Animals and plants, in particular the camellia, are recurring motifs in Japanese art (for further information see: Maria Teresa Lattarulo, L’arte figurativa giapponese. Fiori, bellezze, visioni. 1400-2000, Progedit, Bari 2021, https://www.progedit.com/pro…/larte-figurativa-giapponese/ ); Maria Teresa Lattarulo, Luoghi famosi del Giappone. Viaggio attraverso l’arte, Progedit, Bari, 2023, https://www.progedit.com/prodotto/luoghi-famosi-del-giappone/ ).
The camellia flower, or Japanese rose, bears this name because it was dedicated by the Swedish naturalist Linnaeus (1707-1778) to the Moravian Jesuit missionary Kamel (1661-1706), a botanist and expert in medicinal plants, who had imported it from that distant country. Camellia japonica belongs to the Teacee family which also includes Thea sinensis, often referred to as tea plant. It has a shrub shape, dark green shiny oval leaves and white to red flowers. Camellia oil is obtained from its fruit, a natural remedy with cosmetic and medicinal properties.
The importance of the camellia, or tsubaki (“tree with shiny leaves”), in national culture is proven by the numerous poems in the Manyōshū – the oldest collection of Japanese poems, composed between 645 and 760 AD. C. – dedicated that flower. Therefore, has a definite literary value, in line with the Japanese sensitivity, which is to inspire the poetics of the seasons. In fact, the camellia heralds the arrival of spring in the cold of winter.
In the East, the camellia is a symbol of perfect beauty and eternal love. In relation to this issue, consider that the fleshy and rounded petals, tightening into a rosette around a central pistil, give the corolla a perfectly circular shape. This compact conformation ensures that the flower at hand does not shed petal by petal, but falls intact, forming a whole with the retaining calyx, thus becoming a symbol of perfect union. The withering of the camellia has also been compared to the death of the samurai.
In Japan, the camellia is also an emblem of perseverance: its flowering in a harsh climate, between the end of winter, in the southern regions, and the beginning of spring, is a clear manifestation of the ability of this flower, albeit so delicate, to endure adversity gracefully. For this reason, the camellia was promoted to image both of those Christians persecuted in the Tokugawa period (1615-1868) and the Virgin Mary. Much admired is the “snow camellia” which blooms under a blanket of ice.
In Europe, the first camellias were grown in the garden of the palace of Caserta, where they arrived in the 18th century.
In the 19th century the flower under examination was made famous by Dumas son’s (1824-1895) novel “The Lady of the Camellias”, from which Verdi (1813-1901) drew inspiration for his “Traviata”. This last lyrical work tells of a transgressive and epicurean lady who dies making a noble gesture of renunciation.
Inspired by dandies, who used to wear a white camellia in their buttonhole, the designer Chanel (1883-1971) made this flower of sober elegance a symbol of her maison.
Uto Gyoshi, Musk Cat, 16th century, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
In the Kanō school silk painting under review, the civet, a nocturnal feline with soft musky fur, looks with attention mixed with distrust at a lush camellia with velvet petals and golden pistils. The animal’s coat can almost be caressed, so detailed is the rendering, with the kegaki technique, of its hair, painted one by one with sumi ink for the part in black, and making use of a very thin brush. Meanwhile, a titmouse on a willow branch desperately tries to get noticed. The civet was not an animal native to Japan, thus proving to be rather a Chinese influence.
Kubo Shunman, Camellia Flowers, a Netsuke and a Seal, 19th century, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
The kachōga genre, with scenes representing flowers and birds in delicate combinations, or just flowers, or, again, plants and animals in general, of Chinese origin, was brought back into vogue by the ukiyoe artists. This particularly occurred in the context of surimono, the New Year’s greeting prints with evocative and symbolic subjects. It was established that the beginning of spring coincided with the first day of the first month and, thus, the red and white camellias, together with the plum branch, represent a happy announcement of the spring season. The contrast between semi-closed flowers and open flowers, defined petal by petal with the sophisticated technique of relief printing or embossing and finished with the use of metallic powders, expresses the dialectic between opposite yin and yang. The netsuke, namely the small, exquisitely crafted ivory sculpture on the right, and the seal on the left are symbolically compared to flowers. In fact, the seal closed a document by imprinting a sign of recognition which guaranteed its authenticity and confidentiality, i.e. the fact that it could only be read by the legitimate recipient. The corolla of the camellia appears sculpturally elegant, like the netsuke, and its petals, pressed together in a rose with a flat shape, are as if they were sealed and do not come off unless the entire flower dies.
Ryūryūkyo Shinsai, Camellia Flower and Yokan Wrapped in Bamboo Skin, 1811, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
In the above surimono, the comparison is more prosaic, namely of a food type: the speckled camellia is compared with the yokan, a bean jelly which in this image appears wrapped in a bamboo envelope.
Rintei, Camellias and Tea-utensil Box, ca. 1820, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
In the subsequent surimono, which is likewise treated with embossing and metallic pigments, the speckled camellia in a porcelain vase painted with miniature landscapes is placed next to a tea box, also finely decorated, and other accessories for the ceremony of this precious liquid extracted from the leaves of a variety of camellia plant. In particular, the tea box is lacquered with landscapes of the “Eight Views of Omi”, a subject that represented views around Kyōto and Lake Biwa; a teaspoon with an elongated and curved shape is placed on a folded cloth in the foreground. On the vase containing the flower, the words “longevity” (su 壽) and “good luck” (fuku 福) connote the surimono as a New Year’s print and attribute auspicious value to the camellia.
Kōno Bairei, Camellia and Grey Heron, 1883, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
In this print from the Meiji era, the juxtaposition is between white or slightly pink camellia and light gray herons with thin legs immersed in the waters of a rice field. The plumage of the heron can take on a white color like that of the petals of the camellia and, like the latter, can represent purity.
Utagawa Toyohiro, Pigeon and Camellias, ca. 1810, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
In this ukiyoe ink print with a longitudinal format, similar to that of kakemono – these being the seasonal scrolls to hang in the tearoom -, a pigeon with a swollen chest watches over the slender white camellia. The combination is guessed because this delicate flower is compared to a tender and gentle animal.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Java Sparrow and Camellia, 1843-47, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
More mischievous are the references to the red camellia, depicted here, in the usual dialectic between open flower and closed flower, as if immersed in the lush foliage on an angular branch that tapers upwards into the void of the background. A Javan sparrow has landed on the branch and, turning its head, looks towards the closed flower. The poem reads: “The red camellia, insouciant of the bird descending” (from the museum website). An interesting note from a biological point of view is that the camellia, flowering in the winter period, is often pollinated by small birds that play the role of insects in spring-summer.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Camellia and Bullfinch, ca. 1833, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Here, the thin branch describes an elegant curve that begins with a blossoming flower and ends with an opening corolla. The bullfinch is in a truly bold position, with its head downwards, holding itself up on its paws. The mastery of the carvings on the matrix recalls the brush strokes of the original vertical scrolls with the kachōga. The poem reads: “The camellia blossoms fall one after another soon after we sweep the place below” (from the museum website).
Utagawa Hiroshige, Camellia and Finch, ca. 1840, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
In this print, always in longitudinal format, the complexity of the design of the branches and foliage contrasts with the simplicity of the rendering of the flower and the bird. The opened corolla, which acts as a counterpoint to the still closed one, is surmounted by the finch which turns its head to the right. The lines always allude to natural phenomena: “The morning tide comes quickly when the east wind blows” (from the museum website).
Utagawa Hiroshige, Japanese White-eye and Titmouse on a Camellia Branch, ca. 1840, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
The slender profiles of the japanese white eye and the titmouse stand out on the lushly flowering camellia branch in the light. The lyrics read: “ Above a single straw mat, fluttering in the sunlight—red camellia blossoms” (Trans. J.T. Carpenter). They bring to mind a beautiful winter day, almost a preview of the spring outings: in fact, the kigo, the verse that contains the seasonal reference, alluding to the camellia flowers, refers to the transition phase from winter to spring.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Camellia at teahouse, from the series A Set of Envelopes of the Fifty-three Stations [of the Tōkaidō], ca. 1840, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
This longitudinal print is suggestive and allows the observer to have an asymmetrical and partial vision, almost like spying inside a tea house. His curiosity, after trying to decipher the signs hanging from above, is immediately attracted by the vivid red of the flowers peeking out behind a bamboo fence, perhaps part of a small garden. Further down, on the corner of a coffee table, two forgotten teacups reveal a tea ceremony that has just concluded. From the absence of the participants and the intensity of the opened red camellia flowers, it could be inferred that a couple is involved in passionate activities for which drinking tea is a pleasant preliminary.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Sparrow and Snow-covered Camellia, ca. 1845, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
In the evocative snow prints the background becomes greyish to highlight the white flakes and the velvety blanket that has delicately rested on branches, leaves, and flowers. The white-breasted sparrow in flight recalls the gracefulness of a snowflake. It is a winter bird that is good luck to spot on the first day of a new year. The poem reads: “ Always look up to see where the camellia’s blossom has fallen on the hedge” (from the museum website). It alludes to the majesty of the end of the camellia flower which does not fall to the ground, but high up on the hedge.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Tree Sparrow and Camellia in Snow, ca. 1840, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
The white camellia with the tree sparrow is almost overwhelmed by the soft and sudden load of snow.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Sparrows and Camellias in Snow, 1854, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
The sparrows fly, one gliding and the other swooping, always according to the dialectic between opposites, in a delightful dance of flakes next to a rustic woven straw structure, with the smart simplicity of a wabi sabi.
Utagawa Hiroshige, Mandarin Ducks and Camellias in Snow, ca. 1830, The Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (RISD Museum), Providence, RI
A slender curve, taken up by the snow-laden flowering branch, separates the cold river in which the mandarin ducks swim from the gray sky, where the white of the bows and the bright red of the flowers contrast in a refined way. The birds have one closed beak (yin), the other open (yang), as well as being strongly differentiated in size and colour. As they glide elegantly on the liquid surface in perfect harmony as a couple, the verses read: “ As ancient poems tell that no wave will reach Mount Matsu, so will the love of mandarin ducks endure” (from the museum website). Those verses are by the waka poet Kiyohara Motosuke (908-990) and are part of the collection Hyakunin isshu (One Hundred Poems by a Hundred Poets). The poem contains a “pillow word”, Matsuyama, the name of a mountain in Tohoku, north-east of the island of Honshu. The words pillow were highly evocative poetic terms, in this case of the idea of eternal love.
Ohara Koson, Nightingale and Blooming Camellia, 1900-1910, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
The monumentality of the white camellia, which the nightingale looks at almost with pride, is well expressed by the shinhanga print under examination. The thin branch, with dark leaves and partially closed buds, elegantly crosses the void. If one could make a portrait of a flower, it would be exactly like this.
Alphonse Mucha, The Lady of the Camellias, 1896, private collection
The restless and feverish linearism of Alphonse Mucha, an exponent of Art Nouveau, captures the image of the mysterious lady of the camellias who so fascinated the nineteenth-century public. The lithograph is a poster for a theatrical performance. The novelty is given by the depiction of the exotic camellia flower, just imported from Japan.
Cover print: Yoshida Toshi, Camellia and Bird, 1980
For those interested in further information on Japanese art, we point out:
Maria Teresa Lattarulo, L’arte figurativa giapponese. Fiori, bellezze, visioni. 1400-2000, Progedit, Bari 2021, https://www.progedit.com/pro…/larte-figurativa-giapponese/ );
Maria Teresa Lattarulo, Luoghi famosi del Giappone. Viaggio attraverso l’arte, Progedit, Bari, 2023, https://www.progedit.com/prodotto/luoghi-famosi-del-giappone/
Both texts can also be found on the main book sales sites and in the main bookstores.
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