (University of Pittsburgh, 2005); Maki Kaneko, “Art in the Service of the State: Artistic Production in Japan during the Asia-Pacific War,” Ph.D. diss. (University of East Anglia, 2006). 	
   24 among others.63  In addition to paintings, Julia Adeney Thomas, Kaneko Ryūichi, and Inoue Yūko have published research on wartime photography, and Kim Brandt and Yuko Kikuchi have thoroughly documented the wartime activities of the Japanese Arts and Crafts Movement (mingei).64  Hirase Reita has examined wartime sculpture, while Inoue Shōkichi, Jonathan M. Reynolds, and Jacqueline Eve Kestenbaum have probed into Japanese wartime architecture.65  Also important to the study of Japanese war art is the 	
   63 Asato Ikeda, Ming Tiampo, and Aya Louisa McDonald, eds., Art and War in Japan and its Empire: 1931-1960 (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming). 64 Julia Adeney Thomas, “Photography, National Identity, and the ‘Cataract of Times’: Wartime Images and the Case of Japan,” The American Historical Review 103.5 (December, 1998): 1475-1501; Kaneko Ryūichi, “Realism and Propaganda: The Photographer’s Eye Trained on Society,” in The History of Japanese Photography, ed. Anne Wilkes Tucker (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2003); Inoue Yūko, Senji gurafu zasshi no sendensen [Strategies of Wartime Graphic Magazines](Tokyo: Seitōsha, 2009); Kim Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty: Mingei and the Politics of Folk Art in Imperial Japan (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007); Yuko Kikuchi, Japanese Modernization and Mingei Theory: Cultural Nationalism and Oriental Orientalism (London: Routledge, 2004). 65 Hirase Reita, “Sensō to bijutsu korekushon: sokoni atte wa naranai mono [War and Art Collection: Things That Ought Not Be There], in Kōza Nihon bijutsu shi: bijutsu o sasaeru mono [Studies in the History of Japanese Art 6: What Makes Art Possible], ed. Kinoshita Naoyuki (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 2005); Inoue Shōkichi, Āto, kicchu, japanesuku [Art, Kitsch, Japanesque] (Tokyo: Asahi shuppansha, 1995); Jonathan 	
   25 art of colonialism, as Japan’s war was a “colonial war.” The research findings and analysis by Kim Hyeshin, Kari Shepardson-Scott, and Aida Yuen-Wong about colonial Korea, Manchuria, Taiwan and Mainland China illuminate Japan’s artistic activities beyond its own borders.66  Fascism What distinguishes my study from previous scholarship is that, following numerous scholars who have investigated the issue in the disciplines of history, political science and literature, I explore the concept of Japanese fascism in the field of art history.67  While 	
   M. Reynolds, Maekawa Kunio and the Emergence of Japanese Modernist Architecture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Jacqueline Eve Kestenbaum, “Modernism and Tradition in Japanese Architectural Ideology, 1931-1955,” Ph.D. diss. (New York: Columbia University, 1996). 66 Kim Hye-sin, Kankoku kindai bijutsu kenkyū: shokuminchiki chōsenbijutsutenrankai ni miru ibunkashihai to bunka hyōshō [Studies of Korean Modern Art: Cultural Control and Cultural Representation in Colonial “Korean Art Exhibitions”] (Tokyo: Brücke, 2005); Kari Shepherdson-Scott, “Utopia/ Dystopia: Japan’s Image of the Manchurian Ideal,” Ph.D. diss. (Durham: Duke University, forthcoming); Aida Yuen Wong, Parting the Mists: Discovering Japan and the Rise of National-style Painting (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2006). 67 Historian Kim Brandt has investigated fascism in her study on mingei. Aida Yuen- Wong’s recent scholarship touches on fascist aesthetics and paintings by Taiwanese artists who studied in Japan. Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty; Aida Yuen Wong, “Art of Non- 	
   26 acknowledging the long history and contested nature of the concept, I specifically draw on the definition of fascism that appeared in the 1990s and uses the framework of cultural translation in discussing its Japanese manifestation. I must begin by noting that there are scholars who argue against utilizing fascism as a methodological framework. What exactly fascism is remains a disputed question, and disagreement on the meaning of the term leads historian S.J. Woolf to assert, “Perhaps the word fascism should be banned, at least temporarily, from our political vocabulary.”68 Gilbert Allardyce argues that the concept of fascism is inadequate for comparative studies and that historians are using the term without agreeing on what it means.  Asserting that “the word fascismo has no meaning beyond Italy,” Allardyce argues that even the cases of Italy and Germany are different and cannot be reduced to one single political model, contending that fascism is neither a generic concept nor ideology.69  On the other hand there are scholars, like Stanley Payne, author of the influential book Fascism: Definition and Comparison (1980), who argue that Germany and Spain were fascist, but that fascism cannot exist outside Europe.  Payne writes that fascism is “a historical phenomenon primarily limited to Europe during the era of the two world wars” and that 	
   Resistance:  Elitism, Fascist Aesthetics, and the Taiwanese Painter Lin Chih-chu, 1930s- 1940s,” in Art and War in Japan and its Empire. 68 Gilbert Allardyce, “What Fascism is Not: Thoughts on the Deflation of a Concept,” The American Historical Review 84.2 (April 1979): 367. 69 Allardyce, “What Fascism is Not,” 370. 	
   27 “the full characteristics of European fascism could not be reproduced on a significant scale outside Europe.”70 Not surprisingly, there are those who follow Allardyce and Payne in arguing against using the concept in the Japanese context.  George Macklin Wilson in his article published in 1968 dismisses the idea of Japanese fascism.  In his discussion of the work of Maruyama Masao and his idea of Emperor-System Fascism, Wilson points out that one can easily drop the term “fascism” at any point, as there is no specificity attached to it.71  He suggests that instead of comparing Japan to Western nations, we should compare it to non-Western ones.72  Furthermore, he questions the “psychological attitude” that motivated leftist Japanese scholars to investigate the concept of fascism, that is, their political motive for criticizing and fighting against the former militarists.73 Finally, he suggests that historians should use the alternative model of “movement-regime” or “the revolutionary mass-movement regime under single-party auspices” to analyze the case of Japan.74 Wilson’s points are echoed in an article by Peter Duus and Daniel Okamoto published in 1979.  They maintain that if it is difficult to find core characteristics within European fascism, it is virtually impossible to apply the concept to Japan, and that it is 	
   70 Quoted in Roger Eatwell, “Universal Fascism?” 15. Originally in Stanley Payne, Fascism: Definition and Comparison (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1980). 71 George Wilson, “A New Look,” 406. 72 George Wilson, “A New Look,” 409. 73 George Wilson, “A New Look,” 407. 74 George Wilson, “A New Look,” 409. 	
   28 therefore meaningless to speak of Japanese fascism.  They write, “sometimes incidental differences add up to an essential difference.”75  Although they admit that similar political characteristics can be found in Germany and Japan, they do not call Japan fascist because there is no moment analogous to the rise of Nazi power, and what we see in Japan is actually the further consolidation of Meiji nationalism rather than revolution from below.  We need to develop a new model, they argue, and they suggest “corporatism.”76  Finally, like Wilson, they question the political motive behind Japanese fascism studies: “one of the underlying reasons for the postwar flurry of Japanese studies on fascism—the psychological need to identify who or what was responsible for the tragedy of the Second World War—may have passed.  So, too, may the scholarly rationale for directing so much attention to this subject.”77 As Gavan McCormack aptly summarizes the historiography of Japanese fascism, other scholars argue against Japanese fascism based on “the absence of a charismatic leader, or a mass fascist-style party, or a sharply delineated point of transition, or of repression on the scale of Nazi Germany (death camps), or the presence of apparently 	
   75 Peter Duus and Daniel Okamoto, “Fascism and the History of Prewar Japan: The Failure of a Concept,” Journal of Asian Studies 39. 1 (November, 1979): 66. See also Duus’s review of the 2009 anthology The Culture of Japanese Fascism in The Journal of Asian Studies 69.2 (May 2010): 612-615. 76 Duus and Okamoto, “Fascism and the History of Prewar Japan,” 72. 77 Duus and Okamoto, “Fascism and the History of Prewar Japan,” 76. 	
   29 unbroken continuity between the institutions and elites of Meiji and 1930s Japan.”78 Ben- Ami Shillony, who also argues against the concept of Japanese fascism, shows in his Politics and Culture in Wartime Japan (1981) how wartime imperial institutions and the bureaucracy functioned just as before the war and the militarist Prime Minister Tōjō Hideki never had total control over the cabinet, concluding that Japan was neither totalitarian nor fascist.79 The confusion over the definition of fascism whether in the European or the Japanese context, can be explained by several points.  First of all, unlike socialism (which had Karl Marx’s Communist Manifesto) or capitalism (which had Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations), there is no foundational text that theorizes the movement.  Therefore, fascism has been largely examined by non-fascists.  Second, scholarship on fascism both during and after the Second World War has tended to be politically motivated.  Marxists produced a great deal of work on fascism, but they understand it only in terms of its economy and define it as a monopoly on capital by the bourgeoisie.  In the Cold War, American historians and political scientists developed the idea of “totalitarianism,” and they barely distinguished fascism from socialism.80  It was not until the end of the Cold War that a more “neutral” analysis of fascism emerged and scholars such as Roger Griffin and Roger Eatwell sought to develop its definition, acknowledging the politicized 	
   78 Gavan McCormack, “Nineteen Thirties Japan: Fascism?” Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 14. 2 (April-June 1982): 29. 79 Shillony, Politics and Culture in Wartime Japan. See also Andrew Gordon’s book review of Shillony in The Journal of Asian Studies 42. 3 (May 1983): 676-678. 80 McCormack, “Nineteen Thirties Japan: Fascism?” 23. 	
   30 scholarship on fascism in the immediate postwar period. Thirdly, because of their xenophobia, only the Italian Fascists referred to themselves as such.  Gilbert Allardyce is correct in pointing out that those who named themselves “fascist” outside Italy came to “recognize the curse of its association with things foreign.”81  In regard to Japanese fascism, it is necessary to add a few remarks about the postwar politics of Japanese wartime history/historiography.  As Joseph P. Sottile and Gavan McCormack argue, American scholarship that views wartime Japan as non-fascist was heavily embedded within the postwar alliance between the two nations and the creation of Igarashi’s “foundational narrative” in the context of the Cold War. McCormack explains the process of wartime Japan being designated as “militarist” after the war: Reintegration of Japan into the Western camp under a conservative, bureaucratic, and business leadership demanded an explanation of the war that was largely exculpatory of mainstream Japanese conservatism. Totalitarianism, with its identification of fascist and communist systems, was inappropriate because it would be threatening to those elements of the Japanese elite who had been prominent in the 1930s; fascist theory itself, unless modified by being recast in the totalitarianism mold, had too strong associations deriving from its Marxist connotation of capitalist dictatorship. The solution was found in the development of a theory of “militarism”…Militarism, a category little referred to in analysis of 	
   81 Allardyce, “What Fascism is Not,” 370. 	
   31 European movements of the 1930s, became the orthodoxy among Western scholars writing on Japan.82 Sottile argues along the same lines, noting that especially when the emperor was alive it was preferable for American historians to promote a positive view of Japan, disassociating it from the ugly term “fascism.”83  Cold War politics account for the gap between scholarship on wartime Japan by Japanese and American scholars.  Despite the complex and contested historiography of study on fascism, I opt to employ the concept as it is important to situate Japan’s case within the global context of the 1930s. My study uses the definition of fascism advanced after the Cold War in the 1990s by a new generation of historians such as Roger Griffin, Roger Eatwell, and Zeev Sternhell.84  Arguing against Payne and Allardyce, Griffin, Eatwell, and Sternhell assert that we must take fascism seriously.  They contend that we must consider it a political ideology and a generic concept, emphasizing the importance of discussing fascism as a 	
   82 McCormack, “Nineteen Thirties Japan: Fascism?” 28. 83 Joseph P. Sottile, “The Fascist Era: Imperial Japan and the Axis Alliance in Historical Perspective,” in Japan in the Fascist Era, ed. Reynolds, E. Bruce (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 11-13. 84 Roger Griffin, “Introduction,” in Fascism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995); Roger Eatwell, “Universal Fascism? Approaches and Definitions,” in Fascism outside Europe: The European Impulse against Domestic Conditions in the Diffusion of Global Fascism, ed. Stein Ugelvik Larsen (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001); Zeev Sternhell, “Fascist Ideology,” in Fascism: A Reader’s Guide: Analyses, Interpretations, Bibliography, ed. Walter Laqueur (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976). 	
   32 global phenomenon.  Eatwell and Sternhell point out that fascism is a generic concept like socialism, democracy, capitalism, and modernism, and that every country’s manifestation of those ideologies is different. 85  What comes out of their scholarship is the idea that we should not be fixated on the political and economic structures of fascism, such as economic monopoly and single party dominance. Among these historians, I suggest that Roger Eatwell provides the most comprehensive, reasonable definition of fascism.  According to Eatwell, fascism has four basic characteristics.86  First, it is a nationalistic ideology. Second, it is a form of collectivism, which advocates the benefit of a community and a group over that of individuals.  It “portrays man as a victim of alienation,” and seeks to create a society where individuals are bound with each other, such as that of the premodern period.87 Third, it is a form of radicalism: rather than maintining the status-quo, it attempts to establish a new political culture, “overcoming” existing problems and “transcending” into a new phase of history.  Despite its yearning for the premodern, in other words, fascism does not advocate going back to the past society where no technology exists.  As Eatwell states, “fascism is an alternative form of modernity.”88  Fourth, it is the “third way” between socialism and capitalism: alhough it has collectivism in common with socialism, fascism is hostile to the materialistic aspects, internationalist tendency, and “false” view of equality of the socialist ideology.  Fascism regards that true equality is to be found in a 	
   85 Eatwell, “Universal Fascism?” 19-20; Sternhell, “Fascist Ideology,” 316-317. 86 Eatwell, “Universal Fascism?” 33. 	
  Eatwell, “Universal Fascism?” 33. 	
   88 Eatwell, “Universal Fascism?” 34.  	
   33 hierarchial society.  At the same time, it opposes the liberalist and individualist aspects of capitalist society.  Overall, Eatwell argues, syncretism between right- and left-wing thoughts characterize fascism, and fascism often resorts to extreme violence and aggression to achieve its political goals. As Louis Althusser’s model of Ideological State Appratuses shows, state ideologies are propagated and disseminated through cultural institutions.89  Recent scholarship on the cultural dimensions of fascism has enriched our understanding.  Susan Sontag’s famous 1974 essay “Fascinating Fascism” convincingly, if also controversially, demonstrates how fascist ideals could be mediated through particular aesthetics, which she called “fascist aesthetics.”90  As Alice Yaeger Kaplan, who examines French fascist culture in her 1986 book, argues, it is important to understand the ideology of fascism, “as a reproduction of desires and discourses, that is, in terms of the persuasive language used by fascism.”91  Simonetta Flansca-Zamponi reiterates Kaplan’s point in her 1998 analysis of Italian fascism’s use of symbols, images, rituals, and speeches, asserting that power produces representation but representations also produce power.92  In other words, these scholars see fascism not merely as a particular form of government and economy 	
   89  Louis Althusser, “Ideology and Ideological State Appratuses,” in Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1997), 127-186. 90 Susan Sontag, “Fascinating Fascism,” Under the Sign of Saturn, 2nd ed. (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2002). 91 Kaplan, Reproduction of Banality, 20. 92 Simonetta Falansca-Zamponi, Fascist Spectacle (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 2-3. 	
   34 but as a form of culture.  What they find is that Eatwell’s syncretism is also evident in fascist culture.  Sontag illuminates the contradictory aspect of the fascist ideal:  [Fascist aesthetics] endorse two seemingly opposite states, egomania and servitude.  The relations of domination and enslavement take the form of a characteristic pageantry: the massing of groups of people; the turning of people into things; the multiplication or replication of things; and the grouping of people; things around an all-powerful hypnotic leader-figure or force.  The fascist dramaturgy centers on the orgiastic transaction between mighty forces and their puppets, uniformly garbed and shown in ever swelling numbers.  Its choreography alternates between ceaseless motion and a congealed, static, “virile” posing.  Fascist art glorifies surrender, it exalts mindlessness, it glamorizes death.93 Likewise, describing fascism as a “polarity machine,” Kaplan contends that it includes both “mother-bound” and “father-bound” aspects, the mother-bound aspect being “oceanic feeling” (the “limitless, unbounded sensation that characterizes the religious experience”) and the father-bound aspect being the images of black shirts, swastikas, and political sadism.94 Klaus Theweleit, Hal Foster, and Elena Gomel employ psychoanalysis in their examinations of the “polarity machine” in cultural representations of the human body.95 	
   93 Sontag, “Fascinating Fascism,” 91. 94 Kaplan, Reproduction of Banality, 12-13. 95 Klaus Theweleit, Male Fantasies (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1987); 	
   35 Following Theweleit, Foster agues that the proto-fascist body is created from outside, through the academy, military drills, and battles, and against dissolution, fragmentation, and disintegration.  It is characterized as a steely, hard, “armored” body that is to defend against the “feminine”: Jews, women, communists, and homosexuals.96  The proto-fascist, furthermore, considers machines as a part of the body, and sees technology as an extension of human power.97  Although the importance of machines is emphasized in socialism, Jeffrey Schnapp argues that fascist and socialist relationships with machines are different because fascists identify themselves as machines, which he calls “metallization.”98  At the same time, Foster identifies the rather contradictory demand of the fascist subject who seeks to be free of armor, masochistically wanting to merge with the “feminine” other.99 The most important finding of studies of fascist culture is that fascism is not incompatible with artistic modernism.  This finding challenges the previously held equation of modernism and liberalism and the assumption that fascist art was uncivilized and barbaric and came into existence out of a vacuum.  Despite the infamous expulsion of 	
   Elena Gomel, “Hard and Wet: Luce Irigaray and the Fascist Body,” Textual Practice 12.2 (1998): 199-223; Hal Foster, “Armor Fou,” October 56 (Spring 1991): 64-97. 96 Foster, “Armor Fou,” 84-85. 97 Susan Buck-Morss, “Aesthetics and Anaesthetics: Walter Benjamin’s Artwork Essay Reconsidered,” October 62 (Autumn, 1992): 33. 98 Jeffrey Schnapp, “18 BL: Fascist Mass Spectacle,” Representations 43 (Summer 1993): 113. 99 Foster, “Armor Fou,” 85. 	
   36 “degenerate” art, then, modernist art played an important role in the Third Reich.  The study of fascist art thus amounts to a critical reassessment of modernism and its relationship to politics.  As Mark Antliff writes, Scholars now recognize the role of both fascism and modernist aesthetics in the emergence of anti-Enlightenment movements opposed to the democratic tradition that was the heritage of Enlightenment thought…[C]oncepts associated with modernist aesthetics—including regeneration, spiritualism, pre-modernism, and avant-gardism—were integrated into the anti-Enlightenment pantheon of fascist values, with the result that many artists found ground with these new movements.100 Acknowledging the modernist aspect of fascism, Andrew Hewitt, Jeffrey Herf, and Elizabeth Cowling call fascist art Fascist Modernism, Reactionary Modernism, and Avant-Garde Classicism, respectively.101  Numerous scholars—including Mark Antliff, Jeffery Schnapp, Emily Braun, Diane Y. Ghirardo, Ian Boyd Whyte, Terri J. Gordon, Winfried Nerdinger, and John Heskett—have shown how modernist aesthetics in the field of architecture, design, painting, dance, and theater continued to exist under fascist rule in 	
   100 Mark Antliff, “Fascism, Modernism, and Modernity,” Art Bulletin 84.1 (March 2002): 148-149. 101 Elizabeth Cowling, “Introduction,” On Classic Ground: Picasso, Léger, de Chirico and the New Classicism 1910-1930, ed. Elizabeth Cowling and Jennifer Mundy (London: Tate Gallery, 1990); Jeffrey Herf, Reactionary Modernism; Andrew Hewitt, Fascist Modernism: Aesthetics, Politics, and the Avant-Garde (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993). 	
   37 Germany and Italy.102  In particular, a great deal of scholarship shows that Bauhaus and Le Corbusier’s rationalist design and architecture played an important role in fascist politics.103  	
   102 Mark Antliff, Avant-Garde Fascism: The Mobilization of Myth, Art, and Culture in France, 1909-1939 (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007); Jeffery Schnapp, “Epic Demonstrations: Fascist Modernity and the 1932 Exhibition of the Fascist Revolution,” in Fascism, Aesthetics, and Culture, ed. Richard J. Golsan (Hanover; London: University Press of New England, 1992); Emily Braun, Mario Sironi and Italian Modernism: Art and Politics under Fascism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Diane Y. Ghirardo, “Italian Architects and Fascist Politics: An Evaluation of the Rationalist Role in Regime Building,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 39.2 (May 1980): 109-127; Terri J. Gordon, “Fascism and the Female Form: Performance Art in the Third Reich,” in Sexuality and German Fascism, ed. Dagmar Herzog (New York: Berghahn Books, 2005); Ian Boyd Whyte, “National Socialism and Modernism,” in Art and Power: Europe under the Dictators, 1930-45 (London: Hayward Gallery, 1995); Winfried Nerdinger, “A Hierarchy of Styles: National Socialist Architecture Between Neoclassicism and Regionalism,” in Art and Power; John Heskett, “Modernism and Archaism in Design in the Third Reich,” in The Nazification of Art, ed. Brandon Taylor and Wilfried van der Will (Winchester: The Winchester Press, 1990) 103 Antliff, “La Cité Française: Georges Valois, Le Corbusier, and Fascist Theories of Urbanism,” in Avant-Garde Fascism; Theodore Dalrymple, “The Architect as Totalitarian: Le Corbusier’s Baleful Influence,” City Journal 19. 4 (Autumn 2009): 244- 246; Mary McLeod, “‘Architecture or Revolution’: Taylorism, Technocracy and Social 	
   38 This raises a question about artistic style (form) and ideology: how precisely to understand the relationship between modernism and fascism.104  Were there inherently “fascistic” elements in Bauhaus and Le Corbusier’s work that made it particularly appealing to fascists?  Or do Bauhaus-style designs produced in the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich display stylistic differences, if only slightly, perhaps reflecting different underlying ideologies?  Relevant to these questions is the claim that fascist art shares characteristics with socialist and capitalist art.  Specifically, Lutz Koepnick, Simonetta Falasca-Zamponi, and Karen Pinkus point out the use of commercial advertisements and graphic design in fascist art, and that fascist art appealed to viewers’ pleasure and desire.105  Koepnick, for example, argues that the politics of fascism should be understood as “a form of commodity aesthetics” and explains that the brand-name “Hitler” became a fetish, appealing to diverse desires and fantasies.106  Jeffrey Schnapp 	
   Change,” Art Journal 43. 2 (1987): 132-47; Winfried Nerdinger, “Bauhaus Architecture in the Third Reich,” in Bauhaus Culture: From Weimar to The Cold War, ed. Kathleen James-Chakraborty (Minneapolis; London: University of Minnesota Press, 2006). 104 This question is best articulated in Susan A. Manning, “Modern Dance in the Third Reich: Six Positions and a Coda,” in Choreographing History, ed. Susan Leigh Foster (Bloomington; Indianapolis: Indian University Press, 1995). 105 Lutz Koepnick, “Fascist Aesthetics Revisited,” Modernism Modernity 6.1 (January 1999): 51-73; Simonetta Falasca-Zamponi, Fascist Spectacle (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997); Karen Pinkus, Bodily Regimes (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995). 106 Koepnick, “Fascist Aesthetics Revisited,” 55-6. 	
   39 and Susan Buck-Morss have likewise pointed out similarities between socialist and fascist art, both of which are totalitarian styles that emphasize the collective and are obsessed with machines.107 My approach to this problem is to understand fascist art as the fascists’ appropriation of modern art.  In other words, even if we see the same style of architecture and design in the Soviet Union, the United States, Germany and Italy, we need to look at the surrounding environment to assess its meaning.108  Here, I follow the approaches of Terri Gordon and Winfried Nerdinger.  Gordon studies the capitalist commercial theater that initially developed in the Weimar period and continued to exist in the Third Reich.  She distinguishes the revue from the Weimar and that from the Third Reich and writes, “What is particular to the Nazi period is its explicit nationalization and instrumentalization of the genre.  The visual display of the female form in ornamental patterns in the Weimar period was imbued with political content in the Nazi era.”109 Similarly, confronting the vexed problem that neo-classicist architecture existed both in the United States and Germany in the 1930s, Nerdinger writes, “The distinction between neoclassicism in Germany and elsewhere must be drawn…No one can analyze the Nazi system by looking at architectural forms alone…ultimately, the decisive factors are function, content, and social relevance.”110  	
   107 Schnapp, “18 BL: Fascist Mass Spectacle”; Buck-Morss, “Aesthetics and Anaesthetics.” 108 Nerdinger, “A Hierarchy of Styles,” 323. 109 Terri J. Gordon, “Fascism and the Female Form,”183. 110 Nerdinger, “A Hierarchy of Styles,” 323-324. 	
   40 My approach is also indebted to that taken by Serge Guilbaut, who demonstrates how international modernism was arrested by the state agenda in the United States in the early 1940s.111  Guilbaut’s study shows how the United States “stole” modernism in its fight against fascism and communism in the Second World War and the Cold War.  In America, modernism became “American” art that was believed to embody the state ideology of freedom, individualism, democracy, and capitalism.112  Thus my study is based on the view that the ideological manifestations of modern art vary from one country to another.  We might see an element of capitalism and socialism in fascist culture, but it is important to recognize that such an element was ultimately appropriated by the ideology of fascism and deployed as a vehicle to convey fascist messages. Michel Foucault’s “discursive formation” and Terry Eagleton’s “ideology of the aesthetic” also inform my scholarship.113  In other words, I will examine artworks not individually but in relation to networks and systems that consist of “the interplay of the rules that make possible the appearance of objects during a given period of time.”114  Finally, my study stems from the understanding that the realm of the aesthetic is not immune to the political or the social.   	
   111 Serge Guilbaut, How New York Stole the Idea of Modern Art: Abstract Expressionism, Freedom, and the Cold War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985). 112 Here, ironically, American art critics and artists incorrectly assumed that fascist art was “non-modern” art. 113 Terry Eagleton, The Ideology of the Aesthetic (Oxford: Blackwell, 1990); Michel Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge (1969; repr., London: Routledge, 2002). 114 Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge, 36. 	
   41 As for Japanese fascism, I argue that the studies by Griffin, Eatwell, and Sternhell, which see fascism as an ideology, are sufficient to refute the claims of Wilson, Duus, Okamoto, and Shillony.  If we follow Eatwell’s definition of fascism, wartime Japan was clearly a fascist state.  The wartime Japanese state touted nationalism, collectivism, and recreation of a premodern Japanese community without entirely abandoning modern science and technology, and publically denounced socialism and capitalism.  It is important to note that none of their “alternative” models (movement-regime and corporatism) have gained significant currency.  In particular, Wilson’s suggestion that Japan should be compared to China and Korea rather than Italy and Germany both fails to recognize the fact that Japan was a fully modernized nation that became the only non- Western colonial power.  Moreover, regarding Duus and Okamoto’s statement that “the psychological need to identify who or what was responsible for the tragedy of the Second World War may have passed,” I agree with historian Hilary Conroy, who wrote, “discussion of any ideology, system, or ‘ism’ is not a dead issue until the toll of dead, wounded, and brutalized it produced has been considered in more than a theoretical way.”115  On the other hand, I must concur with Wilson that the word fascism, especially in Japanese scholarship, has been used in a way that it is far too loose.  Throughout this dissertation, therefore, I strive to be attentive to the specific characteristics of fascism. Admittedly, there is a theoretical difficulty when it comes to understanding where fascism came from in the case of Japanese fascism.  One could argue that some elements of fascism already lay in Japanese culture.  The violent aspect and hierarchical social 	
   115 Hilary Conroy, “Concerning Japanese Fascism,” Journal of Asian Studies 40.2 (February 1981): 328. 	
   42 structure of fascism, for example, seem not too different from the principle of bushido (the way of warrior), which emphasized the importance of death, or Japanese traditional feudalism, which was strictly hierarchical.  In fact, some scholars have suggested that fascism was heavily inspired by “Oriental” culture, and if this is the case, the affinity between fascism and Japanese traditional political and cultural values might have made it easier for Japan to understand fascism despite its supposedly European origins. Examining the influence of non-Western forms of thought and government on fascism, Roger Eatwell cites Enrico Corradini, a key figure in Italian radical nationalism who was inspired by Japanese religious worship of the emperor.116 Hugh B. Urban has written about Julius Evola, an Italian fascist who not only had a major impact on the formation of the SS but was also interested in esotericism in India.117 Likewise, Russell Berman examines works by Emil Nolde, a member of the Nazi party and a German expressionist painter whose work was ironically dismissed by the Nazis as “degenerate.”118  Berman contends that Nolde finds anti-Enlightenment rhetoric such as the virtue of myth, virility, 	
   116Eatwell, “Universal Fascism? Approaches and Definitions,” Fascism outside Europe: The European Impulse against Domestic Conditions in the Diffusion of Global Fascism, 26. 117 Hugh B. Urban, “The Yoga of Power: Sex Magic, Tantra, and Fascism in Twentieth Century Europe,” in Magia Sexualis: Sex, Magic, and Liberation in Modern Western Esotericism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006). 118 Russell A. Berman, “German Primitivism/ Primitive Germany: The Case of Emil Nolde,” in Fascism, Aesthetics, and Culture, ed. Richard J. Golsan (Hanover; London: University Press of New England, 1992). 	
   43 and community, in cultures outside Europe, and concludes that Nolde ultimately found a similar rhetoric to his modernist primitivism in the principle of fascism.119  Moreover, it is often said that in “the late developing nations” (Italy, Germany, and Japan), industrial elites were not replaced by urban industrialists and that the contradiction between feudalism and industrialization necessarily led them to fascism.120  This theory indeed seems to support the claim that fascism was somehow intrinsic to Japan.121 At the same time, we may consider that fascism was introduced from Europe, and thus regard fascism as external to Japan.  During the war, as I discussed at the beginning of this Introduction, through the Tripartite Pact, Japan had a considerable amount of political as well as cultural exchanges and dialogues with Germany and Italy.  As I demonstrate in this dissertation, the art of machine-ism and new classicism and important ideas about eugenics and racial hygiene were indeed imported from Europe.  To a significant degree, then, importation of fascist practices and discourse played a role in Japanese fascism, and so the concept of “cultural translation” is pertinent to the study of Japanese fascism.  This model of analysis allows us to move away from previous studies of Japanese fascism that tend to be Eurocentric.  In other words, instead of comparing Japan with Germany and Italy and pointing out the “lack” of some characteristics of 	
   119 Berman, “German Primitivism,” 63. 120 Quoted in Gavan McCormack, “Nineteen Thirties Japan: Fascism?” Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 14. 2 (April-June 1982): 24. Originally in Barrington Moore, Jr., Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World (Boston: Beacon, 1967), 442. 121 This part is highly indebted to my dialogue with Sharalyn Orbaugh.  	
   44 fascism in Japan, I look at how fascism was “translated” into the Japanese context. Recent post-colonial and transnational studies successfully challenge the teleological concept of history, especially prominent in “modernization theory,” which assumes that there are certain steps that must be taken for a country to be fully modernized.  They instead illuminate how different countries make contact through trade, travel, imperialism, and war, and how these interconnections influence culture.122  The symbols and meanings of one culture are modified, appropriated, selected, or discarded when translated into another.  I argue that when fascism was “translated” to Japan it became both Japanese and fascist, making Japan’s fascism ambivalent.  What defines the relationship between Japan and other fascist nations is thus the quality of “almost but not quite the same.”123  It is liminality and partiality, not totality, that characterize Japanese fascism.  Despite the cases of Wilson, Duus, Okamoto, and Shillony, numerous scholars— both Japanese and non-Japanese—have written on fascist aspects of wartime Japan’s 	
   122 Nikos Papastergiadis, “The Limits of Cultural Translation,” in Over Here: International Perspectives on Art and Culture, ed. Gerardo Mosquera and Jean Fisher (Mass., Cambridge: the MIT Press, 2004), 330; Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000); Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge), 1992. 123 Bhabha talks about colonialism and the power relationship between the colonizer and the colonized, which is very different from my project. Yet, his idea of how one culture becomes translated in another is relevant. Homi Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), 110. 	
   45 politics and culture.  As early as the 1930s, intellectuals such as Hasegawa Nyozekan, Imanaka Tsugimaro, Gushima Kanezaburō, Sassa Hirō, and Tosaka Jun wrote on and criticized fascist aspects of Japanese politics, though some of their work was censored.124 Two Soviet Japanologists, O. Tanin and E. Yahan wrote Militarism and Fascism in Japan in 1934.125  Some of these were Marxist scholars and exclusively concerned with the economic structure of wartime Japan, but others examined fascism in a broader sense, attentive to the way in which Japanese fascism drew on existing indigenous social structures and cultural traditions, such as the emperor system and the concept of the family state.  In 1947, political scientist Maruyama Masao delivered a speech on Japanese fascism, calling it “Emperor-System Fascism” (tennōsei fashizumu), 	
   124 Hasegawa Nyozekan, Nihon fashizumu hihan [The Critique of Japanese Fascism] (Tokyo: Ōhata shoten, 1932); Imanaka Tsugimaro and Gushima Kanezaburō, Fashizumu ron [The Theory of Fascism] (Tokyo: Mikasa shobō, 1935); Gushima Kanezaburō, Fashizumu [Fascism] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1968); Sassa Hirō, Nihon fasshizumu no hatten katei [The Process of Development of Japanese Fascism] (Tokyo: Asano Shoten, 1932); Tosaka Jun, Nippon ideologī ron [The Theory of Japanese Ideology] (Tokyo: Hakuyōsha, 1935). Although Hasegawa Nyozekan criticized Japanese fascism, he later converted and became active as a state cultural authority during the war. It is his later wartime activity that I examine in the body of the dissertation, especially in Chapter One. 125 O. Tanin and T. Yohan, Militarism and Fascism in Japan (New York: International Publishers, 1934). 	
   46 illuminating Japan-specific elements such as the zaibatsu (industrial and financial business conglomerates) and the feudal system. 126  Maruyama stated: Japanese fascism . . . shared the ideology of its Italian and German counterparts in such matters as the rejection of the worldview of individualistic liberalism, opposition to parliamentary politics which is the political expression of liberalism, insistence on foreign expansion, a tendency to glorify military build-up and war, a strong emphasis on racial myths and the national essence, a rejection of class warfare based on totalitarianism, and the struggle against Marxism.127 In 1987 Yoshimi Yoshiaki influentially developed the idea of “grassroots fascism” (kusano ne no fashizumu), a state fascism that was enthusiastically embraced by politically frustrated, financially suffocated Japanese citizens, especially those in rural areas.128  In so doing, Yoshimi points out the distinct characteristics of Japanese fascism as “cool fascism”—that Japanese fascism was not a result of revolution from below, but 	
   126 George Macklin Wilson, “A New Look at the Problem of ‘Japanese Fascism,’” Comparative Studies in Society and History 10. 4 (Jul, 1968): 402-3. 127 Maruyama Masao, “The Ideology and Dynamics of Japanese Fascism,” in Thought and Behaviour in Modern Japanese Politics, ed. Ivan Morris (London; Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 1969), 35. The essay was first delivered as a lecture at Tokyo University in 1947. 128 Yoshimi Yoshiaki, Kusano ne no fashizumu: Nihon minshū no sensō taiken [Grassroots Fascism: War Experiences of the Japanese Masses] (Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1987). 	
   47 rather of implementation from above.  In fact, a great number of Japanese scholars have written on the topic, and this trend of scholarship continues to this day.129 Only Maruyama Masao’s work has been translated into English, in 1969, but since then there has been sophisticated scholarship on the subject in English that probes into Japan’s connections with other fascist nations and fascist aspects of wartime Japanese politics and culture.  For example, Miles Fletcher’s 1982 book examines the Shōwa Research Association, which was the brain trust of the Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro’s 1940 “New Order.”130 Fletcher compellingly demonstrates how intellectuals in the Association maintained ties with Italy and Germany (Miki Kiyoshi studied with Heidegger, for example), and specifically drew on the models of the two countries for policy-making.  Calling post-1935 Japan the period of “Imperial Fascism,” historian Andrew Gordon also shows how civil, private organizations established in the period of 	
   129 For recent Japanese fascism studies by Japanese scholars, see Abe Hirozumi, Nihon fashizumu ron [The Theory of Fascism] (Tokyo: Kage shobō, 1996); Akazawa Shirō and Kitagawa Kenzō, eds, Bunka to fashizumu: senjiki Nihon ni okeru bunka no kōbō [Culture and Fascism: The Light of Culture under Wartime Japan] (Tokyo: Nihon keizai hyōron sha, 1993); Fujino Yutaka, Kyōsei sareta kenkō: Nihon fashizumuka no seimei to shintai [Forced Health: Life and Body under Japanese Fascism] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Hirofumi kan, 2000). 130 William Miles Fletcher, The Search for a New Order: Intellectuals and Fascism in Prewar Japan (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1982). 	
   48 Imperial Democracy were gradually swallowed up into state organization through the Election Purification Movement of 1935 and the National Mobilization Law of 1938.131 In her book Authenticating Culture in Imperial Japan (1996), Leslie Pincus traces Japanese philosopher Kuki Shūzō, who studied phenomenology and hermeneutics under Martin Heidegger in Germany, and investigates the production of Japanese aesthetics in relation to the concepts of the organic community of Volksgemeinschaft and the privileging of the collective “Being.”132  Also arguing that 1930s Japan was fascist, historian Harry Harootunian’s 2001 book on Japan’s experience of modernity is global in its scope, and sees fascism as a modern nation’s particular response to modernity.  He writes, “Fascism in Japan, and elsewhere, appeared under the guise of what might be called gemeinschaft capitalism and the claims of a social order free from the uncertainties and indeterminacies of an alienated civil society, where an eternalized and unchanging cultural or communal order was put into the service of the capitalist mode of production to establish a ‘capitalism without capitalism.’”133  The desire for “capitalism without capitalism” was most well articulated in the 1942 symposium “overcoming the modern,” a subject Harootunian examines at length in his book.  	
   131 Andrew Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy in Prewar Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 320. 132 Leslie Pincus, Authenticating Culture in Imperial Japan: Kuki Shūzō and the Rise of National Aesthetics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996). 133 Harry Harootunian, “Overcoming Modernity,” in Overcome by Modernity: History, Culture, and Community in Interwar Japan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), xxx. 	
   49 More recently, historian Kim Brandt, in her 2007 book on the Japanese Arts and Crafts Movement (mingei), examines how the wartime plan for a factory dormitory sponsored by the wartime state was predicated on the vision of creating a classless, rationalist fascist utopia that prepares for total war.134  The most important recent developments, however, are Japanese literature specialist Alan Tansman’s monograph on fascism and wartime literature The Aesthetics of Japanese Fascism (2009), and the anthology The Culture of Japanese Fascism that Tansman edited.  The anthology includes essays by major scholars such as Kevin Doak, Kim Brandt, Harry Harootunian, and Marilyn Ivy that specifically explore the cultural production of fascism.  Examining a wide variety of media (film, architecture, design, literature, museum exhibition), the contributors build upon recent scholarship on fascism and fascist culture by Roger Griffin, Mark Antliff, Alice Kaplan, Jeffrey Schnapp and others.  Importantly, however, the anthology does not include an essay on paintings.  Chapter Summary  This dissertation assumes that wartime Japan was a fascist state, if not entirely, and considers what visual form the fascist ideology took in Japan.  Exploring representations of space, time, and the human body in Japanese wartime paintings, this study will look at four different characteristics that have been identified as fascist by other scholars—the social regimentation, new classicism, the racialized body, and the mechanized body. 	
   134 See especially Chapter Five of Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty. 	
   50 Chapter One looks at a corpus of Japanese-style paintings produced between 1935 and 1940 called machine-ist paintings (kikaishugi/ mekanizumu), such as Saeki Shunkō’s Tearoom (1936), that depict modern girls (moga).  Attending to the socio-political context of their production, I suggest that the visual field of the paintings could be understood as metonymic of regimented, over-homogenized fascist social space in which individuals are subsumed by the state and are surveilled, mobilized, and disciplined for war.  In so doing, I demonstrate how a strain of international modernism—machine aesthetics and rationalism—was co-opted by the state. Chapter Two continues the discussion on Japanese-style paintings and studies bijin- ga (pictures of beautiful people) executed by female Japanese-style painter Uemura Shōen (1875-1949), such as Wind (1939) and Lady Kusunoki (1944).  Illuminating stylistic transformations in her art that took place in the late 1930s, I situate her works within the discourse of a new classicism (shin kotenshugi), which combines the elements of both modernism and classicism.  I demonstrate how her wartime art resonates with the early 1940s discourse of “overcoming the modern” (kindai no chōkoku) and how it articulates the fascist conceptualization of time, which envisions the future as a recreation of past.  This chapter also compares Shōen with the German filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl and interrogates the role of female artists in a fascist state.    Chapter Three provides an overview of War Campaign Record Paintings (Sensō Sakusen Kirokuga), Western-style propaganda paintings commissioned by the state.  It examines salient aspects of war art and surveys works by leading wartime painters such as Koiso Ryōhei, Miyamoto Saburō, Ihara Usaburō, and Fujita Tsuguharu.  I explore the relationship between the War Campaign Record Paintings and photography and Germany 	
   51 and also examines the prominent disembodiment of the human body that appeared in Japanese war art, more specifically, in Fujita Tsuguharu’s paintings. Chapter Four analyzes representations of the material body in War Campaign Record Paintings, including Miyamoto Saburō’s Meeting of Generals Yamashita and Percival (1942) and Fujita Tsuguharu’s The Divine Soldier Is Here To Rescue (1944), in relation to the fascist discourses of eugenics and scientific racism.  Although scientific racism was introduced from Nazi Germany, I suggest that the paintings do not represent the concept of race (jinshu), which was understood to be about the scientific/biological measurement of external characteristics of the human body; rather, they represent a related, slightly modified concept of ethnicity (minzoku): human taxonomy based on “subjective,” internal characteristics.  That Japan modified the concept of race and its visual manifestation, I argue, reflects the fact that Japan was a non-white country fighting a colonial war. Chapter Five continues to investigate representations of the material body in War Campaign Record Paintings.  This chapter, however, considers the fascist concept of the mechanized human body and looks at the representation of the Kamikaze Special Attack Forces, a group of male soldiers who “body-rammed” into enemy targets.  As in Chapter Four, I show how fascism manifested itself differently in Japan: the pilots’ conception of their bodies as weapons resonates with Klaus Theweleit’s claim that a fascist subject identifies his body as armor, but the visual representations of the dying attackers most often drew on “traditional” Japanese aesthetics, such as the symbolism of fallen cherry blossoms.  Finally, in the Conclusion I summarize my findings and consider the postwar transformations of the fascist discourses. 	
   52 CHAPTER ONE The Fascist Social Space of “Proper Place” and Japanese-style Machine-ist Paintings 1935-1940   Introduction Tearoom <Figure 1-1>, painted by Saeki Shunkō in 1936, is a painting of two café waitresses with bobbed hair.  The modern girls (moga) wear identical Western-style uniforms, their jackets and skirts in dark yet primary colors of red, blue, and yellow. They face the viewer, standing side by side in front of a bar counter and holding a stainless steel tray.  Next to them are a white concrete pedestal and an aluminum shelf that neatly holds variously shaped green cacti in separate vessels.  The floor’s diamond motif, the angular edges of the plants, and the round surfaces of the waitresses’ faces and skirts add geometric harmony to the picture and signal the artist’s interest in modernist abstraction.  Shōwa Sophistication: Japan in the 1930s, the exhibition held by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston in 2008, displayed this painting and interpreted it as Japan’s celebration of modernity. According to the museum website, paintings such as Saeki’s expressed a worldview held by large numbers of Japanese during the 1930s. They saw themselves as sophisticated citizens of the world: their country created a national park system to rival that of the United States, their country sent successful teams to both the winter and summer Olympics (and, in fact, was awarded the right to host the 1940s games by the International 	
   53 Committee), and they celebrated Christmas exactly as all Western countries did (although in Japan it did not have any religious significance).135 Modernity here was positively understood as “sophistication” and implicitly contrasted to the following period that is known as the “dark valley.” Not everybody reads Japanese-style paintings of modern girls produced in the late 1930s positively, however.  In his exhibition review, Greg Cook critically pointed out that the museum did not explain the relationship between the paintings displayed and the socio-political context of the developing war and atrocities, including the Nanjing Massacre of 1937.136  Sebastian Smee, who also reviewed the exhibition, suggests that the girls in Saeki’s painting appear “generic” and “unapproachable” and look like “palace guards”: placed against a “grid”-like background, the girls seem to be “passive women who dreamily, even languidly, accepted their place.”137  Indeed, in Tearoom, the subjects’ faces appear hollow and grim as they look emotionlessly into the distance, and as a result, 	
   135 The museum did not produce a catalogue for this exhibition, but information relating to it can be found on the museum’s website. The website does not name the show’s curator. <> (accessed on 30 May 2010). 136 Greg Cook, “East meets West,” The Boston Phoenix, 24 March 2009. <> (accessed on 30 May 2010). 137 Sebastian Smee, “A Changing Japan: Transporting Show Captures Era’s Shift,” The Boston Globe, 9 August  2009. < ts_japan_of_the_1930s/> (accessed on 25 May 2010) 	
   54 the painting evokes a sense of coldness, solemnity, and chilling calmness.  Smee furthermore writes that the painting expresses “the flavor of Japanese modernism that had changed” and that it evokes “a new kind of conformity, one that uncannily anticipated the peculiar mixture of Westernization and corporate conformity in postwar Japan.”138 Regarding 1930s Japanese-style paintings of modern girls more broadly, art historian Shiokawa Kyōko has stated that she sees “the eeriness of fascism” behind them.139 Another art historian, Satō Miki, similarly writes that the paintings, whether directly or indirectly, represent the social conditions and unstable situation of the 1930s, the advent of the Fifteen Year War.140  In other words, unlike the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, these reviewers and art historians see a quality of conformity, collectivism, and state control—rather than liberalism, individualism, and democracy—in paintings such as Saeki’s Tearoom. 	
   138 Smee, “A Changing Japan.” 139 Originally in Shiokawa Kyōko, “Fūzokuga: minshūshi no shōnin” [Genre Works: Witnesses of History of the Masses], in Kindai Nihonga ni okeru fūzokuga [Genre Works in Modern Japanese-style Paintings](Kyoto: Kyoto City Museum, 1984), 7. Quoted in Satō Miki, “Nihongaka tachi no shisen: 1930 nendai no Nihonga ni tsuite” [The Gaze of Japanese Artists: About Japanese-style Paintings of the 1930s], in 1930 nendai ten [The Exhibition of 1930s Art] (Tsu: Mie Prefectural Art Museum, 1999). Reproduced online <>(accessed 30 May 2010). 140 Satō Miki, “Nihongaka tachi no shisen: 1930 nendai no Nihonga ni tsuite.” 	
   55 In this chapter, I examine a corpus of Japanese-style paintings produced between 1935 and 1940 that depict modern urban women, attending to the way in which they reflect the socio-political context of their production.  I will argue that the visual field of these paintings can be understood as metonymic of a regimented, over-homogenized fascist social space wherein individuals are subsumed under the state, being surveilled, mobilized, and disciplined for war.  In so doing, this chapter shows how international modernist aesthetics (such as machine aesthetics and rationalism), which was informed by modernity (the development of technology and science), was co-opted by the state. First, I trace the history of Japanese-style paintings and explain how the paintings produced between 1935 and 1940—which share aesthetics with several closely- connected modernist art forms such as Art Deco, Bauhaus, Le Corbusier’s architecture, machine art, and New Objectivity—are different from the Japanese-style paintings of the previous period.  Illustrating how Bauhaus and Le Corbusier’s works survived under fascism and were appropriated by the state in Germany and Italy to design the social space of Gleichschaltung (German: “forcible coordination”) and gerarchia (Italian: “hierarchy”), I argue that this appropriation of international modernism took place in Japan too. Considered from this perspective, the group of paintings examined in this chapter, I suggest, can be read in terms of regimentation, state surveillance, and mechanization/dehumanization of the human subject.  Lastly, I explain how, in Japan, the rationalized fascist social space was theorized and understood as embodying “Japanese” values and aesthetics. I conclude this chapter by drawing out how my study challenges the previously held assumptions about modern girls in particular and modernity and modern art in general. 	
   56  Japanese-Style Machinist Paintings 1935-1940 Japanese-style painting (Nihon-ga) is a genre established by nationalist art critic Okakura Tenshin and Harvard graduate Ernest Fenollosa in the late nineteenth century. They attempted to create “authentic” Japanese national art by (paradoxically) merging Western ideas—that fine arts should exclude calligraphic elements and be created for the public—and Japanese artistic traditions.  Consequently encompassing a wide range of Japanese pre-modern artistic traditions such as the Kanō, Tosa, Rinpa, and Shijō schools, to name but a few, Japanese-style paintings were defined in opposition to Western-style paintings (yōga).141  Kobori Tomoto’s Abolition of the Han System (1871) <Figure 1-2>, to which I will return, is a naturalistically rendered history painting and an example of the early Japanese-style paintings. With the introduction of impressionism from Europe, Japanese-style painters began deploying art as a means of individualized expression.142  The New Literati Painting Movement (shin nanga) of the late 1910s, for example, explored spontaneous 	
   141 Victoria Weston, Japanese Painting and National Identity: Okakura Tenshin and His Circle (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2004); Ellen Conant, Nihonga: Transcending the Past: Japanese-Style Painting, 1868-1968 (St. Louis, MO: St. Louis Art Museum, 1995). 142 Aida-Yuen Wong, “A New Life for Literati Painting in the Early Twentieth Century: Eastern Art and Modernity, a Transcultural Narrative?” Artibus Asiae 60 (2000): 297- 326; Paul Berry and Morioka Michiyo, Literati Modern: Bunjinga from Late Edo to Twentieth-Century Japan (Honolulu: Honolulu Academy of Arts, 2008). 	
   57 brushstrokes as expressions of artists’ individual subjectivity, drawing on the Chinese literati tradition.  In 1911, the magazine Shirakaba introduced post-impressionist works by Cézanne, van Gogh, Gauguin, and Matisse, and by Japanese-style artists such as Kokei, Maeda Seison, and Takeuchi Seihō, who had travelled to Europe in the 1920s.143 Tsuchida Bakusen also studied in Europe and was heavily influenced by Paul Gauguin. Bakusen experimented with formal abstraction and dramatic colors while turning to the decorative qualities and smooth paints of Japanese traditional art, such as yamato-e, Rinpa, and ukiyo-e.144  Unlike Kobori’s 1871 work, Bakusen’s Maiko in Landscape <Figure 1-3> features thick paint.  While it might not be about contemporary life, Bakusen’s work also lacks the element of historicity found in Kobori’s painting.  With its saturated colors, deformation of the figure, spatial disjuncture, though it belongs to the traditional genre of bijin-ga (paintings of beautiful people), Bakusen’s work marks a new phase of Japanese-style paintings that were informed by post-impressionist modern European art. 	
   143 Shajitsu no keifu IV: “kaiga” no jukusei—1930 nendai no Nihonga to yōga [The Genealogy of Realism: Maturation of “Painting”—Japanese-Style Paintings and Western- Style Paintings] (Tokyo: The Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo, 1994). 144 Doris Croissant, “Icons of Femininity: Japanese National Painting and the Paradox of Modernity,” in Gender and Power in The Japanese Visual Field, ed. Joshua S. Mostow, Norman Bryson, and Maribeth Graybill (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2003). For more on Bakusen, see John Szostak, “The Kokuga Sōsaku Kyōkai and Kyoto Nihonga Reform in the Meiji, Taishō and Early Shōwa Years (1900-1928), Ph.D. diss. (Seattle: University of Washington, 2005). 	
   58 A slightly different artistic trend started to develop around 1935, in which painters portrayed modern girls with modern industrial products.  Sasaki’s Tearoom, which depicts industrial materials including aluminum and steel, belongs to this genre, and for that reason is distinct from Bakusen’s Maiko in Landscape, which focuses on the natural landscape.  Yamakawa Shūhō’s Three Sisters (1936) <Figure 1-4> shares certain characteristics with Tearoom.  It is a portrait of three daughters of right-wing politician Kuhara Fusanosuke (1869–1965), and it brings the modern motif of a white sedan into the pictorial space of the Japanese-style painting.145  Similarly, Biwa Concert <Figure 1- 5> by Shibata Suiha (b. 1908), a painting of a woman with permed hair playing a biwa lute (a Japanese variation of the Chinese pipa), includes a microphone that looks like a modern-day camera in the right foreground of the painting.146  Ōta Chōu’s Women Observing the Stars (1936) <Figure 1-6 > depicts a woman in a kimono sitting on a modern Western chair looking through a telescope, while Bathing Women I (1938) by Ogura Yuki depicts two naked women in a modern bath.  This artistic trend was not limited to Japan: Korean artist Lee Yoo-tae’s Research, produced slightly later in 1944, also juxtaposes woman and modernity, showing a female scientist in a laboratory. 	
   145 Kendall H. Brown, Sharon Minichiello, and the Honolulu Academy of Arts, Taishō Chic: Japanese Modernity, Nostalgia, and Deco (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 46. 146 Brown, “Flowers of Taisho: Images of Women in Japanese Society and Art: 1915- 1935,” in Taisho Chic, 82. 	
   59 Notably, all of these paintings are remarkably large.147  This artistic trend continued until 1940, when traditional and historical subjects came to dominate the field of Japanese- style paintings. No label was attached to this artistic trend in Japanese-style paintings, either by the artists themselves or by critics.  This is perhaps because the trend only continued for a few years and tended to be pursued by younger artists who had not yet established their names.  Moga and machines might have entered the Japanese-style paintings earlier, but I argue that the quality of regimentation that I discussed above can be seen primarily in the paintings produced around and after 1935.  As the Miyako shinbun in 1936 referred to a Japanese-style painting that shows subways as machine-ist (mekanizumu or kikaishugi), for convenience, throughout this chapter I will call the above-mentioned paintings Japanese-style machine-ist paintings.148 One of the characteristics of the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings is regimented spatial coordination.  Kobori’s Abolition of the Han System, mentioned above, creates an illusion of three-dimensional space, placing figures against an architectural background. The artist draws on the pictorial conventions of European academicism and the principle of scientific perspective.  As a result, the painting is naturalistic in its execution. Bakusen’s Maiko in Landscape, created fifty years later, defies the spatial orientation of 	
   147 Tearoom (264 x 197 cm), Three Sisters (177 x 333 cm), Biwa Concert (172 x 188 cm), Woman (150 x 200 cm), Women Observing the Stars (273 x 206 cm), Bathing Women I (209 x 174 cm). and Research (210x 151 cm). 148 “Nihon-ga nimo mekanizumu” [Machine Aesthetics in Japanese-style Painting Too], Miyako shinbun, September 10, 1936. 	
   60 Kobori’s painting.  Just as Gauguin rebelled against academicism, Bakusen’s work challenges perspectivism, creating a flat, two-dimensional space.149  In the painting, the shape of the coast snakes freely and the tree-covered island in the background seems to hover behind the girl’s head.  Both the coast and the island refuse to recede in space. Machine-ist paintings of the 1930s operate in the two-dimensional space of Bakusen’s painting; unlike in Bakusen’s painting, however, the spatial formation of the machine-ist paintings is much more regimented, rationalized, and mechanically coordinated.  While Bakusen uses organic, soft, round forms to stylize the shapes of the human figure and the natural environment, Yamakawa, for example, compares the contour lines of the three figures with the streamlined body of the car in his Three Sisters. In Shibata’s Biwa Concert too, the mechanical, plastic look of the microphone is echoed by the rather stiff outline that defines the biwa player’s body.  What emphasizes the firmness of the lines is a simplified composition that makes use of a large flat blank space and focuses on the horizontal and vertical qualities of the canvas.  In Three Sisters, spatial depth is only indicated by the grayish shadow under the car, and the background is as monotonous as the white of the car’s surface.  Likewise, in Biwa Concert, the empty space does not provide a clue as to where the female player is located.150  The vertical form of the microphone is replicated in the upright posture of the woman. 	
   149 It is important to note that Bakusen’s project of Kokuga Seisaku Kyōkai was to create “national art.” In that sense, it remains to be established whether he ever tried to challenge the establishment in the political sense like Gauguin. 150 Kikuya Yoshio makes a similar point about the empty background in Japanese-style paintings produced around the 1930s. Kikuya Yoshio, “Shōwa zenki ni okeru inten to 	
   61 Comparing Kokei’s Bath (1921) <Figure 1-7> and Ogura Yuki’s Bathing Women I (1938) makes the quality of regimentation in 1930s paintings even clearer.151  The two paintings are strikingly similar: both depict two naked women soaking in emerald green water.  While Kokei’s bathroom has a wooden floor and tiles, however, Ogura’s is made of white industrial tile.  The sense of warmth that the wooden architecture creates in Kokei’s painting is absent in Ogura’s work, which focuses on the cool, sleek surface of the tile.  And while Kokei creates a soft focus on the naked women’s bodies, Ogura clearly delineates the contour of the female bodies with firm black lines.  Showing the white tiles at the bottom of the bathtub through the transparent water, Ogura places both women in a grid created by the rectangular tiles.  The Genealogy of Machine Aesthetics in Modern Japan  The Japanese-style machine-ist paintings employ the visual language of international modernism that embraced the development of science and technology, 	
   sono hasei dantai to no kankei” [The relationship between Inten and Other Art Groups in the Early Showa Period], in Nihon bijutsuin hyakunenshi (Tokyo: Nihon bijutsuin, 1998), 342–43. 151 Ogura was the second female artist to receive the Order of Culture, the first being Uemura Shōen. Ogura is the most famous of the artists I examine in this chapter. Although Sasaki, Yamakawa, Shibata, Nakamura, and Ōta studied with relatively well known artists (Itō Shinsui, Itō Shōha, Kaburagi Kiyokata, Nishiyama Suishō and Maeda Seison, respectively), I could not locate writings or comments by them on the specific works analyzed here. 	
   62 which emerged in the first few decades of the twentieth century.  This school of international modernism, distinct from other forms of modernism such as primitivism and fauvism, celebrated ideas and aesthetics associated with modernization, such as rationality, efficiency, objectivity, mass production, and standardization.  Although machine aesthetics did not appear in the Japanese-style paintings until around 1935, they existed in other artistic media.  Several different yet closely connected art forms and movements in Euro-America—Art Deco, machine art, Bauhaus’ design and photography, Le Corbusier’s rationalist architecture, and New Objectivity—were introduced to Japan during the 1920s, the time of Taishō democracy, and the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings show their influence. One of the art forms that seem to have inspired the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings is Art Deco.  Charlotte Benton and Tim Benton identify Art Deco as a cosmopolitan style of art developed between 1910 and 1939 which is closely connected to capitalist consumerism, and which embraces the two dimensional, simplified shapes of electronics and machines such as streamline and zigzag.152  Taisho Chic: Japanese Modernity, Nostalgia and Deco, the exhibition organized by the Honolulu Academy of Art in 2002, included Yamakawa Shūhō’s Three Sisters and Shibata Suiha’s Biwa Concert.  As the exhibition title suggests, the museum highlighted the connection between the paintings and the Art Deco movement.  The museum displayed the paintings alongside Art Deco style decorative arts, including an aluminum condiment tray set 	
   152 Charlotte Benton and Tim Benton, “The Style and the Age,” in Art Deco 1910-1939 (Boston: Bulfinch Press, 2003). 	
   63 which, according to the exhibition catalogue, “was considered the ultimate in art deco design” at the time.153 Another art form that is important to understand the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings is machine art, the landmark exhibition which took place in the Museum of Modern Art, New York in 1934.  Some of the industrial products depicted in the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings were displayed in this exhibition in which daily products ranging from forks and spoons to clocks and electric toasters became examples of “art.”  The way in which these products were displayed in the exhibition and photographed for the catalogue, creating a kind of sacred aura around the objects, evoked capitalist advertising culture and commodity fetishism.  Curator Philip Johnson articulated the allure of machine art, which was not so different from the aesthetics of Art Deco: the beauty of machine art is in part the abstract beauty of ‘straight lines and circles’ made into actual tangible ‘surfaces and solids’ by means of tools…machines are, visually speaking, a practical application of geometry…A knowledge of function may be of considerable importance in the visual enjoyment of machine art…using or understanding the use of, the calipers, the retort, or the rotary floor polisher is likely to increase their aesthetic value… in addition to perfection of shape and rhythm, beauty of 	
   153 Taisho Chic, 120. 	
   64 surface is an important aesthetic quality of machine art at its best…the machine implies precision, simplicity, smoothness, reproducibility.154 Johnson thus claimed the beauty of industrial materials and economical design.  The chair and telescope depicted in Ōta’s Women Observing the Stars and the laboratory microscope and boiling flasks in Lee Yoo-tae’s Research are almost identical to those displayed in the Machine Art exhibition <Figure 1-8, 1-9, 1-10, 1-11>. The beauty of machines had already been discussed in the preceding period by artists and art critics,155 especially Nakahara Minoru (1893-1990), Murayama Tomoyoshi (1901-1977), Koga Harue (1895-1933), and Itagaki Takao (1894-1966).  Their discussions about machine-ism quite likely paved the way for the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings.  According to art historian Omuka Toshiharu, machine-ism (mekanizumu/ kikaishugi) was first pursued around 1924 by a group of artists associated with Nakahara Minoru, who studied art in France and was active in the circle of Japanese avant-garde groups such as Action (Akushon).156  Nakahara defined machine-ism not only as paintings that depict machines but also as works whose composition and structure 	
   154 Philip Johnson, forward to Machine Art (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1934): n.p. 155 For more on machine-ism before the war, see Chinghsin Wu, “Transcending the Boundaries of the ‘Isms’: Pursuing Modernity Through the Machine in 1920s and 1930s Japanese Avant-Garde Art, in Rethinking Japanese Modernism, ed. Roy Starrs (Leiden: Brill Academic Publisher, 2011). 156 Omuka Toshiharu, Nihon no avangyarudo geijutsu: Mavo to sono jidai [Japanese Avant-garde Art: Mavo and Its Period] (Tokyo: Seidosha, 2001), 287-288. 	
   65 were mechanistic.157  When machine-ism was introduced to Japan, as Omuka points out, it was associated with art that was anarchistic, anti-conformist art with elements of Dadaism.158 Murayama Tomoyoshi, the leader of the avant-garde group Mavo, enthusiastically promoted the idea of machine-ism.  Murayama, who studied in Berlin for a year from 1922 to 1923, learned machine aesthetics through Italian Futurism and Russian Constructivism.159  Murayama, who became increasingly interested in Marxism and joined the Japan Communist Party in 1930, wrote an essay titled “The Machine Aesthetics in Recent Art” and advocated machine art in the context of proletarian revolution.160 Surveying how machine aesthetics had emerged in various art forms from surrealism to cubism and acknowledging how machines could be a tool for the bourgeoisie to exploit workers, Maruyama contends that machines could be a symbol for the strength of workers and that proletarian artists’ mission is to find the beauty of machines particular to workers and elevate it to the realm of art.161 	
   157 Omuka, Nihon no avangyarudo geijutsu, 290. 158 Omuka, Nihon no avangyarudo geijutsu, 292. 159 Omuka, Nihon no avangyarudo geijutsu, 293-295 160 Maruyama Tomoyoshi, “Saikin no geijutsu ni okeru kikaibi” [The Machine Aesthetics in Recent Art], Atorie, May 1929. 161 Murayama, “Saikin no geijutsu ni okeru kikaibi,” 22. Another avant-garde artist Kamabara Tai also considers the role of machine in proletarian society. Kambara Tai, “Kikai wa naniga yue ni warera puroretariāto ni tottenomi 	
   66 Western-style painter Koga Harue was also fascinated by machines.162  He is recognized as the most representative artist of Japanese surrealism (chōgenjitsushugi), which appeared in Japanese visual arts for the first time at the Nikakai exhibition in 1929. Although he considered himself a surrealist, his understanding of surrealism was different from that advocated by André Breton (1896-1966), which was about the expression of inner subjectivity and the unconscious through the exploration of dream and the rejection of reason.  Koga, for example, stated that “art of imagination and dream is not surrealist [chōgenjitsu]…Surrealism is about conscious constructivism [ishikiteki kōsei] that yearns for purity.  Therefore, surrealism is intellectualism.”163  His most famous surrealist work, Sea <Figure 1-12>, executed in oil on canvas in 1929, depicts a woman in swimwear with motifs that stand for the modern: factory, submarine, balloon, and lighthouse.  As Ōtani Shōgo points out, Koga’s montage-like—rather than collage-like—arrangement and his attention to forms of industrial objects allude to preoccupation with the 	
   utsukushiika?” [Why Does Machine Art Beautiful Only to Proletariat Art?], Shi/ Genjitsu 3, 1930. 162 For scholarship on Koga Harue in English, see Chinghsin Wu, “Japan Encounters the Avant-Garde: The Art and Thought of Koga Harue, 1895-1933,” Ph.D. diss. (Los Angels: University of California, Los Angels, 2010). 163 Originally in Atorie, January 1930. Quoted in Nagato Saki, “Fuyūsuru imēji: Koga Harue [The Images that Float],” in Koga Harue: A Retrospective (Tokyo: Tokyo Shimbun, 2010), 173. 	
   67 rationalism of machine-ism more than to surrealism.164  Koga’s Sea, which places a woman and modern industrial objects in the same visual field, indeed looks similar to Japanese-style machine-ist paintings. Art critic Itagaki Takao also promoted machine aesthetics, and his theory became prevalent, particularly in the field of photography.  Itagaki published an influential book titled The Interrelation Between Machine and Art (Kikai to geijutsu to no kōryū) in 1929, and in 1932 Horino Masao, who was a member of the New Photography Research Society (Shinkō shashin kenkyūkai), published a collection of his photographs called Camera: Eye x Steel: Composition (Kamera, Me x tetsu. Kōsei), drawing on Itagaki’s theory.165  Challenging the pictorialist convention of photography that prevailed between the 1900s and the 1920s in Japan, Itagaki and Horino explored a new, objective way of seeing reality and advocated an art of mechanical civilization.166  As art historian Takeba Joe claims, Itagaki’s theory of machine-ism originated in his interest in the New Objectivity (Neue Sachlichkeit) movement in Germany.  New Objectivity was a term coined by German museum director Gustav Hartlaub in 1923.  It referred to a corpus of 	
   164 Ōtani Shōgo, “Chōgenjitsushugi to kikaishugi no hazamade” [Between Surrealism and Machine-ism], Geisō (1994): 101-129. More on the connection between Koga and machine-ism, see Nagata Ken’ichi, “Koga Harue ‘Umi’ (1929) to tokeru sakana”[Koga Harue’s Sea (1929) and Dissolving Fish], Bigaku (Fall, 2006): 29-42. 165 Takeba Joe, “The Age of Modernism: From Visualization to Socialization,” in The History of Japanese Photography,” ed. Anne Wilkes Tucker (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2003), 146. 166 Takeba, “The Age of Modernism: From Visualization to Socialization,” 144. 	
   68 post-expressionist paintings produced after the Great War that take urban contemporary life as their subject matter and represent such qualities as scientific objectivity, stillness, and sobriety, and was a part of the “return to order” movement in the post-war Europe that rejected extreme forms of avant-garde experimentation.167   New Objectivity and Japanese-style machine-ist paintings seem to share some qualities in common: a sense of coldness, matter-of-factness, stillness, isolation, and mathematical precision in urban city life. There are two canonical international art movements that influenced all of the above-mentioned Japanese artists and art critics who pursued machine-ism: Bauhaus and Le Corbusier’s rationalism.  Bauhaus, founded by architect Walter Gropius in 1919 in Germany, attempted to integrate art into everyday life and create a total work of art by infusing fine arts, decorative arts, and architecture.  Though the direction of the school changed over the years, Bauhaus in the 1920s embraced industrial technology and was considered to be associated with socialist reforms.168  Japanese artists, such as photographer Natori Yōnosuke, who studied in Berlin in 1928, were already familiar with 	
   167 Irene Guenther, “Magic Realism, New Objectivity, and the Arts during the Weimar Republic,” in Magical Realism: Theory, History, Community, ed. Lois Parkinson Zamora and Wendy B. Faris (Durham; London: Duke University Press, 1995); Kenneth E Silver, “A More Durable Self,” in Chaos & Classicism: Art in France, Italy, and Germany, 1918-1936 (New York: Guggenheim Museum, 2010). 168 Kathleen James-Chakraborty, tntroduction to Bauhaus Culture: From Weimar to The Cold War, ed. Kathleen James-Chakraborty (Minneapolis; London: University of Minnesota Press, 2006), xii. 	
   69 Bauhaus works, including photographs by Hungarian Bauhaus artist László Moholy- Nagy. Moholy-Nagy’s Soviet-constructivist-inspired photographs became much better known in Japan when the German International Travel Photography Exhibition, which was based on the Film und Foto exhibition in Stuttgart in 1929 and displayed 1180 photographs, was held in the Tokyo Asahi Newspaper Company building in April 1931.169  Japanese architects such as Mizutani Takehiko, Yamawaki Iwao, and Yamaguchi Bunzō attended the Bauhaus school in the late 1920s, and they studied Bauhaus’ modern, functional, unornamented, standardized buildings.  In 1932, Kawakida Renshichirō founded The Institute of Architecture and Applied Arts (Shin kenchiku kōgei gakuin), which was modeled on the Bauhaus school.  The interior of the house built in 1935 by Tsuchiura Kameki (1897-1996), who taught at the Institute, bears a striking resemblance to the bathroom painted by Ogura Yuki in her Bathing Women I three years later. Le Corbusier’s rationalist architecture, which shared aesthetics with Bauhaus in many ways, was also introduced to Japan.  Le Corbusier (1887-1965), a Swiss-born French architect, advocated deploying mass production and standardization of housing in an effort to reconstruct urban cities in France after the destruction of the Great War (1914-1919).  Famously proclaiming that “a house is a machine for living in,” Le Corbusier actively incorporated into his working principle American, capitalist models of Scientific Management such as Fordism and Taylorism, which turned to industrial efficiency and mass production and aimed at greater productivity through the use of 	
   169 Takeba, “The Age of Modernism: From Visualization to Socialization,” 146; Tōkyō- berurin/ Tokyo-Berlin (Tokyo: Mori Art Museum, 2006), 189. 	
   70 assembly lines and standardization.170  With Scientific Management, Le Corbusier thought housing could be mass-produced and thus would be available to all, which would contribute to social renewal and avoid socialist revolution.171  Japanese architect Maekawa Kunio (1905-1986) lived in France between 1928 and 1930 and apprenticed with Le Corbusier.  There, Maekawa studied and worked on Le Corbusier’s public projects, residential designs, and low-cost housing.172  Le Corbusier’s design and writings were translated and introduced to Japan around 1929, and were zealously discussed and emulated by Japanese architects and critics.173  The Fascist Society: Gleischschaltung, Gerarchia, and Proper Place Although Japanese-style machine-ist paintings produced in the mid- and late- 1930s drew on machine aesthetics developed in the previous period, they were situated in a markedly different context.  The modernist style of art is often associated with liberal political ideologies such as individualism and democracy, but modernism did not disappear in the 1930s in Germany, Italy, and Japan, the countries that established fascist societies.  Rather than equating an artistic style with a political ideology, it is important to examine how modernism negotiated its politics as its social context changed. In what 	
   170 Mary McLeod, “‘Architecture or Revolution’: Taylorism, Technocracy and Social Change,” Art Journal 43. 2 (1987): 135. 171 Mary McLeod, “‘Architecture or Revolution,’” 136. 172 Reynolds, Maekawa Kunio and the Emergence of Japanese Modernist Architecture, 59-61. 173 Reynolds, Maekawa Kunio, 69. 	
   71 follows, I will first discuss Bauhaus and Le Corbusier’s works, which continued to exist in Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, respectively.  Drawing on historians such as Yamanouchi Yasushi, I will argue that wartime Japan was also fascist in its social structure.  I will ultimately demonstrate how the state mobilized modernism for its political ends in Japan and suggest that the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings should be read in this light. Despite the infamous “degenerate art exhibition” of 1933 held by the Nazis, which supposedly put an end to German modern art, and the closing of the Bauhaus school in the same year, recent scholarship documents the production of Bauhaus-style art and the activities of Bauhaus members under the Third Reich.  The German craft movement was closely related to Nazi economic policies in which Germany tried to be self-sufficient, and Bauhaus craft design played a major role in this discourse.174  Likewise, many Bauhaus architects—Gustav Hassenpflug, Konrad Püschel, Werner Hebebrand, Walter Kratz, Rudolf Wolters, to name a few—received commissions and positions from Nazi Germany and designed private industrial facilities and military buildings.175  As Winfried Nerdinger indicates, Bauhaus’ aesthetic principle and the Nazi ideology were not incompatible: “Connecting technology with industrial production, speed, and progress on armaments promoted the use of technical materials such as glass, steel, and concrete, as well as the architectural representation of technical values such as rationalization and 	
   174 John Heskett, “Modernism and Archaism in Design in the Third Reich.” 175 Nerdinger, “Bauhaus Architecture in the Third Reich,”140; 148. 	
   72 functionality, even encouraging a Nazi-specific concept of the ‘beauty of technology.’”176 Thus, Bauhaus played a role in Nazi society, which is characterized by Gleichschaltung. Gleichschaltung, meaning “forcible coordination,” “synchronization,” or “enforced homogeneity,” refers to the mechanical means by which the Nazi party dismantled all autonomous institutions, forced citizens to join party organizations, tried to eliminate disparities between classes and regions, coordinated legal systems and bureaucracy, and rooted out resistance.177  Under Gleichschaltung, all people were forced to act in official organizations that were like small cells that constituted the state: the society was organized in a grid. 178  This compartmentalization of citizens allowed the government additional influence and control.  The social space of Gleichschaltung thus would have been evened out, geometrically organized, and homogenized. As Bauhaus experienced a smooth transformation from the Weimar Republic to the Third Reich, Le Corbusier’s works did not have much problem shifting from the post-	
   176 Nerdinger, “Bauhaus Architecture,” 147. 177 Yamanouchi Yasushi, “Total-War and System Integration: A Methodological Introduction,” in Total War and “Modernization,” ed. Yasushi Yamanouchi, J. Victor Koschmann, and Ryuichi Narita (Ithaca; New York: Cornell University, 1998), 3; Amemiya Shōichi, “Self-Renovation of Existing Social Forces and Gleichschaltung: The Total-War System and the Middle Classes,” in Total War and “Modernization,” 237; Ralf Dahrendorf, Society and Democracy in Germany (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1969), 381-396. 178 This bears a striking resemblance to the tonarigumi in wartime Japan, which I discuss below. 	
   73 Great War France to Fascist Italy.  In Fascist Italy rationalist architects, who turned to Le Corbusier’s art and writings, envisioned a society that was built upon the principle of gerarchia (hierarchy), which was not very different from the Nazi society of Gleichschaltung. As Diane Yvonne Ghirardo explains: The concept of gerarchia informed a society in which function and authority strictly regulated each person’s place; presumably those with the appropriate capacities occupied each niche.  The upper echelons defined the responsibilities of the lower strata, and all, of course, were ultimately defined by the Duce…Giovanni Gentile, one of the leading theorists of Fascism, argued that individualism was incompatible with the idea of the nation.  The individual must submit to the authority of the state, and in this way realize himself more fully than would have been possibly in the traditional liberal-democratic state.179 Ghirardo suggests not only that the idea of hierarchical social order imposed from above was inherent in Le Corbusier’s writing, but also that his architectural design alludes to it. The fascist ideal of self-effacement under the state corresponded with the lack of individuality and the collective anonymity that Le Corbusier’s design embodied.180 Japan in the 1930s, when the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings were produced, was comparable to Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy in terms of how their societies and citizens were controlled by the state and mobilized for war.  Although intense 	
   179 Ghirardo, “Italian Architects and Fascist Politics: An Evaluation of the Rationalist Role in Regime Building”: 121. 180 Ghirardo, “Italian Architects,” 122-123. 	
   74 mobilization of Japanese citizens’ lives for war did not begin until 1937, when Japan started an undeclared war with China, the Manchurian Incident of 1931 marked the rise of militarism and the beginning of the Fifteen-Year War, changing Japan’s political discourse considerably.  As Louise Young’s study investigating the political, economic and cultural interconnectedness between Japan’s colonies and home front tellingly demonstrates, “the process of empire building in Manchuria touched the lives of most Japanese in the 1930s in one way or another.”181  After the Manchurian Incident, Japanese domestic society gradually established a social system that prepared its citizens for total war. With the Manchurian Incident, the civilian leadership in Tokyo lost control over the military, which became increasingly strong over the years and won support from a public that had wanted its government to take more decisive measures to solve economic and social problems triggered by the Great Depression.  In 1933, following the backlash against its advancement into Manchuria, Japan withdrew from the League of Nations, isolating itself from the international community.  As historian Andrew Gordon indicates, the relationship between the state and citizens substantially changed even before 1937.182 Referring to the Election Purification Movement in 1935, in which the government attempted to control the function of mass politics, Gordon writes, “the state would place itself in the role of political mobilizer, not mediator, of diverse groups in society; it would not undertake to ‘represent’ the imperial and popular wills, as the parties sought, but to 	
   181 Young, Japan's Total Empire: Manchuria and the Culture of Wartime Imperialism, 13. 182 Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy in Prewar Japan, 320. 	
   75 mobilize and to direct the will of the people in service to an emperor whose will the state defined.”183 After the Manchurian Incident, the government called for the “soldierization of citizens” (kokumin no guntai ka) and expected people at home (jūgo, the home front) to devote themselves to the war as much as the solders on the battlefields (zensen, the front line).184  Citizens’ private lives were increasingly brought under the state’s expansive, pyramid-like network of surveillance.  Most important was the creation of tonarigumi (Neighborhood Associations), in which local community members acted as a group, dealing with everyday matters together and being responsible for each other.  Eight duties were outlined by Tokyo authorities as the tasks of the tonarigumi in 1940: “[liaising] with the community councils, acting as a neighborhood social group, air and fire defense, counterespionage, crime prevention, encouraging savings deposits, reforming daily living, and distributing commodities.”185  Tonarigumi, consisting of several households (eleven, on average), did regular activities such as organizing lectures by state officials, sending comfort kits to soldiers, and raising funds during state campaigns (most famously the kokubō National Self-Defense Campaign).186  As many as 1,323,473 neighborhood 	
   183 Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy in Prewar Japan, 320. 184 Fujiwara Akira, Manshū jihen to kokumin dōin [The Manchurian Incident and the Mobilization of Citizens] (Tokyo: Ōtsuki shoten, 1983), 584-5 185 Thomas Havens, Valley of Darkness: The Japanese People and World War Two (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1978), 77. 186 Havens, Valley of Darkness, 36-43. 	
   76 associations were created by July 1942.187  In October 1942, tonarigumi also became responsible for distributing food and clothing rations.188  In historian Thomas Haven’s words, each tonarigumi was an “organizational cell for sustaining the war.”189 Patrolling for suspicious and immoral behavior within local communities, tonarigumi members often reported directly to the Military Police (Kempeitai) and Special Higher Police (Tokubetsu Kōtō Keisatsu) who monitored the private lives of citizens for potential espionage activities or political crimes.190  They especially targeted socialists, communists, pacifists, foreign workers and anybody who opposed the emperor system.  Between 1933 and 1936, the Military Police and Special Higher Police arrested approximately sixty thousand people for “dangerous thoughts.”191  The Military Police and Special Higher Police reported to the Army and Navy, respectively, who were ultimately under the command of the emperor <Figure 1-13>.  In this system, as Gordon writes, “However passively, the people were linked to the state and the emperor through a vast and expanding network of functional organs imposed upon them by the state… All the independent organizations of workers, tenant farmers, businessmen, and politicians, 	
   187 Havens, Valley of Darkness, 77. 188 Havens, Valley of Darkness, 80. 189 Havens, Valley of Darkness, 73. 190 Edogawa Ranpo’s war propaganda story Idainaru Yume [The Great Dream] (1943) alludes to the psychological tension resulting from surveillance by and the invisible gaze of the kempeitai and potential spies. Raymond Lamont-Brown, Kempeitai: Japan’s Dreaded Military Police (Stroud, England: Sutton, 1998), 15 191 Lamont-Brown, Kempeitai, 16. 	
   77 so painstakingly and haltingly created over the previous thirty years, were dissolved and destroyed.”192 Historian Kim Brandt’s study provides the most extreme example of how women were to be scrutinized in the society of wartime surveillance.  The officially sanctioned mingei (Japanese Arts and Crafts) group produced a plan for a girls’ dormitory for a spinning factory in 1941, though it was never realized.  By building a dormitory for the factory girls, most of whom would have come from rural areas of Japan, the plan was to increase their labor productivity.193  To keep them both industrious and under total control, the factory was envisioned as a site of no privacy.  One of the planners said, “as soon as they return home and open the door, they [will be] monitored in the way they open and close the door, in the way they take their coats off, in how they make their greeting, how they put down their parcels, how they sit, how they stand up, and in such ways an entire training in daily lifestyle occurs.”194  They even planned how the girls would spend their leisure time. 	
   192 Gordon, Labor and Imperial Democracy, 330. 193 Brandt, “Mingei and the Wartime State, 1937-1945.” Also see Nagata Ken’ichi, “‘Binokuni’ NIPPON to sono jitsugen no yume” [‘The Nation of Beauty’ NIPPON and The Dream of Its Realization], in Kindai Nihon dezain shi [History of Japanese Modern Design], ed. Nagata Ken’ichi (Tokyo: Bijutsu shuppan, 2006). 194 Originally in Shikiba Ryūzaburō, “Joshu rōmusha no seikatsu yōshiki no mondai” [The Issue of The Form of Daily Life for Female Workers], Gekkan mingei 3 (March 1941), 9. Quoted in Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty, 163. 	
   78 This fascist society was a quintessentially modern space, as it turned heavily to industrial power.  To realize the total war regime, the government sought to increase national industrial production, to which rationalization was central: in the Industrial Rationalization Movement (Sangyō Gōrika Undō), the state employed Scientific Management based on Taylorism and Fordism, which aimed to maximize the ratio of output to input through the use of assembly lines and product standardization.195  In the early 1930s, the state gradually consolidated large private corporations in order to control industrial production, consumption, and distribution.196  Also, even though the wartime government acknowledged the importance of the agricultural sector, in the process of increasingly turning to heavy, chemical, and military industry, they built more and more factories in rural areas, considerably changing social relations. Japanese historians Narita Ryūichi, Amemiya Shōichi, and Yamanouchi Yasushi claim that wartime Japan and Germany share the characteristic of Gleichschaltung, a Nazi term for the process by which that regime established totalitarian control.197 Yamanouchi Yasushi writes, 	
   195 William Tsutsui, Manufacturing Ideology: Scientific Management in Twentieth- Century Japan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998). 196 Amemiya, “Self-Renovation of Existing Social Forces and Gleichschaltung,” in Total War and “Modernization,” 224-225. 197 In Japanese, Gleichschaltung is written as “guraihisharutounku” and translated as kyōseiteki kakuitsuka, or forced/compulsory standardization. Yamanouchi Yasushi, “Total-War and System Integration: A Methodological Introduction,” in Total War and 	
   79 [In Japan] it was expected that through “enforced homogeneity” [Gleichschaltung] all members of society would share the burden of the social functions required to prosecute the war. The total-war system would eradicate the impetus toward social exclusion (born of the modern status order) and social conflict, rationalizing the entire society toward the single end of conducting war in the most efficient, functional manner.198 Wartime Japanese society, which Yamanouchi describes as a society of Gleichschaltung, however, was understood to embody particularly “Japanese” values.  As historian John Dower observes, what characterized the wartime Japanese view of an ideal society is the concept of “proper place,” the idea that individuals should respect their position in the collective.199  The notion of “proper place” draws on the Confucian idea of the family, and it justified the hierarchical, patriarchal social system.  The ideal is clearly outlined in Cardinal Principles of the National Entity of Japan (Kokutai no hongi), issued by the government in 1937.  Declaring that “the spirit of harmony” is a unique characteristic of Japan, Cardinal Principles of the National Entity of Japan reads, 	
   “Modernization, 3; Amemiya Shōichi, “Self-Renovation of Existing Social Forces and Gleichschaltung,” in Total War and “Modernization,” 237. 198 Yamanouchi Yasushi, “Total-War and System Integration: A Methodological Introduction,” 3-4. 199 John Dower, War without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War (New York: Pantheon Books, 1986), 264. “Proper place” does not have an equivalent in Japanese. The concept is epitomized by the phrase “bun o mamoru,” which is repeatedly used in Cardinal Principles of the National Entity of Japan. 	
   80 Harmony as of our nation is not a mechanical concert of independent individuals of the same level that has its starting point in [cold] knowledge, but a great harmony that holds itself together by having the parts within the whole through actions that fit the parts.200  In each community there are those who take the upper places while there are those who work below them. Through each one fulfilling his portion is the harmony of a community obtained.  To fulfill one’s part means to do one’s appointed task with the utmost faithfulness each in his own sphere…This applies both to the community and to the State.  In order to bring national harmony to fruition, there is no way but for every person in the nation to do his allotted duty and to exalt it.201 Even if the hierarchical, regimented society was understood to be “Japanese,” it is clear that the wartime view of a society in which individuals occupy their “proper place” resonates with its German and Italian counterparts, Gleichschaltung and gerarchia.  Shifting Politics of Modernist Art in Wartime Japan As in Germany and Italy, in Japan, too, modern art managed to exist in a social context different from that with which it was initially associated.  Referring to architecture by Le Corbusier, artist Hasegawa Saburō stated in 1941:  	
   200 Kokutai no hongi/ Cardinal Principles of the National Entity of Japan, trans. John Owen Gauntlett (1937; repr.,Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1949), 93. 201 Kokutai no hongi, 98. 	
   81 Although modernist architecture has come to have a too-close relationship with machines, we should fairly evaluate it in that it manifests functionalism, machine- like precision, the beauty of rhythmic forms that are mathematically calculated and that have defined purposes and dynamic control.”202 He suggested that standardization is essential for total state control during war.  Japanese scholar Kashiwagi Hiroshi provides a useful study which looks at how the political orientation of rationalist modern design changed over time.203  In the context of Taishō democracy in 1910s and 1920s Japan, the Lifestyle Reform Movement (Seikatsu Kaizen Undō) took place with slogans like kaizen, kairyō, kaizō (all of which means “improvement”), in which Bauhaus- and Le Corbusier-inspired modernist interior designers such as Kogure Jyoichi (1881-1944) played a leading role, and rationalization of lifestyle was promoted.  “Rationalization” was equivalent to “Westernization,” and 	
   202 Hasegawa Nyozekan, “Nihon jin no sumai to sumikata” [House and Lifestyle of Japanese], Atorie, July 1941, 19 203 See, for example Kashiwagi Hiroshi, Geijutsu no fukusei gijutsu jidai: nichijō no dezain [The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction: Everyday Life Design] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1996); Fasshon no nijusseiki: toshi, shōhi, sei [The Fashion of the Twentieth Century: City, Consumption, and Sexuality] (Tokyo: NHK Books, 1998); Modan dezain hihan [The Critique of Modern Design] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2002); Nichiyōhin no bunka shi [The Cultural History of Daily Products] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1999); Ūtopia no yume: nijusseiki no miraizō [The Dream of Utopia: Future Images of the Twentieth Century] (Tokyo: Miraisha, 1993); Kagu no modan dezain [The Modern Design of Furniture] (Tokyo: Tankōsha, 2002). 	
   82 lifestyle reform meant, for example, using chairs instead of sitting on the floor, or wearing Western clothes instead of kimono, which restrict movement and therefore efficiency.  Kogure designed and actively promoted standardized (kikaku-ka, kakuitsu-ka, hyōjun-ka) furniture, such as chairs, tables, and shelves, into the Japanese lifestyle.  The Lifestyle Reform Movement was embedded in the larger 1920s discourse of “culture life” (bunka seikatsu), and, in reality, only upper middle-class people in urban centers could afford such a lifestyle. In the 1940 New Order campaign, the government sought to lay the foundation for a new national culture, or “daily life culture” (seikatsu bunka), which was defined in opposition to the “culture life” of the 1920s and in which every citizen (including women, children and rural populations) could participate.204  The Ministry of Commerce and Industry organized the National Daily Products Exhibition in 1941 and advocated as “national daily products” (kokumin seikatsu yōhin) <Figure 1-14> rationalist design and standardized items including lunch boxes, drawers, and plates made of affordable materials, bamboo and wood, for example, hailing them as producing maximum function with minimum resources.205  Along with the “national uniform” (kokumin fuku) and “national food” (kokumin shoku), the aim of the “national daily products” was to standardize, control, and mobilize citizens’ everyday lives.206  Thus, as Kim Brandt argues, modern rationalist design in the 1940s participated in “the project of lifestyle 	
   204 Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty, 148 205 Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty, 146-155. 206 “Kokumin seikatsu yōhin tenrankai kaisai no shushi ni suite” [About the Purpose of National Daily Life Products Exhibition], Kōgei nyūsu, May 1941, 6-7. 	
   83 reform for a nation at war.”207  Accordingly, Kogure’s project, which was oriented toward the improvement and rationalization of lifestyle in the private arena of family housing in earlier decades, came to be concerned more with the benefit of rationalized lifestyle in terms of the industrial production of the nation as a “Self-Defense State” (Kokubō Kokka).208 The use of the modernist art forms during the war was not limited to interior design. Asahi shinbun’s propaganda photographic magazine Asahi Graph Oversea Edition, produced for foreign audiences, shows clearly modernist aesthetics.  For example, the March 1936 issue <Figure 1-15> features a photograph of women in white kappōgi uniforms working in a factory producing light bulbs for export.209  In the picture, a circular shape created by the lighted bulbs in the foreground is repeated in the middle and in the background, creating a beautiful geometric harmony.  The roundness of their shoulders, as well as the goggles and white uniforms the women wear, echo the circles and the shapes of the bulbs themselves.  In short, the photograph embodies the machine aesthetics discussed above.  As it was published in a propaganda magazine, however, the photograph also contains a palpable political message.  As Inoue Yūko suggests, it functioned to exhibit Japan’s growing industrial power after its conquest of Manchuria and attempted to persuade Western nations of the benefit of Japanese imperialism in terms of expanding economic markets; it also reflected Japan’s effort and need, especially after its withdrawal from the League of Nations in 1933, to find a new, modern 	
   207 Brandt, Kingdom of Beauty, 154. 208 Kashiwagi, Geijutsu no fukusei gijutsu jidai: nichijō no dezain, 41. 209 Inoue Yūko, Senji gurafu zasshi no sendensen, 91. 	
   84 national identity, one which would represent Japan to the West as a powerful, fully industrialized nation rather than as a pre-industrial nation of “geisha, Fujiyama, Utamaro” that would only respond to the Western Orientalist image of exotic Japan.210 Japanese artists and art critics, however, had to confront the uncomfortable fact that modernist aesthetics, which embraced rationalization, standardization, and machine aesthetics, initially came from the West and that what they were touting was essentially the Westernization of Japanese lifestyle and art.  In the roundtable discussion on the “national daily products” in the 1941 issue of Kogei nyūsu, Hasegawa Nyozekan (1875- 1969) stated, “The experts have tended to focus on the form, but our spirit [kokoro] does not fit with it.  It is too international” (my emphasis).211  The key figure who solved this problem was none other than Bruno Taut, a Bauhaus member who fled to Japan in 1933, escaping the cultural repression of the Nazis.212  In his 1939 book The Rediscovery of Japanese Beauty, he wrote about how he found the Bauhaus aesthetic principle in Japanese pre-modern architecture, Ise Shrine and Katsura Rikyū in particular <Figure 1- 16>.  Dismissing the aesthetics of “wabi sabi,” part of the vocabulary in the discourse of Western Orientalism toward Japan, as “not rational,” he argued that “the Japanese spirit” 	
   210 Inoue Yūko, Senji gurafu zasshi no sendensen, 78; Gennifer Weisenfeld, “Touring ‘Japan-As-Museum’: NIPPON and Other Japanese Imperialist Travelogues, positions 8.3 (Winter 2000), 769. 211 Quoted in Kashiwagi, Geijutsu no fukusei gijutsu jidai: nichijō no dezain, 71. 212 Between 1940 and 1942, Le Corbusier’s student Charlotte Perriand was also in Japan, working for the Ministry of Trade and Industry. 	
   85 [nihonteki seishin] is not incompatible with such concepts as rationality, simplicity, and functionality.213 Hasegawa Nyozekan, once a leftist who even published a book criticizing “Japanese fascism” (as he called it) but who converted (tenkō) and became a prominent wartime cultural theorist, is an important figure in considering the wartime discourse of modernist aesthetics on three accounts.214  First, like Taut, Nyozekan discussed how Japanese culture, Japanese housing in particular, is rational (gōriteki).  Admiring the straight lines and rectangular tatami flooring of Japanese houses, he claimed that the regulated, geometric form represented the orderliness of a uniquely Japanese “spirit” (kokoro).215  	
   213 Bruno Taut, Nihonbi no saihakken [The Rediscovery of Japanese Beauty], trans. Shinoda Hideo (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1939), 14-15. 214 Inoue Yūko, Senji gurafu zasshi no sendensen, 98. For more on Nyozekan, see Andrew E. Barshay, “Hasegawa Nyozekan,” in State and Intellectual in Imperial Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988). 215 Hasegawa Nyozekan, “Nihon jin no sumai to sumikata” [House and Lifestyle of Japanese], Atorie, July 1941, 9. Taut’s theory had substantial influence on the discourse of Japanese architecture. While Maekawa Kunio’s rationalist architecture was deemed “too Corbusian,” Tange Kenzō’s architecture that combined Corbusian principles (absence of ornamentation, emphasis on simplicity, attention to form and function) and Japanese traditional architecture (Ise Shrine) was highly regarded in the early 1940s. Kestenbaum, “Modernism and Tradition in Japanese Architectural Ideology, 1931-1955,” 234. For more on wartime architecture, see Reynolds, Maekawa Kunio; Inoue Shōkichi, 	
   86 Second, Nyozekan linked rationalist aesthetics to Japanese society at large. Nyozekan writes that although all Japanese have the same “spirit,” Japanese society was historically hierarchical, following the Confucian shi, nō, kō, shō (samurai-farmer- artisan-merchant) class division.216  This social structure, he argued, is reflected in the clearly divided spaces of Japanese houses, which determine individuals’ places in certain categories/classifications (hanchū) within the household.  Nyozekan thus theorized the physical space of the Japanese house as a metonym for Japan’s national space, and his understanding of Japanese society echoed the ideal of “proper place” articulated in Cardinal Principles of the National Entity of Japan. Third, Nyozekan further developed the modernist aesthetic by arguing that human life should recreate its orderly form.  He repeatedly claimed that “art” is not an expression of beautiful emotions, but is rather a recreation of life (seikatsu no saigen).  In his rather complicated theory, “art” had two stages: “to intuitively find [chokkan suru] a form [kata] that gives moral and aesthetic order to everyday life,” and then “to recreate that form in everyday life in return.”217  What Nyozekan called “form” is, according to 	
   Āto, kicchu, japanesuku; Miyauchi Kō, “Fashizumu to kūkan: kenchiku no 1930 nendai.” [Fascism and Space: The Architecture of the 1930s], in Enkon no ūtopia Miyauchi Kō no iru basho [Haunting Utopia: The Place of Miyauchi Kō], ed. Enkon no ūtopia kankō iinkai (Tokyo: Renga shobō, 2000). 216 Hasegawa, “Nihon jin no sumai to sumikata,” 9. 217 Inoue Yūko, Senji gurafu zasshi no sendensen, 98. Nyozekan himself claims that the English translation of “kata” is “form.” Hasegawa Nyozekan, “Nihon geijutsu no shōchō- sei” [The Symbolisms of Japanese Art], Nihon eiga, January 1941. Reproduced in 	
   87 him, something that is regulated (chitsujyo-ka) and not entirely natural; the “form,” furthermore, controls and represses human emotions and instinct (honnō).218  Even if Nyozekan justified the rational “form” as “Japanese,” it is important to remember that this aesthetics was essentially informed by modernist machine aesthetics.  Claiming that the “form” should be recreated in everyday life, Nyozekan virtually demanded the discipline and mechanical coordination of human life and projected the machine aesthetics of functionality and productivity onto human individuals.  Thus, Nyozekan’s theory “turned people into things,” something Susan Sontag defines as a characteristic of fascist aesthetics.219  The Japanese Machine-ist Paintings Revisited Understanding the role of modernist aesthetics during the war allows us to see the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings in a different light.  The paintings produced after 1935 importantly reflect the social changes of the period that affected artistic production. In 1935, Minister of Education Matsuda Genji undertook a reform in order to revitalize the state-sponsored Exhibition of the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts (teiten).  Matsuda aimed to increase the quality of works by bringing in artists from private organizations, but paradoxically he also sought to reflect his conservative artistic taste in the exhibition.  	
   Hasegawa Nyozekan, Hasegawa Nyozekan zenshū VII (Tokyo Iwanami shoten, 1989), 142. 218 Itagaki Tetsuo, Hasegawa Nyozekan no shisō [Ideas by Hasegawa Nyozekan] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Hirofumi kan, 2000), 94 219 Sontag, “Fascinating Fascism,” 91. 	
   88 As a result, the exhibition committee rejected many Japanese-style paintings of moga that they considered displayed signs of cultural decadence, only accepting those that were “not gaudy” (kebakebashikunai), subdued, and discreet.220  The movement toward eradicating cultural decadence from the art world reflected the gloomy social reality of the time.  Matsuda’s sentiment was shared by art critics such as Nakata Katsunosuke, who warned against excessive signs of liberalism and hedonism that “Westernized” Japanese-style paintings represented.221  As early as 1933, Nakata expressed deep disappointment at paintings of moga seeking pleasure, having fun, and relaxing.222  He argued that artists should be more socially aware in a “time of emergency” (hijōji), the phrase that was used to express the sense of national crisis after the Manchurian Incident.223  As art historian Tanaka Hisao suggests, the 1935 Matsuda reform was the 	
   220 Kaneko, “Art in the Service of the State,” 102. Nakata Katsunosuke, “Teiten no Nihonga” [The Japanese-style Paintings of the Exhibition of the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts], Asahi shinbun, February 29, 1936. Here, interestingly, Nakata analogizes this situation to the “beni girai” (dislike of red) of ukiyo-e prints that appeared when the Edo government prohibited luxurious lifestyles. 221 Nakata, “Teiten no Nihonga,” Asahi shinbun, October 17, 1933. 222 Nakata, “Teiten no Nihonga.” 223 The term “hijōji” was popularized around 1933 and referred to the political circumstances following the Manchuria Incident. Some state authorites, most prominently Araki Sadao, saw the situation as an opportunity to renew the nation and begin aggressive foreign policies. Sandra Wilson, The Manchurian Crisis and Japanese Society, 1931–1933 (New York: Routledge, 2002), 64–66. 	
   89 turning point for state consolidation of art communities that prepared for the system of official war art production of later years.224 Furthermore, just like the Asahi Graph photograph, Japanese-style machine-ist paintings can be understood as representing a new Japanese national identity that hinged upon modernity.  Art critic Nakata Katsunosuke referred to the Japanese-style paintings submitted to the Exhibition of the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts as examples of the “Westernization of Japanese-style painting.”225  This “Westernization” occurred concurrently with the “Japanization of Western-style paintings,” the motivation for which was articulated by Kojima Zenzaburō in 1935.  Kojima exhibited clear nationalistic sentiments: he called for “neo-Japanism” (shin Nihonshugi), writing, “If the Japanese 	
   224 Originally in Tanaka Hisao, “Nihon bijutsu to ‘teiten sōdō’” [Japanese Art and the Teiten Incident], in Nihon bijutsu-in hyakunenshi dai 6 kan [The Hundred Year History of Nihon Bijutsu-in Vol. 6] (Tokyo: Nihon bijutsu-in, 1997), 365. Quoted in Kaneko, “Art in the Service of the State,” 75. Kaneko points out that the reform was not completely the “imposition” of government control over art; the artists asked for state protection. Kaneko, 136. Artists’ supportive comments about government intervention can be found in “Bijutsukai ni kokkateki shidōkikan wa hitsuyō ka?” [Is National Institution Necessary for Art Society?], Atorie, March 1936. For criticisms of the reform, see Shitamise Sei’ichi, “Shin teiten no Nihonga hyō” [Review of the New Imperial Exhibition], Atorie, April 1936; Sakai Saisui, “Shin teiten kan” [Review of the New Imperial Exhibition], Bi no kuni, April 1936. 225 Nakata “Teiten no Nihonga”; “Nihonga ni okeru yōfū keikō no mondai” [The Issue of Westernization in Japanese-style Painting], Atorie, May 1935; 	
   90 have an extraordinary beauty in their racial blood, tradition, and country, in order to express that beautiful climate and character, a special technique has to be employed…Our mission is to blend Western materialism and Oriental spirit to create a new world, in which mind and matter are united.”226  His claim resonated with the larger discourse of creating a new national identity of Japan as a strong country capable of producing industrial materials, which appeared in the mid-1930s.  Although Japanese- style painters did not express similar thoughts in writing, as Kojima’s piece shows, painters were aware of and often complied with the on-going political discourse. I should now like to return to one of the characteristics of the Japanese-style machine-ist paintings: regimented, rationalized spatial representation.  As Henri Lefebvre theorizes, artistic representation of space is always relevant to the social production of space.227  David Harvey and Michel Foucault offer two models of society that are associated with the rational ordering of space.228  Harvey discusses perspectivism, the scientific perspective developed by Renaissance Humanist artists, which uses a 	
   226 Alicia Volk, In Pursuit of Universalism: Yorozu Tetsugoro and Japanese Modern Art (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 214. 227 Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991 [1974]). 228 Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (1970; repr., London; New York: Routledge, 2002). 	
   91 systematic sense of space that is anchored by geometry.229  This rational, mathematical ordering of space was not only important in visual arts; it was fundamental for the later secular individualism of the Enlightenment project, in which both material objects and human subjects were classified based on the principles of science, the rhetoric of progress, and a linear concept of history.  The rational concept of space in the Enlightenment project, as Harvey points out, was expected to have positive social consequences, such as the establishment of individual liberties and human welfare.230   Yet, as he also points out, it could easily be employed by a centralized state power.231  Michel Foucault, who calls the modern rational society of perspectivism a “disciplinary society,” explores the potentially negative consequences in relation to surveillance.  He explains how the coldly geometrical grid of perspectivism could contribute to the “tyranny” of the gaze and create unequal relationships between state and citizens in terms of knowledge and power.232 Rational spatial ordering, in other words, can control and discipline individuals, rather than liberate them. 	
   229 David Harvey, “The Experience of Space and Time,” in The Condition of Post- Modernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989). 230 Harvey, The Condition of Post-Modernity, 258. 231 Harvey, The Condition of Post-Modernity, 247. 232 Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, 2nd ed., trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: Vintage Books, 1977), 209. Foucault focuses on early 20th-century Europe. 	
   92 The regimented visual space of Japanese-style machine-ist paintings, I argue, is associated with the totalitarian social space discussed by Foucault rather than the one entrenched within the Humanist and Enlightenment tradition: the paintings can be read in terms of the monitoring gaze and systematic control.  In particular, the paintings by Ōta Chōu and Shibata show the complex play of scopic and technological domination placed upon the women.  In Ōta’s Women Observing the Stars <Figure 1-6>, a woman in a kimono looks through a telescope, the invention of which, according to Martin Jay, contributed to the “privileging of the visual” in modern society.233  The woman, although actively looking through the modern optical technology, is nevertheless undermined by the soft black shadows in the upper left and bottom right of the painting which create the uncomfortable feeling that, just as the woman is looking through a telescope, we, the viewers, are also looking at her through a telescope without her knowledge, having ultimate visual control over her.  Although it is not specifically scopic, the rather disturbing relationship between women and modern technology is also apparent in Shibata’s Biwa Concert <Figure 1-5>.  In this painting, the microphone—the technology that records the music the woman is making—is located in the foreground, closer to the viewers, as if we have technological power over her.234 Even when modern optical equipment such as the telescope is not depicted within the picture plane, the fact that the women in the paintings express neither movement nor 	
   233 Martin Jay, “Scopic Regimes of Modernity,” in Vision and Visuality, ed. Hal Foster (Seattle: Bay Press, 1988), 4. 234 In the Foucauldian system, such terms as “record” and “archive” signify one’s knowledge and thus power over the other. 	
   93 emotion gives us a sense that they have internalized the invisible monitoring gaze.  The women in Saeki’s Tearoom <Figure 1-1> are a good example.  The gazes of the café girls and the viewer never meet, and the girls, standing frontally to the viewers, display a strange quality of docility and vulnerability on the one hand, and discipline and confrontationality on the other.  This recalls Foucault’s point: in the “disciplinary society,” the system of unequal relationships of seeing between state and citizens (the Panopticon) turned society into a self-regulating mass, and “a faceless gaze transformed the whole social body into a field of perception.”235  If we consider the social surveillance system of the time, Saeki’s painting points to the Orwellian nightmare in which the totalitarian state uses modern technology to monitor individuals’ private lives for the purposes of thought control and enforcing conformity (Gleichschaltung).  Furthermore, as Hasegawa Nyozekan’s art theory had it, the overall orderliness of the pictorial space is recreated in the human subjects.  The women depicted in these paintings appear deprived of agency, individuality, and human spirit, making them appear like automata.236 The question remains as to why in the paintings it is women who are juxtaposed with machines.  One possible explanation is that, historically, Japanese-style paintings had almost exclusively depicted women.  Most often understood as Japan’s tradition and associated with nationalism, Japanese-style paintings were defined in opposition to oil paintings and the “masculine” West.  More importantly, however, I would argue that Japanese-style machine-ist paintings functioned to aestheticize the harmony between 	
   235 Foucault, Discipline and Punish, 214. 236 Bruce Grenville, “The Uncanny: Experiments in Cyborg Culture,” in The Uncanny: Experiments in Cyborg Culture (Vancouver: Vancouver Art Gallery, 2001). 	
   94 human and machine, and that as traditional objects of beauty women were more suitable for this purpose than men.  This is not to say that the connection between machines and men was absent from wartime cultural discourse, however: men’s bodies are often compared to industrial weapons (such as airplanes and tanks), a subject to which I return in Chapter Five. My study of Japanese-style machine-ist paintings problematizes the conventionally accepted definition of modern girls.  According to Miriam Silverberg, moga emerged in the context of Taishō democracy and the mass culture of the 1920s. They were defined by their appearance: they wore Western clothes and had bobbed, permed hair.  They were also financially independent, since they worked.237  Modern girls were thus understood to stand in opposition to the patriarchal state ideology of the “good wife, wise mother” (ryōsai kenbo) and were considered “socially militant.” 238   This equation of appearance with political identity and the assumption that moga were incompatible with collectivism, militarism, and patriarchy, however, seems simplistic; these women’s social standing vis- à-vis the state changed considerably during the war.  In short, the “socially militant” moga could turn militarist. 	
   237 Miriam Silverberg, “The Café Waitress Serving Modern Japan,” in Mirror of Modernity: Invented Traditions of Modern Japan, ed. Stephen Vlastos (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). 238 Miriam Silverberg, “The Modern Girl as Militant,” in Recreating Japanese Women, 1600–1945, ed. Gail Lee Gernstain (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); Brown, Taishō Chic, 19. 	
   95 Historical evidence suggests that moga were, in fact, able to live up to the “good wife, wise mother” paradigm within the state structure: they executed patriotic duties and participated in the national agenda.  Many working women and café girls, considered paradigmatic of moga in the 1920s, became members of the National Defense Women’s Association (Kokubō Fujinkai), the officially sanctioned organization established for women in 1932.239  Participation was imposed to some degree, but there is evidence that many women actively participated in the state agenda without being coerced; newspaper reports in the early 1930s were full of stories about café waitresses donating money to the army.  Historian Louise Young writes, “working women were among the most active participants… Imon [consolation] campaigns at textile factories and among department store shop girls raised extremely large sums, putting working women at the top of the lists of contributors.”240  These women might have worn modern Western dress, but clearly they were no longer a “social threat.” In addition, there were women who wore Western outfits and who also embraced the state ideology by opposing love marriages and women’s suffrage.  Kendall Brown calls these women, who were “modern in appearance and traditional in . . . values,” a “hybrid,” and suggests that, as the modern girl embraced the state ideology, the state increasingly accepted the “hybrid” moga.241  The most compelling example of the union 	
   239 Young, Japan's Total Empire, 130; 173. For more on the Association, see Sheldon Garon, “Integrating Women into Public Life: Women’s Groups and the State,” in Molding Japanese Minds (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998). 240 Young, Japan's Total Empire, 173. 241 Brown, Taishō Chic, 21. 	
   96 between the state and moga has been uncovered by Jennifer Robertson, who studies national beauty contests in the 1930s in relation to the contemporary scientific discourse of eugenics and racial hygiene.242  Robertson argues that the process by which the state recognized the importance of fit female Japanese bodies in creating eugenically superior Japanese citizens converged with the nationalistic enterprise of finding Miss Nippon— healthy, athletic modern women who were taller and heavier than the average.  Conclusion In this chapter, I have examined a group of what I called Japanese-style machine-ist paintings produced between 1935 and 1940.  Locating the origin of machine-ist aesthetics mainly in the development of modernist art in Japan during the 1920s, I attended to the wartime socio-political context in which Japanese fascist society—where all individuals fell into their “proper place” under the state and the emperor—was established. Accordingly, I suggested that the paintings could be read as mirroring the regimentation, surveillance, and dehumanization of the time, rather than as embodying the liberal principles of individualism and democracy. On a broader level, this chapter interrogates the relationship between modernity and fascism.  As Yamanouchi Yasushi writes, World War II has been understood as “a confrontation between an irrational, absolutist form of fascist system (including Germany, Italy and Japan) and a rational, democratic New Deal-type of system (including the 	
   242 Jennifer Robertson, “Japan’s First Cyborg? Miss Nippon, Eugenics and Wartime Technologies of Beauty, Body and Blood,” Body & Society 7.1 (2001): 1-34. 	
   97 United States, England and France).”243  The former is understood to be anti-modern, while the latter is modern.  However, as recent studies have demonstrated, this binary that pits modernity against totalitarian (fascist) regimes is no longer sustainable.  As Zygmunt Bauman argues, the Holocaust was not an act of pre-modern barbarism; the genocide could never have been perpetrated without what modernity had brought about, such as rationality, division of labor, and taxonomy.244  Historian Roger Griffin explains that fascism did not oppose modernity in its entirety but rejected only selected aspects such as cultural pluralism, individualism, and liberalism.  Griffin draws an important conclusion: “To grasp this fact destroys any comforting equation between modernity and humanism, modernity and civilization, modernity and progress, modernity and the good.”245  In fact, the ambivalent nature and potential danger of modernity were alluded to by Charlie Chaplin in his film Modern Times produced in 1936, just when Japanese-style machine- ist paintings were being produced in Japan.  In the film, Chaplin comically but compellingly shows the dehumanizing effect of modern society by playing a factory worker who is forced to adjust himself to the assembly line he works on.  Trying to match the movement and speed of the machine, the worker himself becomes an automaton, 	
   243 Yamanouchi Yasushi, “Total-War and System Integration: A Methodological Introduction,” 1. 244 Zygmunt Bauman, Modernity and the Holocaust (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000). 245 Roger Griffin, “Modernity Under the New Order: The Fascist Project for Managing the Future,” in A Fascist Century: Essays by Roger Griffin, ed. Matthew Feldman (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 43. 	
   98 acting like a machine.  Machines can be useful, but they can also control human subjects. Modernity can go wrong, and fascism is one example.   	
   99 CHAPTER TWO Uemura Shōen’s Bijin-ga, New Classicism, and Fascist Time  Introduction By 1940, hostility toward the Allied nations, especially the United States, had grown considerably in Japan, eventually leading to the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. While Japan’s national identity of the mid-1930s entailed its capability to be “modern,” by the 1940s materialism was replaced by spiritualism, historicism, and essentialism. When the Pacific War began and resources became scarce, the government implemented national campaigns that emphasized saving and frugality over industrial production, under slogans such as “extravagance is the enemy” (zeitaku wa teki da) and “waste not, want not, until we win” (hoshigarimasen katsu made wa).  Permanent waves were banned in 1939 as wasteful of electricity, the National Clothes Law, which stipulated citizens wear the unfashionable “national uniform,” was legislated in 1940, dance halls were closed in the same year, and English expressions were purged from the official vocabulary in 1942.246 Japanese-style machine-ist paintings, which I examined in Chapter One, ceased to exist before the end of the war, as such explicit signs of the “modern” came to be understood as “Western” and therefore inappropriate.  What emerged after machine-ism was Japanese “new classicism” (shin kotenshugi), which still uses the modernist style but depicts historical subjects. 	
   246 Thomas Havens, Valley of Darkness, 18; 51; Shillony, Politics and Culture in Wartime Japan, 148. 	
   100 Uemura Shōen (1875-1949) is one of the painters whose works exemplified this new trend.  One of the most important painters of bijin-ga (paintings of beautiful people)247  as well as one of the few successful female artists in modern Japan, her works are most often discussed in the contexts of modern bijin-ga history and art by Japanese women. Despite the abundant scholarship on Shōen’s art and personal life, no art historian has undertaken critical readings of her wartime works.  This chapter therefore attempts to historicize Shōen’s wartime works while continuing the discussion on wartime Japanese-style paintings.  I will argue that her art, which is modeled on Edo- period art, can be considered in relation to the fascist conceptualization of time, which envisions the future as a recreation of the past and which was epitomized by the “overcoming the modern” discussion of the early 1940s. I begin by addressing the problems with the existing scholarship on Shōen. Carefully attending to the stylistic transformation of the artist’s works over time, I then demonstrate how her wartime works, such as Sudden Blast (1939) <Figure 2-4>, exemplify the new classicism, the artistic trend that was introduced to Japan from Europe in the 1920s and became the official style of propaganda art during the war.  Finally, I investigate the psychological workings of this new classicism, introducing the concept of fascist kitsch and discussing Shōen’s 1944 work, Lady Kusunoki <Figure 2-24>.  I conclude the chapter by reflecting on the role of women and female artists in fascism.  	
   247 Beautiful men were often depicted in bijin-ga in the Edo period. 	
   101 Uemura Shōen Uemura Shōen was born Uemura Tsune in Kyoto, which had long served as the imperial capital.248  When the city of Edo flourished under the Tokugawa Shogunate between 1603 and 1868, Kyoto advanced a style of art quite distinct from that in Edo.249 The artist was raised by her mother Nakako, who had lost her husband when Shōen was young.  Shōen studied with three teachers who were associated with the Maruyama-Shijō style, the local Kyoto style of realism developed in the Edo period.  At the age of twelve, she entered the Kyoto Prefectural School of Painting, and there she studied under Suzuki Shōnen (1849-1918), with whom she later had a son whom she raised as a single mother. After working with Suzuki Shōnen, Uemura Shōen became a student of Kōno Bairei (1844-1895) in order to study figurative works; on Bairei’s death, his student Takeuchi Seihō (1864-1942) took over the position at Bairei’s private school.  Seihō was the best- known of Shōen’s three teachers, and he was instrumental in introducing new, modernist artistic trends to the Kyoto circle of Japanese-style painters following his travels and studies in Europe in 1900. Shōen became successful early in her career, both domestically and internationally. In 1890, when she was fifteen, her Beauties of Four Seasons received the first prize at the third annual Domestic Industrial Exposition (Naikoku Kangyō Hakurankai); a different version was purchased by Prince Arthur of England.  Shōen continuously received prizes 	
   248  Shōen is her studio name.  I refer to her as Shōen throughout the dissertation.  249 Paul Berry and Michiyo Morioka, introduction to Modern Masters of Kyoto: The Transformation of Japanese Painting Traditions, Nihonga from the Griffith and Patricia Way Collection (Seattle: Seattle Art Museum, 1999), 21 	
   102 at exhibitions such as the Japan Art Association Exhibition (Nihon Bijutsu Kyōkai Ten), Domestic Industrial Expositions, and the Exhibition of New and Old Art (Shinko Bijutsuhin Ten).  Her works were exhibited at the Chicago and St. Louis World’s Fairs in 1893 and 1904.  In the 1910s and 1920s, Shōen executed a number of paintings whose themes were taken from noh plays and music, but submitted few paintings to public exhibitions.250  In the late 1930s and early 1940s, her public visibility increased markedly, and her works were highly acclaimed by the public and by art critics not just in Kyoto but throughout Japan.  Dance Performed in a Noh Play (1936), perhaps her best- known work, was purchased by the Ministry of Education.  Shōen’s success during this period led her to become the first female recipient of the most prestigious national award, the Order of Culture (Bunka Kunshō), which she received from Emperor Hirohito in 1948, three years after the end of the war. Accounts of Shōen most often hinge upon her life as a female artist.  Arguably the most popular representation of Shōen is the fictionalized biography Jo no mai written by Miyao Tomiko in 1983.251  The novel won the Yoshikawa Eiji Award, and the film adaptation also won an award at the Asia-Pacific Film Festival in 1984.  Jo no mai focuses on Shōen’s relationship with her teacher Shōnen and the birth of her son, Shōkō, satisfying the curiosity of the general public.  More specifically, the film poses the question of how Shōen’s relationship with her teacher affected her work, that is, whether 	
   250 Michiyo Morioka, “Changing Images of Women: Taisho Period Paintings by Uemura Shoen (1875-1949), Ito Shoha (1877-1968), and Kajiwara Hisako (1896-1988),” Ph.D. diss. (Seattle: University of Washington, 1990), 180. 251 Miyao Tomiko, Jo no mai (Tokyo: Chuō Kōron sha, 1983). 	
   103 it enabled her to establish her career or, conversely, ruined it.  Although Jo no mai exposes the patriarchal nature of the Japanese art community, it represents Shōen as an innocent girl who was unable to resist the sexual advances of her teacher. This portrayal of Shōen in Jo no mai clearly does not do justice to her art, but this reading exemplifies previous art historical interpretations of Shōen’s works.  In other words, the model for analysis of her works has remained largely biographical.  This approach is also further entrenched by postwar feminist art history.  Wakakuwa Midori (1935-2007), one of the most important feminist art historians in Japan, has written about Shōen.  Closely following the first wave of feminist art history and Linda Nochlin’s seminal 1971 essay “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” she locates commonalities among such women.  For Wakakuwa, who argues that successful female artists are those who have “escaped from the strong paternalism of Japanese society,” Shōen, who was herself raised by a single mother and who raised her own child as a single mother, was a perfect model for her claim.252  To use her words, Shōen’s family “did not have a patriarch” and she was “the ‘man’ in the family.”253 Wakakuwa considers the relationship between Shōen and Shōnen as embodying the unequal power relationship between the genders.  She writes, “Shōen and her teacher 	
   252 Wakakuwa Midori, “Three Women Artists of the Meiji Period (1868-1912): Reconsidering Their Significance from a Feminist Perspective,” trans. Naoko Aoki, in Japanese Women: New Feminist Perspectives on the Past, Present, and Future, ed. Kumiko Fujimura-Fanselow and Atsuko Kameda (New York: The Feminist Press, 1994), 62. 253 Wakakuwa, “Three Women Artists,” 70. 	
   104 may have loved each other, but their relationship was basically one in which the man dominates the woman.  To contemporary eyes it may seem a form of sexual harassment…Without a father or a suitable guardian to support her financially, a woman artist had to accept a teacher or an art dealer as her patron.”254  Using the gender-power dichotomy as her underlying framework, Wakakuwa praises Shōen’s work as a female artist’s attempt to de-sexualize the artistic gaze on women, who are always the object of sexual interest when painted by men.255  Overall, Wakakuwa’s scholarship gives the impression that Shōen herself was a feminist artist. Wakakuwa’s interpretations of the artist’s works thus naturally remain celebratory. She refers to Late Autumn, a painting of women in modest kimono repairing a shōji (paper screen) executed in 1941, as the first painting about “the reality of working women,” calling it as “significant as the works of Millet, who painted working women instead of bourgeois women.”256  Wakakuwa is not the only female art historian who favorably interprets Shōen’s wartime works.  Shiokawa Kyōko goes so far as to describe the same work as “anti-war” (hansen-teki) art.  Shiokawa writes, “what the artist presents in the painting is praise of everyday life.  To cherish everyday life is to cherish life…the women in Shōen’s paintings loathe war and look for a bright future.  It was exactly the opposite of what militarists wanted.”257 	
   254 Wakakuwa, “Three Women Artists,” 70. 255 Wakakuwa, “Three Women Artists,” 71. 256 Wakakuwa, “Three Women Artists,” 71. 257 Shiokawa Kyōko, “Uemura Shōen no shōgai to geijutsu” [The Life and Works of Uemura Shōen], in Uemura Shōen (Tokyo: Gakken, 1993), 103. 	
   105 Art historian Michiyo Morioka challenges the uncritical scholarship on Shōen by feminist art historians in her Ph.D. dissertation “Changing Images of Women: Taishō Period Paintings by Uemura Shōen (1875-1949), Itō Shōha (1877-1968), and Kajiwara Hisako (1896-1988).”  By analyzing statements made by the artist, she reveals that Shōen was in fact quite conservative.  Shōen’s image of ideal women is resonant with the Confucian text Onna daigaku, which places women in the domestic sphere as subordinate to their “master” (husband).  Morioka states, “Thoroughly traditional-minded, Shōen embraced the Onna daigaku without ever recognizing its oppressive and discriminatory definition of women’s role.”258  Thus, contrary to the claims by the feminist art historians, Shōen was not a feminist who fought for women’s rights and freedom from the patriarchy.  Furthermore, her art was often highly nationalistic.  In 1904, at the height of nationalism during the Russo-Japanese War, she painted a portrait of the courtesan Kiyū, who killed herself rather than accepting American and British clients.  Shōen in her publication celebrated this female suicide and insisted that all Japanese women should emulate the spirit of Kiyū.259  While Morioka’s scholarship maintains a tone critical of Shōen, curiously, she does not investigate the artist’s wartime works even though she writes, “the last two decades of Shōen’s life—the 1930s and 1940s—witnessed the maturity of her art.”260  She concludes her study with the statement, “Shōen’s art, her belief in beauty, truth, and goodness remains unchanged throughout her career.”261  	
   258 Morioka, “Changing Images of Women,” 152. 259 Uemura Shōen, “Yūjo Kiyū” [Courtesan Kiyū](n.p.), Seibishō, 53. 260 Morioka, “Changing Images of Women,” 77. 261 Morioka, “Changing Images of Women,” 218. 	
   106 I argue, in contrast, that one cannot ignore how active Shōen was during the war. She painted at a furious pace.  Between 1935 and 1945, she completed at least ninety-five paintings.  In 1941, she became a member of the Japan Art Academy (Teikoku Bijutsu- in), Japan’s most prestigious art institution, run by the Ministry of Education.  To celebrate this achievement, the art magazines Bi no kuni and Kokuga published lengthy special issues on the artist in 1941 and 1942, respectively.262  She was also actively involved in state-sanctioned events, submitting at least four paintings to donation exhibitions (kennō ten) such as the Army Donation Exhibition (Rikugun Kennōga Ten) in 1941 and the Japanese Artist Patriotic Society Donation Exhibition for Battle Planes (Nihon Gaka Hōkokukai Gunyōki Kennōga Ten) in 1942, the proceeds of which were given to the state.  In 1941, at the age of sixty-six, she made her first trip abroad, to China (Shanghai and Hangzhou).  She was invited by China’s Central Railroad (Kachū Tetsudō) to present a gift to Wang Jingwei, the leader of Japan’s puppet government in Nanjing, which was praised as exemplifying her passionate patriotism.263  In 1944, she donated a work to the Kyoto Reizan Gokoku Shrine, which is dedicated to warriors who sacrificed their lives for the country.  She also painted a portrait of Kusunoki Masashige’s wife, which she described as an act of saikan hōkoku (serving the nation by art).264  However, it 	
   262 Kokuga, April 1942; Bi no kuni. July 1942. 263 Yoshifuku Teizō, “Jikyoku to Shōen no geijutsu” [The War and Shōen’s Art], Kokuga, April 1942, 17. 264 Uemura Shōen, Seibishō shūi (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1976), 135. The publication does not indicate when this particular entry was written, but it seems to have been around 1940. 	
   107 was not only through her involvement in public events but also through her art, as I will show below, that Shōen participated in the ideological discourse of the war.  Shōen and Edo Shōen studied Japan’s classical art throughout her career, and many of her works were inspired by bijin-ga, a genre whose origins in Japan can be traced back as far as the Nara period (710-784) but was primarily popularized in ukiyo-e (“pictures of floating world”) in the Edo period.265  A Long Autumn Night <Figure 2-1>, which the artist executed in 1907, is a good example.  Shōen painted two kimono-clad women spending a quiet night together, sitting directly on the floor.  One is checking the candle in a lantern while the other is reading a book.  The soft, dim light that illuminates them in the shadowy scene creates a warm feeling, and the tone of the painting—grayish and earth- toned—maintains a restrained tastefulness.  Art historian Katō Ruiko compares A Long Autumn Night to Nishikawa Sukenobu’s One Hundred Women Classified According to Their Rank <Figure 2-2>,266 and it also looks similar to the prints of Suzuki Harunobu <Figure 2-3>, who often produced indoor scenes of women reading.  Their facial characteristics are somewhat different, but the women in Shōen and Harunobu’s works are nevertheless remarkably similar: both have one elbow on the floor, where the book is, with the opposite hand turning a page.  Their gold hair accessories and the way in which the edges and sleeves of their kimono are arranged in the foreground also make the 	
   265 Katō Ruiko, “Bijin-ga,” in Nihonga: Transcending the Past: Japanese-Style Painting, 1868-1968, ed. Ellen Conant (St. Louis, MO: St. Louis Art Museum, 1995), 108-109. 266 It should be noted that Sukenobu was a Kyoto artist.  	
   108 pictures look alike.  Sudden Blast <Figure 2-4>, produced more than thirty years later in 1939, is another example of Shōen’s works that seem inspired by ukiyo-e.  As Katō suggests, the artist likely drew on Edo art such as Teisai Hokuba’s Shunpū bijin-zu <Figure 2-5>, which depicts a woman holding her kimono together as it erotically exposes her bare feet.  Shōen’s painting also recalls Harunobu’s Wind <Figure 2-6>, which shows a kimono-clad woman leaning forward, her left hand on her head, trying to protect her hair from the breeze. Shōen was not the only painter who referred to the Edo art tradition.  There was a surge of interest in Edo art among the Kyoto circle of Japanese-style painters in the 1910s and 1920s.  When Ernest Fenollosa and Okakura Tenshin established Japanese-style painting as “national art” back in the 1870s, they did not highly regard the commercial, reproducible ukiyo-e prints that represented Edo period art.  When European modernist artists came to be acknowledged in Japan, however, a number of artists, the second generation of Japanese-style painters, began explicitly alluding to ukiyo-e.  They did so, importantly, in the context of artistic modernism, which rebelled against the established, academic style of Japanese-style paintings established by Fenollosa and Okakura and pursued individualized, creative, original artistic expressions. There was certainly a “paradox,” as art historian Doris Croissant calls it, in that Japanese “modernist” artists who supposedly sought to break away from the past were turning to their national tradition.  As Croissant explains, however, “the impact of Japanese art on postimpressionist painters such as Cézanne, van Gogh, and Gauguin provided ‘Japanese’ painting with a model of aesthetic self-identification that encouraged 	
   109 the return to early modern ukiyo-e aesthetics and subject matter” (emphasis added).267  A good example of this is Fisherwomen (1913) <Figure 2-7> by Tsuchida Bakusen (1887- 1936), who studied with Shōen under Takeuchi Seihō and was the leader of the Association for the Creation of Japanese Painting (Kokuga Sōsaku Kyōkai), a group that was established to practice alternative art to that of government-sponsored Bunten (the exhibition of Ministry of Education).268  The painting is clearly inspired by Gauguin’s primitivist painting Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going? (1897-1898) <Figure 2-8>,269 but at the same time, as Croissant argues, Bakusen demonstrates his careful study of the same subject matter by ukiyo-e artist Kitagawa Utamaro <Figure 2-9>.270 	
   267 Doris Croissant, “Icons of Femininity: Japanese national Painting and the Paradox of Modernity,” in Gender and Power in The Japanese Visual Field, ed. Joshua S. Mostow, Norman Bryson, and Maribeth Graybill (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2003), 119-120. 268 Szostak, “The Kokuga Sōsaku Kyōkai and Kyoto Nihonga Reform in the Meiji, Taishō and Early Shōwa Years (1900-1928),” 1. 269	
  Croissant, “Icons of Femininity,” 124-127; 129. 	
   270 Croissant argues that although he provided an alternative to government approved Bunten paintings, Bakusen’s works were “tinted with patriotic flavor” and “a claim for the ethnic purity of national painting,” underscoring the artist’s political conservatism. The question of Bakusen’s standing vis-à-vis nationalism is beyond the scope of the present study, however. Croissant, “Icons of Femininity,” 124-127; 129. 	
   110 Some Japanese-style painters in Kyoto mocked idealized representations of beautiful women in Edo art by reworking the bijin-ga tradition, which art historian John Szostak calls the discourse of “anti-bijin” (anti-beauty).  These artists painted women who did not conventionally fall into the category of “beautiful women,” such as lower- class, ugly, and mad women, shocking viewers.  Szostak writes that, through the use of anti-bijin images, progressive Nihonga painters alluded to Japan’s traditional past while simultaneously rejecting artistic conservatism of their collegues. 271  Szostak’s examination includes a study of works by Kajiwara Hisako, who, like Shōen, was a female Japanese-style painter in Kyoto.  Her Sisters (ca. 1915) depicts siblings, a woman and an adolescent girl, both of them mentally disabled.  With their deformed faces and shabby clothes, the sisters in Kajiwara’s painting stand in stark contrast to the idealized, culturally sophisticated, doll-like women in fashionable kimono portrayed in Shōen’s works.   Indeed, unlike Shōen, Kajiwara was never concerned with female beauty.  She stated, “I had no intention of painting a pretty woman in the traditional style, which was precisely what I wanted to break away from.”272  Often dealing with the issue of hardship 	
   271 John Szostak, “Fair Is Foul, and Foul Is Fair’: Kyoto Nihonga Anti-Bijin Portraiture and The Psychology of the Grotesque,” in Rethinking Japanese Modernism, ed. Roy Starrs (Leiden: Global Oriental, 2012), 364.  Sincere thanks to John Szostak who shared with me his unpublished manuscript. 272 Originally in Kajiwara Hisako, “Omoide no arubamu,” Bijutsu, 1974. Quoted in Szostak, “‘Fair Is Foul, and Foul Is Fair,’” 375. 	
   111 experienced by women, her works are considered part of the Humanist School (Jinseiha).273 The most extreme examples of anti-bijin are perhaps the works by Kainoshō Tadaoto, who submitted to the exhibition organized by Bakusen’s Association for the Creation of Japanese Painting as a guest.  His Nude, painted around 1921, depicts a woman whose body does not fit the frame of the canvas.  The glittering surface of her skin adds realism to the sensuality of her plump, fleshy body.  His Woman with Balloon, a painting of a semi-nude woman, created in 1926, was repudiated even by Tsuchida Bakusen as a “filthy picture” (kitanai e), and was removed from the Association for the Creation of Japanese Painting exhibition in that year.  Kainoshō’s paintings were often considered to manifest Satanism (akuma shugi), aestheticism (yuibi shugi), and decadence (taihai shugi), which could also be found in some contemporary literary works, especially Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s novels.274 Shōen was not unaware of modernist trends.  She seems to have explored a new artistic dimension by dealing with the subject of mad love and trying to express the emotional depth of women.  Flower Basket (1915) <Figure 2-10> and Flames (1918) 	
   273 Szostak, “‘ Fair Is Foul, and Foul Is Fair’” 372 274 Kainoshō Tadaoto to Taishō ki no gaka tachi [Kainoshō Tadaoto and Other Artists of the Taishō Period] (Chiba: Chiba City Museum, 1999), 11. Doris Croissant, “From Madonna to Femme Fatale: Gender Play in Japanese National Painting,” in Performing “Nation”: Gender Politics in Literature, Theater, and the Visual Arts of China and Japan, 1880-1940, ed. Doris Croissant, Catherine Vance Yeh, and Joshua S. Mostow (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2008), 304-305. 	
   112 <Figure 2-11> are two good examples.  In Flower Basket, like Kajiwara, Shōen deals with the mentally ill whom she studied at a mental hospital in Kyoto.  She portrays Lady Teruhi no Mae from Zeami’s noh play Hanagatami (Flower Basket), who falls in love with the sixth-century Emperor Keitai.  The heroine, who has gone mad after parting with the emperor, performs the “dance of insanity,” holding in her right hand a basket given to her by him.275  Flames, produced in 1918, is also inspired by a noh play, Lady Aoi (Aoi no ue). In the painting, Rokujō, the lover of the hero Hikaru Genji in The Tale of Genji, twists her body to the right and bites her own hair, expressing jealousy over Lady Aoi, who is the principle wife of Genji. Despite these attempts, however, Shōen did not receive as much attention as the progressive Kyoto painters such as Bakusen and Kainoshō, and her works were in fact harshly criticized as lacking innovation and originality.276