Exhibition

Energy and Strength in Balance:
The Bamboo Basket Art of Fujinuma Noboru
by Robert T. Coffland


Fujinuma Noboru was born north of Tokyo in 1945, two months before the end of World War II. Now a renowned bamboo basket artist whose powerful, technically dazzling works are highly prized in Japan and the West, Fujinuma approaches traditional forms and skills with a "progressive stance" and a passion, the trajectory of his life and work illustrating a new direction developing among the younger generation of post-war bamboo artists in Japan. As a youth, Fujinuma studied car mechanics and metalwork in the Mechanical Design Department at Tochigi Technical High School. Between the ages of 18 and 22 he was in charge of a remodelling plan for Singer sewing machines, after which he worked for Nikon until he was thirty, managing quality control on metal parts production. Although a great admirer of painters and sculptors, his only artistic pursuit at the time was photography. Flowers and herbs had interested him from an early age, and he took pictures of the plants native to the mountainous area in which he lived. Then, in 1974, a visit to Paris allowed Fujinuma to see the value of his own country's culture and traditions with new clarity, and he began to deeply reflect on what he was doing with his life.

Fujinuma first became acquainted with bamboo arts at a modest exhibition held at a community cultural centre in the city of Otawara, Tochigi prefecture, where he lives. Feeling the craft to be on the verge of extinction, and wanting to take part in sustaining it for the future and introducing it to the world, he acquired a catalogue of the innovative work of Shono Shounsai (1904-74), who in 1967 was named Japan's first Living National Treasure in bamboo arts. Shounsai's approach was an invitation and challenge to post-war Japanese bamboo artists to enter the modern world. In studying and reflecting on Shounsai's accomplishments, Fujinuma realized that bamboo basketry held great possibilities for artistic expression, and determined to spend his life learning to master the art. In 1976, two years after his return from Europe, he left his job and used his life savings to apprentice himself to Yagisawa Keizo (b. 1927), a respected basket-maker. As his student, he was deeply inspired by Yagisawa's evident intent -- to foster in Fujinuma a better artist than himself.

In earlier times apprenticeship rarely began with hands-on experience, and sometimes it was not permitted for years. An apprentice found himself in the position of assistant to his teacher, doing various tasks and errands related to the work, and even helping around the house. One typical anecdote was related to the author by bamboo artist Iida Seiseki (b. 1929), the last apprentice of Iizuka Rokansai (1899-1957). Shortly after the end of World War II, Seiseki decided he wanted to learn bamboo basket-making. When he approached the master artist, Rokansai told him to come back with his father. This he did the next day, and it was agreed that Seiseki would live with the Iizuka family and become an apprentice. However, for the next three years he did not once touch a stick of bamboo. Only at the end of this period did Rokansai decide that the young man had developed the proper mind to study with him, which he did until Rokansai's death in 1957. By contrast, Fujinuma's apprenticeship with Yagisawa lasted only twenty months, and did not entail the initial servitude.

With his teacher Fujinuma learned the basics of the bamboo basket craft, such as cutting, dyeing, weaving and lacquering. From Yagisawa he also learned "the most important quality of human nature -- honesty," including honesty both to oneself and to the craft. The finer points of the art he taught himself. Unlike many respected bamboo artists in the past, Fujinuma does not come from a long line of basket-makers. However, his father was a skilled carpenter, and from him Fujinuma learned that skills are only gained with time and patience and that one skill builds upon another. He had great respect for his father, who he felt understood the basic nature of his work with bamboo, and before his death in 1989, promised him that he would achieve top honours in his chosen field. After that promise was made, explains Fujinuma, his focus and concentration grew more intense and his commitment to his art deepened, giving him the confidence, the self-trust so necessary to an artist; this has remained with him until today.

As Fujinuma learned more about bamboo basket-making, he faced an unexpected challenge. A basket-maker first learns the craft and, if successful, becomes an artisan or artist, a process which can take decades. Initially, he copies the baskets of his teacher or other bamboo artists he admires, while the next step involves breaking free of these influences. For Fujinuma, this break came swiftly and with difficulty: "In my early thirties I got into a slump. I tried everything people suggested, including Zen and repeating Buddhist prayers. None of them worked. Then one day I came across two books that shed light into my dark mind. I thought: This is it!. The books were ancient classics -- Musashi Miyamoto's The Book of Five Rings and the famous Chinese work by Wu Cheng'en, Journey to the West, all about fighting with worldly desires, about self-realization and accomplishment. It was timely for me," he explains. People have influenced him as well, among them friends involved in the world of tea ceremony and flower-arranging. Others include sculptor Mitsuo Kikuchi (b. 1946), who Fujinuma describes as "a close friend and also my drawing teacher" and who assisted him in thinking about and trying to define for himself the differences between fine art and craft.

Fujinuma admits to being torn between craft and art, and acknowledges that many critics in the United States and in Japan feel that if a work has a clear function, it must be "craft" and cannot be "art." Traditionally in Japan, bamboo baskets have a clear function: they are used to contain and embrace the bounty of nature, particularly the beauty of flowers. Fujinuma respects and adheres to this utilitarian definition of bamboo baskets, yet maintains that all his work is art. "I value craft as simple human art," he says, adding that "it's easy to understand that way." A close working knowledge and experience of bamboo under different conditions is vital in attaining a mastery of the craft. Fujinuma believes that a deep understanding and respect for its material nature is essential in order to create a work of art: "When you shave off the outer bark there is a very rough fibre under it which contrasts with the very smooth outer feel. I see bamboo as holding an inner strength." He agrees with the view that the structure of bamboo can be related in a way to Zen teachings, with its outer solidity, inner flexibility and resilience, and emptiness at the centre. As to the "essential nature" of bamboo, Fujinuma explains: "Bamboo is a very energetic plant during the height of its spring growing season. It grows an amazing amount every day and then stops. During this sixty-day growth period, it exhibits, in a delicate yet dynamic way, its strength and durability. It is only a simple grass. You can cut it straight like wood and you find it empty inside. That emptiness, that simplicity, are perfect for expressing my artistic feelings. An artist has to have a strong idea or intention to impose on the plant, and still the artist must work within the nature and strength of the plant, listening to it."

Fujinuma feels he was destined to work with bamboo as a material, something which this author has heard or sensed again and again during interviews with bamboo artists. Fujinuma has long been observant of varieties in the plant world, and bamboo presents him with a desirable range of choices. "Each type of bamboo is different. You need to know and understand the quality and feel of each piece," he says. He generally uses madake for the finer, more sensitive pieces; nemagaridake for the strong and powerful works; and mosodake for the simple, single-stalk bamboo flower vases that usually stand inside the other baskets (although some are deeply scored and lacquered so that they can be used alone). Since younger artists do not have easy access to susudake (smoked bamboo from the rafters of old farm houses), Fujinuma has developed a unique colour palette that echoes the feeling of aged bamboo. "I am most satisfied with a basket when I feel I have succeeded in bringing out the character of the bamboo, and when I can share that moment of my intention with someone else," he reveals. Rattan, also a member of the grass family, is used for attaching handles as well as creating the fine stitching on the rim of the baskets. Regardless of his emphasis on simplicity, Fujinuma's work astounds and surprises. One is astounded by the signature strength of his baskets, reinforced by the characteristic rich, warm red colouration; one is surprised by his ability to shift from the bold weaving style of the rustic baskets to the subtle elegance of his more finely crafted works -- such dynamic flexibility is demanded of a great bamboo artist.

Some of Fujinuma's finely woven baskets technically rival the most traditional karamono (Chinese-style) baskets created by the supreme basket makers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In many of these, Fujinuma likes to create "numerous soft and sharp patterns of light coming through the fine weave." From this delicate articulation, geometrically defined vectors erupt in flashes which change according to distance and direction. After more than twenty years of refining his skills, Fujinuma can see the moiré pattern in his mind before he begins to bend and plait the finely cut bamboo strips to make the neat overlays. Other baskets, particularly the largest ones, seem audacious, almost primitive, as if constructed from handfuls of raw bamboo lashed together in a few moments. In spite of their obvious weight and solidity, such works give an instant energy boost to the viewer. If one is fortunate enough to experience closer contact, the larger pieces resonate in the hand, informing the body with their bridled energy.

Fujinuma's larger baskets do not lead one to a state of contemplation; rather, one is taken into the work, held closely inside the bold knotting and potent weave, until the basket grabs hold with its almost living physicality. Fujinuma insists that people should be able to use all his baskets, even the rustic ones: "I make the large pieces because that is the style of expression where my energy and the nemagaridake meet in harmony. It is always my heart's desire for someone to come and arrange flowers in the large pieces," he says, adding that "nowadays I can imagine the flowers I would arrange for each basket. Arranging flowers with each one's natural atmosphere in mind involves the utmost attention and tuning in with nature herself..." Nature continues to provide inspiration for Fujinuma today, as it did when he was a child.

Fujinuma confirms that there are two distinct motivations for his creations: one type of basket -- experimental -- he makes for himself; the other -- more traditional and refined -- he makes specifically for submission to exhibitions, which are organized by the Nihon Dento Kogeikai, the Japan Traditional Craft Arts Association. This organization was started by the Japanese government in the 1950s to preserve and encourage traditional Japanese crafts, and is also closely connected to the Living National Treasures of Japan programme. The exhibition held each autumn, known as the Dento Kogeiten, comprises seven categories, with bamboo and wood combined into one. Exhibitors submit their work to a committee of experts and artists from their area of specialization. Fujinuma has twice been selected to serve on this committee, which is regarded as an honour and an essential step in the career of a craft artist. The committee chooses the baskets meeting the organization's criteria for artistic excellence, and then recommends any works worthy of consideration for a special prize. The work chosen by this committee goes to a second committee -- composed of one member from the previous committee plus museum directors, art critics and Living National Treasures -- for confirmation of the fairness of judging and further consideration for special prizes. Lastly, the works recommended by this committee go to a third, larger and more prestigious group of artists and experts, which also includes a member of the Imperial Family. This committee gives out seven awards, of which Fujinuma has already won two: in 1986, the Japan Traditional Craft Chairman's Award, and in 1992, the Tokyo Governor's Award. The basket that won the latter award was acquired by the National Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo.

As noted earlier, Fujinuma's career has followed an almost unprecedented path. He started late in life, with no family tradition in bamboo craft. He underwent an extremely short apprenticeship, and was selected after only three rejections to exhibit his work at the Dento Kogeiten -- typically, it takes about ten years of submissions before an artist is accepted. Fujinuma became a full member of the Nihon Dento Kogeikai after his fourth inclusion in an exhibition -- less than ten years after he began to make baskets. Though each generation and field seems to have its prodigies, Fujinuma's rapid rise to distinction is nonetheless remarkable in the bamboo arts world. Today, at the age of 53 -- still considered a "young" artist by Japanese standards -- Fujinuma has achieved a level of recognition that normally comes only much later in life. At this point, he must patiently wait for the possibility of being recognized as a Living Treasure in his prefecture, an honour bestowed upon an artist only after the age of sixty. The supreme honour of becoming a Living National Treasure of Japan is even more elusive for any artist, but one the best traditional craft artists aspire to achieve.

Fujinuma combines his brilliance and technical competence, honed over two decades in the conservative world of the Nihon Dento Kogeikai, to produce works that are progressive. Only time will tell the ultimate success of the bold position he has taken. In all his works, Fujinuma recognizes the importance of the aesthetic philosophy developed by Iizuka Rokansai, who revolutionized the world of bamboo arts in the 1930s. Rokansai saw three approaches to expression in basket-making: shin, the most formal, with regular shapes and beautiful weaving suggestive of materials other than bamboo; so, the least formal approach, in which form and weave are rough in appearance but very sophisticated, in the manner of Abstract Expressionist paintings; and gyo, which combines elements of both in a subtle melding. The handle and the strips along the edges and sides of this basket are made from simple stalks of bamboo and exhibit a pronounced roundness, the nodes standing out, while the body consists of an extremely fine weave. Such juxtaposition holds a quiet beauty awaiting discovery.

At work in his studio, Fujinuma now finds himself able to concentrate so well he is aware only of his own breath. He works at any hour of the day or night, generally for two hours at a stretch. The time of day is not important -- only that he works whenever he is "in balance." Often, from eight to ten o"clock in the morning provides an effective session, but then he might find himself up at two at night, full of energy. Since he is free from the responsibilities of a family, he can devote himself to his art and so is able to take whatever time is necessary to complete a work. To get started on a new piece, Fujinuma needs a certain amount of time to contemplate and conceptualize, in which drawing plays an important role. It may take him three months or more to complete a major new work for submission to an exhibition. Once he begins, he almost never puts a piece aside to work on later. Sometimes, a group of baskets is informed by a particular concept, such as ki or "energy," which conveys his positive attitude to life. Fujinuma's works on ki have evolved in various incarnations over the years, culminating in his unique double-wall constructions. Crafting the exterior wall from braids of finely cut strands of bamboo has become one of his signature techniques.

On encountering the radiant, visceral power of Fujinuma's baskets, one might be tempted to explain their effect as the result of unharnessed ego or aggressive strength, perhaps reflecting a determination of post-war artists in Japan to distinguish themselves as individuals in a stubbornly homogeneous culture. On a personal level, having changed career in his early thirties and having gone through the "slump" he describes, Fujinuma arrived at a clearer vision and a commitment to his art. It is that resolve, that insight, which reveal themselves in the confidence expressed by his work. As for the future, Fujinuma has a few, very clear plans. Firstly, he wants to build a bamboo arts museum in the prefecture where he lives. It will be his life's work, he says, and will provide, as well, a new motivation for creating baskets. He also hopes for an exhibition of baskets to be held in a museum in the West. About his acceptance in the West by private collectors, he comments: "I am certainly surprised to be accepted. It is always wonderful to know that art is a universal language. It has motivated me in my work more than ever." Fujinuma has the technical strength and creative force, the grounded confidence necessary to become one of the great bamboo artists of his generation. Perhaps he is even now evolving a more relaxed, smooth-flowing clarity, the unselfconscious humility that comes from having gained worldly honours yet realizing that in the larger scheme, you have achieved "nothing": the emptiness inside the strength of the bamboo.

Fujinuma is an unconventional artist who nonetheless recognizes that he must continue to work his way up in the conservative exhibitions world. One trusts that the work he does for himself will continue to sustain him. Pragmatic and patient, he must succeed without compromising his integrity, being flexible like the bamboo he works with, bending when he needs to bend and yet retaining the inner strength necessary to invent and to create.

Speaking from his studio, named Ikku-an, or "One Sky Studio," Fujinuma offers his own challenge to today's young bamboo artists: "First of all, you need to free yourself from old-fashioned conventions. I think that many traditional craft artists are misinterpreting traditional craft as "transmission craft." My understanding of traditional craft is to pursue the excellence of art and beauty at this time, not to "hand down" the beauty of the past. Traditional craft can come into alignment with modern art. Everything is, of course, a challenge. To develop skill is very important, but you cannot rely on it too much. It may take you where you did not intend to go. It seems to me, as an artist, that what matters most is who you are as a person, how you live and perceive life, and the most critical thing is how deeply you believe in yourself as you create. Having this faith is most important."

(This article is reprinted with the kind permission of Orientations Magazine, where it appeared in February 1999.)