Saturday, May 14, 2011
Monday, May 17, 2010
On the Takate Kote
The takate kote is a tie of great variation. You can't speak of it like it is a single thing. Different people tie it in different ways and different approaches to the tie look better or worse on different body types.
There are artistic versions, suspension versions, versions for floor work, and versions for torture (literally).
The first thing I learned from Master "K" was how to tie it safely in a very basic version. Anatomy, nerve compression, safety release knots. All of that matters tremendously.
From there, I have learned 7 or 8 different versions all suited to different purposes. That is barely scratching the surface. Those are the core constructions that do different things, but which also produce a variety of different feelings, sensations, and even emotions.
The next step is figuring out how to put yourself, your energy, your self into the tie and how to make the rope a conduit between you and your partner to create something beautiful.
Watch Akechi, Nureki, Yukimura, Master "K", Negaiki, Osada Steve, Randa, Arisue, etc. They all tie it differently depending on who they are tying, how it looks, what they want to do and what effect they want to have.
There is an amazing level of subtly to this tie that allows for almost infinite variation, complexity, artistic expression, and effect upon the submissive being tied.
Tying a takate kote well is an art and for most of the great bakushi you can recognize their work because their TK's are often a kind of signature.
Yes, the safety of the tie is important (perhaps the most important thing), but once you are past learning the fundamentals of how to tie it correctly and safely, it opens up a world of artistic expression where you can make your partner more beautiful, release her hidden eros and play with it, and build upon the tie in nearly an infinite number of ways, layering sensation upon sensation, adding pressure points, compression, or constriction as you see fit.
There are artistic versions, suspension versions, versions for floor work, and versions for torture (literally).
The first thing I learned from Master "K" was how to tie it safely in a very basic version. Anatomy, nerve compression, safety release knots. All of that matters tremendously.
From there, I have learned 7 or 8 different versions all suited to different purposes. That is barely scratching the surface. Those are the core constructions that do different things, but which also produce a variety of different feelings, sensations, and even emotions.The next step is figuring out how to put yourself, your energy, your self into the tie and how to make the rope a conduit between you and your partner to create something beautiful.
Watch Akechi, Nureki, Yukimura, Master "K", Negaiki, Osada Steve, Randa, Arisue, etc. They all tie it differently depending on who they are tying, how it looks, what they want to do and what effect they want to have.
There is an amazing level of subtly to this tie that allows for almost infinite variation, complexity, artistic expression, and effect upon the submissive being tied.
Tying a takate kote well is an art and for most of the great bakushi you can recognize their work because their TK's are often a kind of signature.
Yes, the safety of the tie is important (perhaps the most important thing), but once you are past learning the fundamentals of how to tie it correctly and safely, it opens up a world of artistic expression where you can make your partner more beautiful, release her hidden eros and play with it, and build upon the tie in nearly an infinite number of ways, layering sensation upon sensation, adding pressure points, compression, or constriction as you see fit.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Kinbaku as I Understand It or Being on the River
Recently there has been a renewed discussion on the terminology that is used to describe the Japanese art of rope bondage. That discussion, hinges on two Japanese words: Shibari (縛り) and Kinbaku (緊縛) with the first being the Japanese word “to tie” and the second being a word that translates to “tight binding.” Which of these words is “correct” is not particularly important. What is more important is the intention that each of these words express.
To me, shibari is the answer to the question “how do you tie?” And kinbaku is the answer to the question “why do you tie?”
Let’s say, for example, that you watch a session with a famous bakushi who performs a dramatic, moving, and inspiring tie. Asking him how to tie that, could result in a brief tutorial and some instruction that could, indeed, tell you how he performed the tie.
But asking why he performed the tie requires a much deeper discussion.
While I am no famous bakushi, the meaning of kinbaku for me cannot be separated from the question “why do you tie?”
In the past year, I have found my answer to that question not only in the practice of kinbaku, but also in the spirit of it. And my answer to that question is, like anyone else’s, personal and to some degree idiosyncratic. But, I believe that until one begins to answer it, one is not capable of doing kinbaku.
Kinbaku is, I think, for most Americans an uncomfortable thing. Done well, it requires a complete nullification of the ego, the ability to literally disappear in the ropes and to put one’s energy, in an absolute sense, into the pleasure of another. At its best, kinbaku is created but it is not something that I create. When it is kinbaku, I am no longer there, and I have had friends remark that I go into a different space. I appear both intensely focused and no longer there.
The tendency in all of us is to say “Look what I have done” and to celebrate each tie as an accomplishment. When we think of kinbaku as an art, we consider ourselves the artist, the model our canvas, and the rope our medium. And when we do so, I believe, we fail as bakushi.
In this simple formula, we never get past the “how I tie” question.
Kinbaku comes from a deeper place, not the self-aggrandizement of the artist or the ego of the showman. It comes from an authentic expression of who one is. An interview with Akechi Denki in 1997 tells the story of Minomura Ko, one of the early pioneers of kinbaku in Japan and editor of the ground breaking magazine Kitan Club, and how he came to the decision to devote his life to kinbaku:
My story is not nearly so dramatic, but it flows from a very similar sentiment. A day when I decided “from now on, I will do the things I like.” And finding my way to kinbaku led me to my own personal discovery. For me, kinbaku is not an art, it is a river.
Doing kinbaku is, for me, about finding the flow of things and letting the currents guide you. It is a river of tradition, where you are carried along by forces much greater than yourself and where making small adjustments can have a great impact on your direction. The force of the river, its power and majesty comes from the past. Rivers have a history, literally written into the earth; they tell a story. They begin as a trickle, gradually building and finding their way, until eventually they can wear away even the most stubborn obstacles. They wash over dirt and rock alike and, eventually, find their way and proclaim “from now on, I will do the things I like.”
But they do not get there quickly or easily.
So it is with kinbaku as well. Our river is carved by time and our past comes from a long tradition with names like Tsujimura, Minomura, Nureki, Itoh, Osada, Akechi, Shima,Yukimura and countless others. These bakushi are my river spirits, the ones who created the river upon which I now travel, and each time I touch my rope and begin to wrap it around my partner, I am invoking them and pledging to myself, in my own small way that, like Minomura, “from now on, I will do the things I like.”
When we spend our time analyzing the chemical composition of the water, we miss the beauty, the spirit, the nature, and the transcendence that the river offers us.
And for me, in the end, it is in finding and doing the things I like that allows me to, ultimately, disappear.
To me, shibari is the answer to the question “how do you tie?” And kinbaku is the answer to the question “why do you tie?”
Let’s say, for example, that you watch a session with a famous bakushi who performs a dramatic, moving, and inspiring tie. Asking him how to tie that, could result in a brief tutorial and some instruction that could, indeed, tell you how he performed the tie.
But asking why he performed the tie requires a much deeper discussion.
While I am no famous bakushi, the meaning of kinbaku for me cannot be separated from the question “why do you tie?”
In the past year, I have found my answer to that question not only in the practice of kinbaku, but also in the spirit of it. And my answer to that question is, like anyone else’s, personal and to some degree idiosyncratic. But, I believe that until one begins to answer it, one is not capable of doing kinbaku.
Kinbaku is, I think, for most Americans an uncomfortable thing. Done well, it requires a complete nullification of the ego, the ability to literally disappear in the ropes and to put one’s energy, in an absolute sense, into the pleasure of another. At its best, kinbaku is created but it is not something that I create. When it is kinbaku, I am no longer there, and I have had friends remark that I go into a different space. I appear both intensely focused and no longer there.
The tendency in all of us is to say “Look what I have done” and to celebrate each tie as an accomplishment. When we think of kinbaku as an art, we consider ourselves the artist, the model our canvas, and the rope our medium. And when we do so, I believe, we fail as bakushi.
In this simple formula, we never get past the “how I tie” question.
Kinbaku comes from a deeper place, not the self-aggrandizement of the artist or the ego of the showman. It comes from an authentic expression of who one is. An interview with Akechi Denki in 1997 tells the story of Minomura Ko, one of the early pioneers of kinbaku in Japan and editor of the ground breaking magazine Kitan Club, and how he came to the decision to devote his life to kinbaku:
…an enemy ship sank Minomura Ko’s ship and he was left adrift in the Pacific Ocean for many days. It was then, where he promised himself that if he ever made it back alive, “from now on, I will do the things I like.”It is in that simple story that we can see the essence of kinbaku.
My story is not nearly so dramatic, but it flows from a very similar sentiment. A day when I decided “from now on, I will do the things I like.” And finding my way to kinbaku led me to my own personal discovery. For me, kinbaku is not an art, it is a river.
Doing kinbaku is, for me, about finding the flow of things and letting the currents guide you. It is a river of tradition, where you are carried along by forces much greater than yourself and where making small adjustments can have a great impact on your direction. The force of the river, its power and majesty comes from the past. Rivers have a history, literally written into the earth; they tell a story. They begin as a trickle, gradually building and finding their way, until eventually they can wear away even the most stubborn obstacles. They wash over dirt and rock alike and, eventually, find their way and proclaim “from now on, I will do the things I like.”
But they do not get there quickly or easily.
So it is with kinbaku as well. Our river is carved by time and our past comes from a long tradition with names like Tsujimura, Minomura, Nureki, Itoh, Osada, Akechi, Shima,Yukimura and countless others. These bakushi are my river spirits, the ones who created the river upon which I now travel, and each time I touch my rope and begin to wrap it around my partner, I am invoking them and pledging to myself, in my own small way that, like Minomura, “from now on, I will do the things I like.”
When we spend our time analyzing the chemical composition of the water, we miss the beauty, the spirit, the nature, and the transcendence that the river offers us.
And for me, in the end, it is in finding and doing the things I like that allows me to, ultimately, disappear.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Kinbaku East and West
I have been struck recently by a number of differences between how we learn things here in the West, as opposed to how most of the traditional Japanese arts (kinbaku included) are passed down.
The concept of a ryu is something we don't really have much of an English equivalent for. The closest we come to it is the idea of a school, as in "school of thought." A set of unified beliefs that emerge around a body of work or a group of people working together.
The term and concept seems to have far greater traction in Japanese society, perhaps because group inclusion is so much a part of the social and cultural structure. The word ryu (流) literally means flow and the addition of ha (派,) creates the word ryuha which means mainstream. In a culture where difference is avoided and blending into the flow is prized, it would make sense that the concept of ryu would have deep cultural significance.
There is also a high level distinction between -do and -ryu, which I am just now trying to grasp. The idea of do or "way" (literally the path to enlightenment) is a broad conceptual category, where a ryu is more about the particular style, which encompasses not just the technique, but also a greater sense of style of being within the spirit and the mindset of a way of seeing the world.
In the West, our value system is different. We want to stand out. We strive for individual success and attention. Mainstream is boring and the idea of a ryu is much more of a technical concept. We believe we can take bits and pieces from many different ways and construct our own. The whole is greater than the sum of the parts.
We in the West prize individual style. We even talk about it in just that way, we say, "Wow, he's got style." And we don't mean "he has embraced the mainstream" when we say it. We equate style with something quite different.
So here we have something of an impasse.
We in the West are trying to learn an art form that is grounded in the deepest sense in the concept of ryu. When you see the great kinbaku master's work from Japan, you can see the have a strong sense of style, but one which can be traced back through the mainstream of kinbaku. There is a line from Ito Seiu to Minomura Kou to Nureki Chimuo. The development of a history, a lineage, a ryu.
The Western approach of laissez-faire, take what you can get and cobble it together, is a very different approach.
Without the ryu we may learn the technique, but we lose the perspective on the world that the history, tradition, and style that has been passed down represents.
In the West, we are a culture of teaching. We strive to demonstrate, to share, to explicate and explain. In the East, the dynamic seems quiet different. They are a culture of learning. Knowledge is not given, but must be taken, often stolen. The aspects of that matter most are the ones which remain unspoken and are absorbed as tacit knowledge. They are the essence of ryu, of spirit, and of the underlying philosophy that animates so much of what we see in kinbaku.
In the end, learning kinbaku may have less to do with the ropes and technique and everything to do with finding the mainstream and allowing oneself to be enveloped in the flow of art, history, and beauty.
The concept of a ryu is something we don't really have much of an English equivalent for. The closest we come to it is the idea of a school, as in "school of thought." A set of unified beliefs that emerge around a body of work or a group of people working together.
The term and concept seems to have far greater traction in Japanese society, perhaps because group inclusion is so much a part of the social and cultural structure. The word ryu (流) literally means flow and the addition of ha (派,) creates the word ryuha which means mainstream. In a culture where difference is avoided and blending into the flow is prized, it would make sense that the concept of ryu would have deep cultural significance.
There is also a high level distinction between -do and -ryu, which I am just now trying to grasp. The idea of do or "way" (literally the path to enlightenment) is a broad conceptual category, where a ryu is more about the particular style, which encompasses not just the technique, but also a greater sense of style of being within the spirit and the mindset of a way of seeing the world.
In the West, our value system is different. We want to stand out. We strive for individual success and attention. Mainstream is boring and the idea of a ryu is much more of a technical concept. We believe we can take bits and pieces from many different ways and construct our own. The whole is greater than the sum of the parts.
We in the West prize individual style. We even talk about it in just that way, we say, "Wow, he's got style." And we don't mean "he has embraced the mainstream" when we say it. We equate style with something quite different.
So here we have something of an impasse.
We in the West are trying to learn an art form that is grounded in the deepest sense in the concept of ryu. When you see the great kinbaku master's work from Japan, you can see the have a strong sense of style, but one which can be traced back through the mainstream of kinbaku. There is a line from Ito Seiu to Minomura Kou to Nureki Chimuo. The development of a history, a lineage, a ryu.
The Western approach of laissez-faire, take what you can get and cobble it together, is a very different approach.
Without the ryu we may learn the technique, but we lose the perspective on the world that the history, tradition, and style that has been passed down represents.
In the West, we are a culture of teaching. We strive to demonstrate, to share, to explicate and explain. In the East, the dynamic seems quiet different. They are a culture of learning. Knowledge is not given, but must be taken, often stolen. The aspects of that matter most are the ones which remain unspoken and are absorbed as tacit knowledge. They are the essence of ryu, of spirit, and of the underlying philosophy that animates so much of what we see in kinbaku.
In the end, learning kinbaku may have less to do with the ropes and technique and everything to do with finding the mainstream and allowing oneself to be enveloped in the flow of art, history, and beauty.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Atama, kata, hiza, ashi, hiza, ashi.
I came across this while reading up on Kata Ashi, the one leg up partial suspension, and in my quest to learn Japanese, I stumbled upon Japanese for Elementary School Students, which sadly is about 4 grade levels above my current level of knowledge.I thought it was a nice way to think about the Japanese names for body parts. Sung to the tune of "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" (Refresher here for those who don't remember)
ATAMA, KATA, HIZA, ASHI
(Head, Shoulders, Knees and Feet)
| Atama, kata, hiza, ashi, hiza, ashi. | ||||||||||||||
| Atama, kata, hiza, ashi, hiza, ashi. | ||||||||||||||
| Me to mimi to kuchi to hana. | ||||||||||||||
| Atama, kata, hiza, ashi, hiza, ashi. |
Accompanying image from SM コレクター, c. 1976
by Kita Reiko
n.b. The kata in kata ashi (片足) does not refer to the shoulder (such a confusing language!) but instead, in this context, means one, and is used specifically when you have "one of two" things. So kata ashi is "one leg" and not "shoulder leg"
What Hojojutsu means for Kinbaku
Briefly, hojojustu (probably first codified in the 16th century) was the martial art of capturing and binding prisoners for arrest, transport, and punishment. It was practiced both as a martial art in the context of warfare and later as a civic function for police and constables as a core part of law enforcement through the Edo era and into both the Meiji and Taisho eras, but was gradually replaced with more western techniques as things like handcuffs and leg irons became more widely accessible in the late 19 and early 20th century.
Master K has extensively documented the history and significance of hojojustsu for modern kinbaku in The Beauty of Kinbaku, but last night I had the opportunity to be part of a long and detailed discussion about the complicated intersection of these two arts that went beyond what he was able to cover in the book.
I also got to see a hojojutsu scroll from Master K's personal library which was incredibly awesome to look at (it stretched probably 10-12 feet when unfurled).
So for all of these reasons, hojojutsu has been on my mind a lot recently.
Like Ukiyo-E, hojojutsu can tell us something about the culture of rope out of which kinbaku emerged and in doing so, it can also help understand the broader context in which we not only practice kinbaku but also teach and learn about it.
As Master K points to in The Beauty of Kinbaku, Itatsu Yasuhiko in Yoryoku/Doshin Jutte Hojo ("The Constable's Arts"), outlines four basic rules for hojojutsu. What we explored last night is how important those rules still are for current rope practice and how and why we need to be mindful of them.
These comments are some of my thoughts, notes, and reflections on our conversation and I hope they might be useful in the broader context of thinking about rope in the context that we use it.
The four rules outlined by Itatsu were:
- It must be impossible to escape from, even if the prisoner dislocated his joints.
- The prisoner must not be able to understand the process of the tie.
- The tie must not deliberately cut off circulation to any part of the body or cause nerve damage.
- The tie must be beautiful.
The first rule, "It must be impossible to escape from, even if the prisoner dislocated his joints" may seem obvious, since we are dealing with a form of bondage, the idea that as a restraint it needs to be inescapable. But so often when people think of kinbaku and shibari, they think of pretty rope, beautiful models and neatly tied patterns. The basis for hojojutsu, the first rule, is that the ties must be effective. The tradition that has given us some of the most beautiful ties we see has also given us ties that are among the most restrictive and intense. Kinbaku construction can be extremely restrictive and many of the ties we do today follow from techniques that would prevent escape, even if the bottom was able to dislocate their joints (which as been the core technique of escape artists throughout history).
The second rule, that "the prisoner must not be able to understand the process of the tie" has an unintended consequence that complicated kinbaku in a few important ways. Or more particularly, it complicates how it is that we learn and teach kinbaku. Like all Japanese arts, kinbaku has both an explicit and a tacit dimension and it is the unsaid or hidden part which is always the most important. That means that these ties, both hojojutsu ties and the kinbaku patterns that evolved from them, are designed to be indecipherable simply by looking at them. The techniques are not obvious and, in fact, even the hojojutsu scrolls used to pass information from generation to generation would often leave out a key piece of information to preserve the sanctity of the style or ryu. That meant you would need someone knowledgeable in the art to show you, teach you hands on, how to perform the tie in order to get that one small, but critical, piece of knowledge.
This presents a huge problem for those of us in the West trying to learn kinbaku from reverse engineering ties that we see in pictures. We are trying to replicate ties for images that were specifically designed to not be reverse engineered.
The third tenet outlined was safety, "the tie must not deliberately cut off circulation to any part of the body or cause nerve damage." Of course for hojojutsu, if the prisoner struggled or tried to escape, all bets were off! So many of these ties play with very dangerous areas of the body (necks in particular, but also nerve clusters). This meant that the hojojustsu artist also had to be something of an expert in anatomy as well. Knowing where to tie and where not to was extremely important, especially if you were in the unfortunately position of arresting someone of high rank or nobility.
In modern kinbaku we need to be experts in anatomy in two different ways. The first, and most important, is safety. Understanding the brachial and radial nerves, the vegus nerve, chest wall and compartment syndromes and a host of other medical risks as well as how to deal with prior injuries and partner limitations are all basic shibari 101 topics. But as important is understanding how rope can be pleasurable, building layering sensations, working with tensions to produce various and varied effects. Japanese rope bondage has an amazing flexibility. It can be absolutely ferocious or it can be soft and caressing or anything in between. But that requires understanding both your partner and your technique at a very deep level.
A core part of the study of kinbaku is a study of what the Japanese consider to be the erogenous zones of the body. Using rope to constrain, compress, isolate, torment, or otherwise stimulate these areas is the heart of kinbaku.
Finally, part of what makes shibari special is the last rule, "the tie must be beautiful." This is probably what kinbaku is best know for: the ability to make beautiful patterns and ties. And there is great beauty passed down from the traditions of hojojutsu. But it is critical to understand that while kinbaku is an aesthetic of restraint, it is not just enough to be beautiful. It must be effective, safe, stimulating, pleasurable, and beautiful.
Like the beautiful and elaborate patterns of hojojutsu, kinbaku creates a harmony between all of the elements. The beauty of the tie is never just about the rope, it is always about matching the right tie to your partner to generate the effect you intend in her or him. Done well, kinbaku makes your partner more beautiful. And it is a beauty that emerges when the tie is effective, safe, and pleasurable all in the way you intend.
Last night, I was able to see all of these principles put into practice as Master K walked through the history with someone unfamiliar with the traditions of kinbaku. More than that, he was able to translate that history into practice tying a model for the night first into a beautiful Kata-ashi partial suspension and later into an Ebi and Agura. Each of those ties are part of a tradition extending back decades and in some cases centuries. And part of the beauty that is kinbaku is embracing that tradition and being able to understand and, ultimately, use the various aspects and traditions of Japanese art.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Adventures in Ukiyo-E
Over the past few weeks I have started expanding my study of kinbaku to include some of the more artistic influences. One of the key areas of study has been Ukiyo-E, the art of Japanese wood block printing. Prior to the invention and widespread use of photography in the early 20th century, Ukiyo-E was one of the primary visual media for everything from artistic expression to news and political commentary. More than that, within the tradition of Ukiyo-E, there is a genre of work called shunga, which literally means Spring. These prints were done by almost all of the well known Ukiyo-E artists (though often left unsigned), including the most famous of them, Hokusai.
There are two prints I have found recently (one of which is also discussed extensively in Master K's The Beauty of Kinbaku). The first however, struck me as interesting for a completely different reason than the second. This is a print by Kuniyoshi (Yoshitoshi's mentor, more on him in below). This print is titled "Mother and Child with Toys" (1842).
In this print you can see a few very interesting things going on. First, and one of the things perhaps most important to consider is that this print bears the seal of Takano Shinemon, a censor of era. All of these prints (excluding shunga which were underground works and which also would fetch considerably higher prices) needed approval and the seal of the censor in order to be publicly displayed.
This work by Kuniyoshi is interesting to me for two related reasons. The first is that it is a classic example of what was called abuna-e or "dangerous or risque" pictures. Often erotic content would be added to prints that featured things like an innocent mother playing with her child and his toys as a way of getting around the ban on erotic or pornographic content. But what is really remarkable about this print is that it is not the exposed breast that makes it provocative. It is the long line of the exposed neck, which is is, in fact, considered highly erotic and stimulating. For my purposes this begins to tell me a little bit about how we can think about kinbaku in relation to some of the Japanese notions of eroticism and sexuality. There are various ties, such as a Tasuki which can be used to stimulate that region as well as different patterns for a gote which either leave it exposed or stimulate regions around the neck (shoulders and upper back) to increase sensation in that area.
The second print of interest to me, was by Yoshitoshi published in 1887 as one in a series of "Live of Modern People." The subject of the print is Lady Muraoka of the Konoe clan. As is obvious in the print, the woman is bound in rope, the tie around her arm and neck are both visible and she is posed in a very erotic and highly suggestive manner, implying that she is enjoying the rope and the situation. The story behind this print is rather different, however. "Muraoka (1786-1873) was a supporter of the loyalist faction that disagreed with the shogunate's new open-door policy. She was arrested and severely tortured in 1858 during the Ansei Purge. Her unbroken loyalty won her considerable acclaim once the shogunate fell. However, Yoshitoshi's depiction of Muraoka borders on sadomasochistic fantasy: bound with ropes she looks seductive rather than distressed, and she looks far younger than the seventy-or-more years she would have been at the time." (Shinichi Sege, Yoshitoshi: The Splendid Decadent)
Again, we have an example of a very erotic image being put out in the public by a well known artist, with the approval of the censors. At this point in his life, Yoshitoshi would have been considered a highly respected artist, which probably allowed for some interpretive license. But one is hard pressed to read the image in any way as a 70 year old woman being taken off to the purges for torture. The long wisp of hair in her mouth, so typical a symbol of eroticism in Japanese art betrays a much deeper meaning and touches on an association between rope, suffering, and eroticism that is a cornerstone of modern kinbaku. As Master K notes, of the five Yoshitoshi prints which use rope, only one (an image from the series "28 Famous Murders with Verse) focuses on violence, the remaining four are all erotic images.
I am looking forward to explore more about the world of Ukiyo-E, seme-e (torture prints) and the history of Japanese eroticism. For all the Western notions of Japan as an open and permissive society, we can see that historically, that is a mischaracterization. Ukiyo-E, seme-e, and shunga are all area, that were subject to and often times evaded strict codes of censorship and serious repression within both the Meiji restoration (1868-1912) and the early Showa period (1926-1945) and it was not until enactment of Article 21 of the Japanese Constitution following WWII in 1947 that there was any notion of the right of freedom of speech or of the press.
While Japanese and Western cultural mores differ about nudity and sexuality, it is probably unfair to say that the Japanese have a more permissive view toward things like erotic art and pornography. The cultural, social and ideological manifestations may be different, as are the reasons for prohibition, but we in the West have no monopoly on censorship or restrictive world views.
There are two prints I have found recently (one of which is also discussed extensively in Master K's The Beauty of Kinbaku). The first however, struck me as interesting for a completely different reason than the second. This is a print by Kuniyoshi (Yoshitoshi's mentor, more on him in below). This print is titled "Mother and Child with Toys" (1842).
This work by Kuniyoshi is interesting to me for two related reasons. The first is that it is a classic example of what was called abuna-e or "dangerous or risque" pictures. Often erotic content would be added to prints that featured things like an innocent mother playing with her child and his toys as a way of getting around the ban on erotic or pornographic content. But what is really remarkable about this print is that it is not the exposed breast that makes it provocative. It is the long line of the exposed neck, which is is, in fact, considered highly erotic and stimulating. For my purposes this begins to tell me a little bit about how we can think about kinbaku in relation to some of the Japanese notions of eroticism and sexuality. There are various ties, such as a Tasuki which can be used to stimulate that region as well as different patterns for a gote which either leave it exposed or stimulate regions around the neck (shoulders and upper back) to increase sensation in that area.
Again, we have an example of a very erotic image being put out in the public by a well known artist, with the approval of the censors. At this point in his life, Yoshitoshi would have been considered a highly respected artist, which probably allowed for some interpretive license. But one is hard pressed to read the image in any way as a 70 year old woman being taken off to the purges for torture. The long wisp of hair in her mouth, so typical a symbol of eroticism in Japanese art betrays a much deeper meaning and touches on an association between rope, suffering, and eroticism that is a cornerstone of modern kinbaku. As Master K notes, of the five Yoshitoshi prints which use rope, only one (an image from the series "28 Famous Murders with Verse) focuses on violence, the remaining four are all erotic images.
I am looking forward to explore more about the world of Ukiyo-E, seme-e (torture prints) and the history of Japanese eroticism. For all the Western notions of Japan as an open and permissive society, we can see that historically, that is a mischaracterization. Ukiyo-E, seme-e, and shunga are all area, that were subject to and often times evaded strict codes of censorship and serious repression within both the Meiji restoration (1868-1912) and the early Showa period (1926-1945) and it was not until enactment of Article 21 of the Japanese Constitution following WWII in 1947 that there was any notion of the right of freedom of speech or of the press.
While Japanese and Western cultural mores differ about nudity and sexuality, it is probably unfair to say that the Japanese have a more permissive view toward things like erotic art and pornography. The cultural, social and ideological manifestations may be different, as are the reasons for prohibition, but we in the West have no monopoly on censorship or restrictive world views.
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