BirdsNest Review, Issue 03: Kimono Reinvented

BirdsNest Gallery

BirdsNest Review

Issue 03, Autumn/Winter 2022

Kimono Reinvented

A JOURNEY TO JAPAN

Iain Wilson builds a bridge between East and West

GHIBLI AND THE PRE-RAPHAELITES

Nicole Entin explores the intertwined art of Millais and Miyazaki

BIENNALE: IS BIGGER BETTER?

Curator Mattea Gernentz reflects on the 2022 Venice Biennale

POETRY CORNER

Our artist, Lucy Hatton, shares a poem correlating with her paintings

EDITORIAL

BIRDSNEST STORY

THE COLLECTION: Squirrel Monkeys, Winter Still Life, Fruit Bowl with Indian Cloth, and Sanded Window with a Cup PREVIOUS EXHIBITIONS Root Flow Curio BIRDSNEST CALENDAR

COVER STORY: Kimono Reinvented Introducing Iain Wilson “Production of Silk” by Dr. Miho Nonaka Golden Reflections COLUMNS Book Recommendations from Artists “The Immortal’s Lament” by Lucy Hatton Impressionism and Japonisme by Mattea Gernentz “Ophelia and Ponyo, Millais and Miyazaki” by Nicole Entin

BIRDSNEST DIARY

Venice Biennale Review by Mattea Gernentz Songbird Finds a New Nest by Mattea Gernentz

A Quick Review of Frieze London 2022 by Audrey Chi-Wen Tu MEET OUR STAFF

Cover Image: Iain Wilson, Festival Dress, 2010, Oil on board, 44.5 x 30 cm.

Editorial

Autumn has embraced us with chilling winds, rust-coloured leaves, and storms of rain. It is a season where we flee indoors, grateful for warmth and togetherness and small indications of everyday beauty. While the drowsy warmth of summer nurtures our sense of human independence, the fall has a way of forcing us to acknowledge our own frailty and limitations. Like the trees, we must begin to see the beauty inherent in letting go, in being stripped bare with the trust of starting anew.

This has been a transformational time for us as a gallery. Our net has been cast even wider, and we are honoured to have new team members joining us, as well as new featured artists and a new small venue. We were delighted to partner with the 2022 Taiwan Arts Festival in Edinburgh throughout September and October to promote intercultural dialogue through Root Flow, a collaborative online exhibition. Now we turn to Japan for our Kimono Reinvented exhibition–featuring the art of Iain Wilson and remarkable Japanese creatives like Miho Nonaka, Miki Asai, Emiko Suo, Mia Takemoto, and more. We recognize that we have much to learn and eagerly attune to concepts such as wabi-sabi and kintsugi, finding beauty in brokenness as we examine artistic processes of making and mending.

We realise each artwork and artist has a unique narrative to offer, and our gallery desires to share these with the world, prioritising meaningful story-telling in all we do. We are thrilled to be exploring podcast and video opportunities to better spotlight our artists and the works within our collection. We also look forward to continuing to host a variety of cultural events, such as film screenings, workshops, music recitals, and poetry readings in our unique space.

Most of all, amid the uncertainty of life today, we hope to serve as a welcoming nest for you.

–The BirdsNest Team

The BirdsNest Story

The gallery’s unique name originated from an intact bird’s nest found in the back garden of the gallery by Natalia (Sho) Brand, the founder of the BirdsNest art enterprise. This reminded her of Vincent van Gogh’s drawings and paintings of birds’ nests, exploring the creative possibilities of the subject. For two years now, the nest has been placed tastefully–but untouched–within the main gallery space. Sho was inspired by the nature of birds making their nests by building up a physical home bit by bit, protecting and preserving it. These activities involve much devotion, an observation which touched her. The bird’s nest was no longer simply an object; it became a symbol of hope and home amidst challenges and suffering.

Founded in 2020, the BirdsNest Gallery is an eclectic cultural hub located in the Southside of Edinburgh. Our unique Victorian venue (within an A-listed building designed by architect Robert Stevenson) houses exhibition spaces, a mini-cinema, an active artist studio, and an extensive library. We facilitate innovative quarterly exhibitions that alternate between a focus on our featured contemporary artists and our robust collection, which is made up of over 300 artworks dating back to the early 19th century. Recognised as a space for sharing hope, beauty, and a creative spark, we take pride in our role as a cultural epicentre in the city.

The Collection

Squirrel Monkeys

by Jane Foote

Born in Johannesburg, South Africa in 1946, Jane has always had a love for wild places. After obtaining a Diploma in Diagnostic Radiography, Jane worked in this field from 1968-1973 before later majoring in etching for a UNISA Fine Arts Degree in 1988. She went on to teach art and art history to students of all ages. Jane is also a writer and has been blogging since 2017 to document her adventurous travels. Today, she has visited 35 countries, including Antarctica. Jane’s work has been exhibited and lauded across the UK and South Africa. In recent years, she has found joy in creating unique greeting cards infused with whimsy and humour. Her works tend to focus on the natural world, such as this one, and many early etchings of birds. The COVID lockdown offered Jane time to create, and she felt inspired again to produce paintings during the pandemic. After years of living in South Africa, Foote has now returned to the UK.

Squirrel Monkeys is a captivating glimpse into a complex ecosystem. A tribe of mischievous monkeys clusters together on the branch of a tree resembling a magnolia. Meanwhile, a serpent creeps in the lower righthand corner, gazing upwards towards its prey. Foote masterfully captures a moment of tension. The monkeys gaze into the distance while the danger lurks below and harmless butterflies perch overhead. The butterflies rely upon the tree for food and shelter while the omnivorous monkeys and frog (spotted in the lower left) rely upon the tree and its surrounding bugs. The snake, higher on the food chain, looks towards monkeys and birds for sustenance. However, there is strength in unity, and Foote allows us space to root for the monkeys’ collective strength, leaving potential for hope in avoiding this foe. Rendered in vivid hues and charming detail, this scene would not be amiss in a children’s book.

Jane Foote, Squirrel Monkeys, Plate 2, 1980, Lithograph, 39.5 x 58 cm.

Winter Still Life

by Madeleine T. Davenport

Davenport is a Scottish artist and gardener working primarily in oil and watercolour. Born in Edinburgh in 1960, Davenport graduated with an M.A. Hons. in Fine Art, awarded jointly between the University of Edinburgh and Edinburgh College of Art in 1983. Her work has been exhibited regularly with the Royal Scottish Academy, Visual Arts Scotland, and RSW. In 2019, she was awarded a Certificate of Exhibiting Excellence by the Society of Botanical Artists.

This particular still life derives evident inspiration from Japanese aesthetics. It communicates its meaning through spareness and the dense symbolism of its contents. The painting’s shades of white and pale grey resemble the winter and its acccompanying snow. The vase contains bare branches; however, one bloom bursts forth on the right for the attentive viewer. A harbinger of spring. Similarly, the eggs represent new life—though dormant, the imagined chicks will hatch in the spring. The seashell could refer to Japan being a nation of islands but also brings with it connotations of birth. Just think of Botticelli’s famed Birth of Venus or some Renaissance depictions of Mary. The prevailing feeling of Davenport’s painting is one of emptiness and expectancy.

Madeleine T. Davenport, Winter Still Life, 1984, Oil on canvas, 95 x 105.5 cm.

Fruit Bowl with Indian Cloth by Elizabeth Blackadder

Dame Elizabeth Blackadder was notably inspired by regular visits to Japan and was a collector of many kinds of curiosities from her travels. The influence of Japanese aesthetics is exquisitely apparent in many of her still life paintings, their skewed perspective and the harmonious balance of miscellarnous objects viewed from above. Blackadder wrote: “My first visit to Japan wasn’t made until 1985 but long before that I was influenced by Japanese art, seen in books and reproductions”. Her studio was full of kimonos and fans, and she began using Japanese paper in the 1980s for her watercolours.

In this particular painting, although the cloth itself has an Indian design, there are still traces of Japanese effect in the overall composition. The linear quality, with blocks of colour and ghostly blending of elements is reminiscent, for example, of Kawanabe Kyosai, a Japanese artist of the 19th century. Many of his works emulate this look with pale, bare backgrounds paired with energetic linear marks of darker materials. Look closely at Blackadder’s table surface and tumbleweed-looking marks on the left. Blackadder also uses a similar collage effect to Utagawa Kuniyoshi, bringing together the cloth, bowl, tabletop, and background into a distinguishable whole. These could easily be seen as separate elements, but she has found a way to merge them in a unified opacity.

Sanded Window with a Cup

by Jack Firth

Jack Firth (1917-2010) was a well-known Scottish painter and educationalist. He attended the Edinburgh College of Art 1935-1939 and spent most of his life in Edinburgh. His works were at the Royal Scottish Academy, Torrance Gallery, Open Eye Gallery, and more. He was elected to the Royal Scottish Society of Painters in Watercolour (RSW) in 1961. He enjoyed capturing landscapes throughout Scotland and the French countryside.

This watercolour by Firth is a fitting example of East meeting West. The teacup in the window lies in the tradition of cobalt blue and white porcelain traced back to China with an origin in the Tang dynasty (618-906). When this style was improved and disseminated, inspired artisans in Japan began creating similar porcelain wares in 1600. These were then exported to Europe, and potters in the UK, such as Bernard Leach, replicated their effect. The rooster seen on the cup is regarded as a symbol of courage in Japan. It is a sacred creature, allowed to roam Shinto temples.

In the BirdsNest archives, we are delighted to hold a letter dated to May 1956 from Elizabeth Blackadder to fellow Scottish artist John Busby, discussing their separate travels in Italy.

Top: Elizabeth Blackadder, Fruit Bowl on an Indian Cloth, Watercolour on paper.

Bottom: Jack Firth, Sanded Window with a Cup, Watercolour on paper, 31.5 cm x 27.5 cm.

Previous Exhibitions

Root Flow

9 September-31 October 2022

Roots grow deep into the soil whenever a seed is planted, expressing the dynamism of vitality. This exhibition displayed the creations of five Taiwanese artists as well as five local artists living and working in the UK. These two groups, having been shaped by different growth processes, artistic influences, and cultural backgrounds, met each other through their works. This promoted a beautiful dialogue and provided a unique space in which to analyse similarities and differences. Organised in partnership with Edinburgh’s 2022 Taiwan Arts Festival, Root Flow at once referenced an external situation and the depths of the soul. This exhibition featured art by Jo Perkins, Szu-Ying Chen, Trista Yen, Lucy Jones, Oliver Huang, Amelia Morgan, Fiona Morris, Sherry Wang, Rachel Chiu, and Magda Michalak.

Amelia Morgan, Nibbled Tree, 2022.

Trista Yen, Human Being Love Seeker.

Curio

In this unique exhibition, a selection of treasures from the BirdsNest Collection were illuminated and explored, many of which had not been previously on display. We delighted in the exotic and strange, pieces of art that dazzled and defied expectations. Many of these eccentric artworks were associated with remarkable stories and creatives, tales which we aimed to unfurl for our visitors.

Drawing upon the origin of museums and galleries as Wunderkammern (or “curiosity cabinets”), this exhibition honoured the BirdsNest motto to “preserve tradition and nurture the new”. The curiosity cabinet originated during the Italian Renaissance, marking the beginning of the act of showcasing an arranged collection of rare objects and absurdities. This practice became an indicator of wealth and status, as well as an expression of personality and taste. The diverse mediums and varieties of objects on display created an experience more jumbled than conventions today might allow, with skulls, seashells, rare coins, paintings, sculptures, and more jostling for space.

Curio endeavoured to reclaim the relative informality and abundance of this original mode of display, offering food for thought and a feast for the eyes.

Robert Powell, The Cupboard, 2020.

Curio exhibition at BirdsNest Gallery.

BirdsNest Calendar

Art Fairs September and November 2022

After presenting artwork at the Aberdeen Art Fair in September, we were grateful to set-up a booth a bit closer to home in November’s Edinburgh Art Fair. Thank you to everyone who attended and supported us. Several of our pieces found perfect new homes, and we had a wonderful time talking with other art lovers. We presented artworks by Mary Bowen, Lucy Hatton, Andrew Fitzpatrick, Mr. J, Robert Powell, Miki Asai, Emiko Suo, and a selection of Ukrainian artists–including Andrei Bludov, Elina Bilous, and Victor Prodanchuk. We were pleased to see that our booth was discussed in ensuing articles by Artmag UK and HASTA Magazine

Poetry Reading

November 25th, 6:30-8:00 pm

We had a lovely time at our third and final poetry reading of 2022. Rachel Ferguson was with us in spirit and sent us a video from Japan. We heard Christine de Luca read incredible poetry about Paolozzi, making, and mending, and Alan Spence read striking haiku poems about observing the changing beauty in tulips (with accompanying illustrations by Elizabeth Blackadder found in his published collection). John Gerard Fagan shared from his memoir about his time in Japan, Eamonn Hurst spoke about the beauty of the seasons and the importance of family, and Kevin MacNeil and Ken Cockburn shared work deeply impactful in its brevity. Drawing upon Japanese forms such as tanka and haiku, and inspired by prominent figures such as Bashō and Sei Shōnagon, our poets orchestrated an evening of reflection and intercultural exchange. Within the glow of our newly-redecorated gallery, we all escaped the cold outside for an evening of words and wonder.

BirdsNest Calendar

Christmas Recital & Launch Party

December 18th, 5:30-8:00 pm

‘Tis the season to be jolly! Enter our Salon gallery for a performance of carols by candlelight followed by mulled wine and mince pies for all. We hope to bring joy and peace to you this festive season. Tills Bookshop and BirdsNest Meadows will be open 5:30-6:30 pm on 18 December so you can visit our new venue. Beginning Friday, 16 December, our secondary location, BirdsNest Meadows, will be open for business. This small hub near the Meadows will allow us to bring beautiful and affordable artworks to a new audience. The festivities will continue on Sunday evening in our South Clerk Street gallery from 6:30-8:00 pm with live music and festive treats.

New Year, New Exhibitions

We are excited to provide a sneak peek of next year’s exhibitions: Three Graces (March-May 2023) and Bright Young Things (June-July 2023). Three Graces draws inspiration from Botticelli and will explore the works of three women artists: their artistic motifs and shared connection to Italy. Our summer display will feature talented emerging artists in varied mediums, including Mary Bowen, Finn Fallowfield, and Lucy Hatton. As recent graduates, these artists are full of possibility and perched at the beginning of their artistic career. At BirdsNest, we acknowledge and fully believe in their giftedness and ability to shine, presenting you with today’s “bright young things” and tomorrow’s stars.

Smallest Art Gallery in Scotland

BirdsNest is expanding, moving beyond our beloved Victorian venue to a historic police box along the Meadows. Across from Tills Bookshop, we will be presenting a curated selection of thrilling artworks, including paintings, jewellery, ceramics, and more. These pieces will be small and affordable, allowing our gallery to be more accessible to all of Edinburgh’s art lovers. If you’re in the area, please stop by BirdsNest Meadows for a cuppa. You’ll see a variety of art created by our incredible featured artists.

Cover Story

Cover Story

Kimono Reinvented 15 November-22 December

After a career as a scientist, Iain Wilson now finds great fulfilment in painting. Although he feels there is no direct connection between his vocation and his current artistic practice, there is a characteristic precision in his work that suggests otherwise. He first came across Japanese Ukiyo-e in his teens and the fascination never left. Building upon this lifelong interest in Japanese culture and art, Iain attended a Kabuki performance in Tokyo in 2007 and returned to Edinburgh inspired to use the kimono as an outline for further artistic exploration. He paints mostly in oil and acrylics. Iain creates in a tower studio in his Edinburgh home, so his Japanese Go/artist’s name is Ro-shi (“gent in high building”).

Iain is inspired by great Japanese masters such as Itchiku Kubota, Tanaka Isson, and Keisuke Serizawa, and several of his paintings on display are homages to these monumental artists. He also derives artistic influence from Western popular artists like Mondrian and Rothko, playfully adding their signature elements to traditionally Eastern symbols.

Temple scenes are a repeated motif in Iain’s oeuvre. Relatedly, torii are significant symbols–typically found as the gateway to Shinto shrines. They mark the important transition from the mundane to the sacred. The first appearance of torii gates in Japan is thought to be mid-Heian period; they are mentioned in a text written in 922. The oldest existing stone torii is from c. 1100s. Iain’s most striking torii can be found in his In Memory of the 311 Tsunami (2011). In March 2011, Japan experienced its strongest recorded earthquake with a magnitude of 9.0. This earthquake striking the Tōhoku region generated a formidable tsunami (Japanese for “harbour wave”). The tsunami produced waves over forty metres high, and its ensuing damage resulted in 450,000 people becoming homeless. Nearly 20,000 individuals tragically died. Today, this severe natural disaster is remembered as one of the most deadly in Japanese history. In this artwork, Iain has created a torii memorial for the victims affected. The painting’s blue background conveys the deep grief of the Japanese people in the wake of the tragedy as well as the colour of the all-consuming wave.

Kimono imagery is also extremely prominent in Iain’s work, acting as a garment and gateway to further artistic exploration. In English, kimono translates to “wearing thing”. Its origin can be traced back to silk robes of Chinese influence during Japan’s peaceful Heian period (7941192). During the denouement of traditional Japan, the Edo era (1603-1868), the kosode (meaning “small sleeves”) became a unifying cultural marker. Everyone in Japan wore one, regardless of gender, age, or socioeconomic status. Although everyone wore a kosode, each individual’s apparel held messages surrounding their unique identity–presented through colour, pattern, technique, etc. Today, in Iain’s words, “the kimono concept now survives as a source of inspired fabric design rather than as a garment for the masses”. It was in the Meiji period, right after Edo, that the kimono received its current name.

We had the honour of displaying Iain’s own kimono within the gallery space, next to its portrayal in Swallows with Kimonos (2018). Regarding the kimono itself, Iain expressed, “The man’s kusode robe in heavy black silk has an embroidered picture on the inside showing a scene with description from a Kabuki drama in which an enraged son sets fire to the castle belonging to a nobleman who abducted his mother. It might be a fireman’s ceremonial robe. The family crest is Wood Sorrel (Katabami)”.

Rather than purely fixating on the manmade, like torii and kimonos, Iain’s works also indicate a strong connection to nature. This is present in his painting Moonwatching (2009). Beyond a sliding screen, a man’s kimono can barely be discerned in this image of a popular autumnal pastime in Japan: moon-watching. It is a glimpse of humanity quietly existing within the peace and harmony of the natural world. Iain considers this piece in its simplicity to be his “most Japanese painting”.

Nature also appears in more unconventional ways in Iain’s art, such as his Mahi Mahi imagery in Mahi Mahi Kimono with Flying Fish (2022). In the artist’s own words, “the Mahi Mahi is a large, beautifully coloured fish with a bulbous head and long eel-like body. It hunts in warm surface waters, scattering flying fish in airborne panic above the waves.” In Japanese, the kanji is along the lines of 鱰, 鬼頭魚. “鬼” means a Japanese monster in tales. “頭” means a head. “魚” means a fish. “鬼頭魚” comes from Mahi Mahi’s face being like a monster. This stands in contrast to its moniker “rainbow fish”. Here, Iain once again clings to common themes of mythology and “monsters” (like netsuke).

He also captures the fluidity of water even in the kimono’s outline, and this same sense of fluidity carries over into his Rock of Ages pieces–appropriately, made in watercolour.

Fitting for an artist who derives inspiration from Kabuki theatre, its storytelling, vivid colours, and symbolism, Iain’s work is itself a spectacle to behold. As Iain has expressed, the works gathered in Kimono Reinvented attempt to build a bridge between the aesthetics and traditions of East and West, crafting an unforgettable metamorphosised beauty.

Production of Silk by Miho Nonaka

I. Heavenly Worm

Mrs. Itō, our fourth-grade teacher, drew a new kanji character on the board: 蚕. “Worm from heaven,” she announced, “as you can see.” Heaven splits open like a curtain (天) and inside it dwells the worm (虫). For each student, she took out five worms from her basket and put them in a small paper box to take home. Having just hatched from their eggs, these worms were still covered in little black hairs. That’s why at this stage they are called kego (hairy baby). To feed these dark babies, you must first julienne your mulberry leaves.

II. Cowboys 1

They were like “cowboys,” someone said afterward, the two white American poets visiting our month-long workshop in Europe. Many of us, including me, admired their poetry. Wasn’t it worth traveling to the Continent, if we got the chance to see such stars on their summer vacation gig? Mr. P, a prominent poet in his own right, led the workshop, and I was his wild card. For their particular visit, he casually chose my poem that had silkworms, mulberry leaves, and the image of a mother inside a cocoon like a chrysalis.

“I don’t believe this,” Cowboy X said of my cocooned-mother imagery.

Like a patient father, Mr. P tried to ease the tension by turning the visitor’s aversion into advice. “What changes would you suggest to make it real?”

“As I said, this isn’t a poem,” X growled. “I just don’t believe any of it for a second.”

“I don’t mind the image of mulberries though—I used to eat them,” Cowboy Y said, grinning like a kid under his wide-brimmed hat. “They’re rather tasty.”

III. City of Fabric

Even during the summer vacation, my mornings were purposeful. Like previous summers, I woke up early enough to dash to a nearby park and join other children to have my card stamped for the mandatory radio exercises. Then, I would set about collecting breakfast for my infant worms. I would bike up the sharp hill to the secret spot I shared with few of my classmates: the remains of an old mulberry orchard. Our city was once known for its fabric industry, I read in a textbook, in the time before the Second World War, when all sophisticated ladies in America wore silk stockings from Japan and were devastated (figuratively) when our countries entered the war. To commemorate that history, the city lined its main street with mulberry trees, only to cut them down at the turn of the twenty-first century. When I stand at the intersection of the Hachiōji Station Square, with multiple footbridges reflecting neon light, I feel my feet about to rise in midair and I hardly recognize the city I used to believe was my home.

IV. Platinum Boy, 2006

After decades of research, Japanese silkworm breeders discovered a reliable method of hatching exclusively male silkworms. Female silkworms eat more, sleep more, take up more space, and are measurably less efficient in transforming mulberry leaves into silk. The verdict was clear: female silkworms are inferior for silk production. Silk spinners and kimono weavers are unanimous in their praise of male silk: their thread is consistently finer, sturdier, glossier, whiter, and their cocoons are easier to harvest when boiled.

The birth site of Platinum Boy is literally black and white. When you look at a piece of paper where silkworm eggs are laid, white eggs are the empty shells from which male larvae have already hatched. They will thrive on the diet of tender mulberry shoots which, combined with their spit, will eventually turn into raw silk, translucent like frosted glass. The darker eggs contain female larvae that will never hatch and only keep darkening.

V. Cowboys 2

That evening, the two poets gave a reading at a modern black box theater in the heart of the city where Kafka was born. During the obligatory Q&A afterward, for the last question, my Filipino-American friend stood up. She was many years younger than I, full of elegance and sass. She asked them which female poets’ works they admired and would recommend reading. They looked at each other.

“Ahhh, Emily Dickinson?” Cowboy Y twisted his nose as if he were about to sneeze.

“Elizabeth Bishop?” Cowboy X shrugged with a tight-lipped smile.

“Wait, what was the name of that woman I chose for a poetry prize last year?” he asked the audience in genuine confusion.

VI. Feast

Silkworms are remarkable eating machines. As “hairy babies,” they are the size of an ant, yet they increase their body weight ten thousand times in less than a month. Each morning, as soon as I put the shreds of washed mulberry leaves into their paper home, my three worms would start gorging. The other two shriveled up and never made it past the hairy-baby stage. My younger sister put her ear next to the box: the sound of a passing rain.

VII. Ten Thousand Leaves 1

Compiled in the mid-eighth century, Man’yōshū (Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves) is the oldest poetry anthology of Japan: more than forty-five hundred poems in twenty books. In the sweltering heat of the attic, I wasn’t looking for any particular motif when I happened on poem No. 2495, composed by Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, a low rank courtier and one of the “Saints of Japanese Poetry”: like my mother’s silkworms confined inside cocoons, how can I see my love who lives secluded at home?

Poem No. 2991 is an almost identical poem by an unknown poet: like my mother’s silkworms confined inside cocoons, sadness clouds my heart when I cannot see her

The motif of a silk cocoon as the inaccessible, lyrical interior goes back to the dawn of Japanese poetics. The cocoon encases the image of the beloved, the poet’s longing that keeps building inside, and in my poem it holds the mother as a mythical seamstress stitching blue in each wrist of her unborn daughter.

VIII. Silk Mother

Silkworms are considered livestock, so we use the character 頭 (head) to count them like cows and horses. They are the worms from heaven, nonetheless, and the older generation uses two honorifics to sandwich the name kaiko (silkworm): o-kaiko-san. I read somewhere that in southwest Nigeria, Yoruba men are forbidden to spend the night with the women engaged in spinning silk for the season. According to the Chinese tradition, you are called “silk mother” while attending silkworms. No shouting or crying is allowed. No stranger is welcome in the house. You wear simple, clean clothes, and abstain from smoking, drinking, putting on makeup, and eating garlic. You must not stir the air by causing noise or giving off unpleasant smells. Raising silkworms and extracting their silk is a sacred project, and you must consecrate yourself as such. To my parents’ chagrin, by the time my little sister finished middle school, she had managed to disqualify herself for every requirement to be a silk mother.

IX. Absinthe

“I am a jug filled with water both magic and plain; I have only to lean over and a stream of beautiful thoughts flows out of me,” I read in the opening of Too Loud a Solitude by Bohumil Hrabal. Afternoons, I would sit by the window of Café Slavia across the street from the National Theatre, facing the Vltava River. What ecstatic love would let me see each person that way, a glass full of both magical and familiar waters? On the wall was a painting titled Piják absintu (Absinthe Drinker), a man staring into a woman, the Absinthe Fairy, whose body was made completely of green mist. I have been drunk too long on the mixture of two feelings: the uncertainty of being a student and the guilt of a tourist. I could hardly taste the succession of pastries being brought to my table; my senses became both numb and painfully acute the more I focused on the inconsequence of my being there.

X. Dream Tree

My mulberry tree stood behind the rusty fence along the downhill road to school. While struggling under the weight of my leather rucksack, art equipment, and calligraphy kit, I would give the slightest nod in the direction of the tree each time I passed by the fence. I loved that tree with all my childish imagination, and I continue to believe in making polite gestures, however subtle, once I feel connected to someone or some thing, regardless of whether such an exchange is one-sided or not.

One night, I saw myself in a dream, sitting on a branch of that mulberry tree. My cheeks were flushed and I was upset about something. It must have been late spring; the leaves were still fresh green, and my eyes squinted from the brightness, trying to hold back tears. I didn’t notice a girl on the upper branch until the tree shook. “Fairy” isn’t the right word; I somehow understood that she was the essence of the mulberry tree. She came down to sit next to me and put her mouth close to my left ear. Her mineral-dark hair and olive skin were clearly “other” to me, but her voice was not. I don’t remember what she said, only its cadence. It came like a thick liquid being poured right next to my eardrum. She was singing an elegy. There was a distinct point in which her voice started to rise instead of giving in to the weight of grief. I saw my tears evaporate slowly into the air, waving with golden heat.

I won’t say I miss the tree and its song, a nostalgia for half-remembered dreams. Never since have I felt so spoken to, so close to another soul.

My father would describe his mother as fierce and obsessive. She was a destructive visionary and unsuccessful business entrepreneur during the critical times of the Second World War. Whenever I felt defeated by my own restlessness, I would blame it on the woman I had never met in person, only in a fading picture where she stands next to my father in school uniform. Without glasses, his eyes appear surprisingly gentle.

My father told me during one of his late-night international calls from Tokyo: “Your grandfathers were both shokunin (craftsman), remember? It’s in your DNA, too.” His father came from a large family of silk farmers. After he left home, adopting the newly introduced Singer sewing machines, he began manufacturing Japanese cloven-toed socks, the traditional kind that used to be hand-sewn. During the war, he took the assignment to sew parachutes for the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force. While he worked under dimmed light, my young father hung up his primitive drawing of warplanes on the wall, feeling fine grains of sand underneath.

XII. Ten Thousand Leaves 2

Poem No. 1357 of the Man’yōshū invokes the mystery of silk production:

if prayer can turn the mulberry trees from my mother’s garden into silk kimono, why don’t I pray for my love to be felt in return?

The earliest Japanese poets attached power to longing. I hold onto this fact when tempted to approach life with an ironic distance. If your intense desire can move the gods to transform mulberry leaves into silk, then surely your difficult love has the chance of being requited. After all, the creation of silk is nothing short of magical: no pearl extract, but worm spit transforms leaves into a thread, a precise mixture of proteins that hardens into a fiber once exposed to air. Like a prism, each fiber is triangular in shape, refracting light.

even if the gem string called “life” gets cut short, I would rather be born a silkworm than a human person

My American friends were shocked by the blunt pessimism of poem No. 3086. I confess that I find myself wishing the same for brief moments when I am in a particularly hostile writing workshop, or more generally, when the gap between language and life seems to have grown to the point where the very act of translation feels gratuitous.

XIII. Snow Country

In Snow Country, a novel by Kawabata Yasunari, an idle intellectual from Tokyo named Shimamura visits a remote hot-spring town where he meets Komako, a young geisha apprentice. One afternoon, Komako insists that he stop by the house where she lives with the dance teacher and her sick son. Here is a fragment I translated:

Once inside the earth-floored entrance hall, it was cold and still, and Komako led Shimamura to climb a ladder even before his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. It was a real ladder, just as the room above was a real attic. “Are you surprised? Mine is the room where they used to keep silkworms,” Komako said. . . . Shimamura looked around at this curious space. Although it had only one skylight open to the lower south, the sun seeped through each surface of the freshly papered shoji screen with a fine crisscross frame. The walls were also painstakingly covered with rice paper, and it made Shimamura feel trapped inside an old paper box, while the overhead roof was bare, sloping down to the window, casting a dark and lonely shadow over him. He wondered what was on the other side of the walls. What if the entire room was hung midair? It unsettled him. Nevertheless, he noted that both the walls and the tatami mat were kept spotless despite their wear. Komako must have been living in this tidy room with her nearly transparent body like a silkworm.

My grandfather on my mother’s side was also a skilled craftsman who made anything with wood: chairs, rice tubs, washbasins, traditional bathtubs, perfect cubes to make camera obscuras on special commission from the Konishiroku Company. During his courting days, when my father came to visit my mother, my grandfather would ignore his presence completely by occupying his hands. Only after the clock struck five in the evening would he put away his tools, turn to my father as if noticing for the first time, and welcome him with a thin, but not unfriendly smile. “Your mother’s father was a true shokunin,” my father said. “From his back, I understood something about the virtue of craftsmanship.”

Of all the ways I reassure myself, I am most comforted to remember that I come from the families of shokunin. I never believed that the self is a project of one’s own making, and having a specific role assigned to me is, paradoxically, a form of freedom. From day to day, far from the sublime, what saves me is not magical encounters or words of charisma, but small works I am equipped to do, tasks that require faithful use of my hands, shaping things for someone beyond my immediate reality.

XV. End of Summer

My three silkworms shed their skin multiple times. They graduated from a small fish cracker box to the jewel case that once held my mother’s pearl necklace.

That summer was unbearably hot, especially in the basin-shaped city of Hachiōji. With our AC broken, I worried that my worms would not survive; the heat and humidity of July would stifle the imperceptible breath coming through their nine tiny nostrils along each side.

I left my worms in the care of my classmate Yukari, whose parents had some experience in silk farming, and after my family spent a week relaxing in the cooler mountains, I returned to her house. “You won’t recognize them,” her mother yelled amidst the hiss and splutter of frying oil from the kitchen. “They are so much fatter now!”

I looked into the pink jewel box. The worms’ bodies had definitely grown thicker, fairer and more translucent. Hard to believe their diet consisted solely of the leaves from the mulberry orchard left to run wild. I passed my finger over their white backs, marveling at their smooth, cool touch. For the first time, I felt guilty for letting the other two die while they were dark and hairy. Put five of them together, my grown worms would have made the knobby hand of a craftsman.

XVI. Liquid Silk

In its fifth and final instar, a silkworm eats ferociously for a week then abruptly stops. In preparation for cocooning, it must digest all of the mulberry leaves and expel all of the resulting feces and urine from its body. When its silk glands are heavy with future threads, it raises its head and starts swaying as if looking for something in the air. By this stage, the silkworm has turned translucent like melted sugar, signaling that every leaf has finally been transformed into a liquid form of silk, and its body is now free of other impurities.

XVII. Spanish Synagogue

The Spanish synagogue is on the site of the oldest Prague Jewish house of prayer, known as the most beautiful synagogue in Europe. The elderly woman at the ticket counter had correctly guessed my nationality. “No photos allowed,” she said. I tried to explain that I didn’t own a camera, even though I was from Japan. She repeated “No photos,” giving me another suspicious look.

I was in the synagogue for only a few minutes when I had to start looking for a toilet. It might be just me, but I believe that being inside interlocking layers of myriad openings to rich interiority—say, a bookstore or a library of any serious depth, certain museums, and in this case, the synagogue’s gilded galleries and balustrades all covered in a flowing arabesque of stylized Islamic motifs, mounting onto the nave—inspires a profound and often biological response.

“Excuse me, where is the toilet?” Again, the woman wasn’t listening to me. The difference was that this time I really couldn’t afford her lack of response.

“Bathroom? Lavatory? Loo?”

She looked at me as if I were a turbaned rider from the Golden Horde.

“This is a temple.”

“I know, but I need to use the restroom . . . ”

She raised her voice, “I told you, young lady—this is a house of God.” She was shaking her head. “Does that mean anything to you?”

XVIII. Cocoonery

After climbing onto straw holders divided into hundreds of rooms, each silkworm sits in its own cell in the cocoonery. It throws a wispy web to anchor itself and starts tossing its head in a figure eight with single devotion. Once emitted in the air, the clear liquid solidifies into a shimmering fiber. This is the only way silk comes into being in the world. Mulberry leaves become such prismatic threads through the steady digestion of the stubby worms.

If premature worms happen to climb onto the cocoon holder by mistake, their urine and feces could spoil the cocoons spun by their fully mature neighbors. In some cases, premature worms are so sluggish in settling in their cells that they use up all their strength before completing their task: their cocoons remain gauze-thin, barely hiding the lifeless bodies of their makers.

XIX. Small Things

Attention to detail is a characteristic of the Japanese, they say (I love the convenience, but who are “they”?). I am drawn to small things: tadpoles, silica beads, star sands in a vial, a notebook the size of a thumbnail, fish scales, a nativity scene inside half a walnut shell. I am terribly myopic like my father, and I like things that are near. Large things loom over and terrify: airports, Costco, churches in Texas, the Tokyo Skytree, Mount Rushmore (those granite faces I once believed had surfaced in response to the historic atomic bombing), and that elusive word “global.”

XX. Figures

It takes more than a hundred cocoons to make a tie, over six hundred for a blouse.

XXI. Finest Silk?

Silkworms molt a total of four times, but in Japan’s Chiba Prefecture, silk-producing experts have successfully made them start cocooning after the third molt by giving them special hormones. Because younger silkworms have smaller mouths, it results in a thinner, longer, and stronger thread that can be used for surgical suture or the string for the shamisen, a Japanese lute with its sound box traditionally covered in cat skin. In theory, we could produce the ultimate silk by using these hormones on Platinum Boy caterpillars, like a vast choir of Castrati, singing piercing soprano through their ever-immature vocal chords.

I wonder which color, what pattern of weaving would give the most life to such superb silk of unnatural origin. Texture is story. Whose skin would brush against it, and for what occasion?

XXII. Girl with A Horse’s Head

In northeastern Japan, many old families worship a pair of dolls called Oshira-sama, mulberry sticks with a female face and a horse’s head painted or carved on one end. It is a tutelary spirit of agriculture and silk production. Women play the central role in the festival rites of Oshira-sama, based on the folktale that features a horse instead of a prince:

Once there was a poor young woman who took care of a white horse, and eventually she fell in love with it. When her father found out, he killed the horse by hanging it from a mulberry tree. The daughter wouldn’t stop crying, clinging onto the dead horse under the tree, which enraged her father even further. As he chopped off the horse’s head with an axe, it flew up with his daughter, and together they were ascending to heaven.

“I was wrong! Please, don’t leave me!” the father cried out to them.

“We don’t begrudge you, father—tomorrow morning, look inside the stone mill in the yard—you will find our gift,” said the daughter before she disappeared with the horse’s head, “our heart for you.”

The story helps explain my unsettling feeling when I bring my face too close to the silkworm. There is something in its features that doesn’t belong to the caterpillar kind: a combination of the snow-white skin and its tiny horse head.

Many Japanese folktales end happily with a reward of rice for a good deed, a sign of blessing. In this story, where you would expect the gift of rice, silkworms appear, crawling out of the granite bed.

XXIII. Komako

It didn’t occur to me until I tried translating a few passages from Snow Country that the young geisha’s name Komako (駒子) means Pony Child. What inspired the author Kawabata to portray his heroine as a woman of equine grace? We don’t know her family name. On the other hand, we don’t know the first name of Shimamura, who is referred to only by his last name.

I imagine if your family name were a gate to the house, your first name would be its interior. In the days when the books of Man’yōshū were composed, asking a maiden’s first name was synonymous with proposing to her. Knowing it meant possessing the person.

Komako’s body is translucent like a silkworm, and the papered walls enclose her fruitless passion like a white cocoon. While writing Snow Country, Kawabata says he distanced himself from Shimamura, who serves merely as a foil to Komako. “As an author, I entered deep inside the character of Komako, but casually turned my back to Shimamura,” he writes in the afterward. “Especially in terms of emotion—Komako’s sadness is nothing other than my own sadness . . .” And so it is: his heart has become subsumed into her heart.

XXIV. Cowboys 3

When I think of the school of “cowboy” poets, I imagine them wrangling ornery beasts, galloping on horses, leading the herd of worthy emotions to water and new pastures, bringing back the voice of any voiceless cattle that has wandered off, and occasionally wasting their bullets by shooting in random directions, just because, and why not?

XXV. Silk Kimono

Some people are surprised that even though I am from Japan, I don’t own a single kimono. To make a one-layer kimono for a woman of average size, you will need two thousand cocoons. What would feel more luxurious than having two thousand silkworms munching mulberry leaves in unison for the sake of producing a thread long enough to encircle your body many times over? I can picture a room full of silkworms making the sound of spring showers as their invisible teeth snap off the veins of mountainous leaves. Who owns the body that is worth such a concerted endeavor?

XXVI.

Records of Ancient Matters

Susanowo is the Shinto god of savage storms. Banished from the Plain of High Heaven, he visits Ōgetsu-hime, the Great Food Princess, who offers him what she has harvested from her nose, mouth, and anus. Disgusted, he kills her on the spot. She is not done giving, though. Her corpse becomes the original site of farm produce: rice from her eyes, millet from her ears, azuki beans from her nose, barley from her genitalia, and soybeans from her anus. All the grains emerge from her body orifices with one exception. What crops up from her head is silkworms.

There is another version of the Shinto myth where rice comes from her stomach, two kinds of millet from her eyes and forehead, barley and soybeans from her genitalia, and silkworms appear just above her eyebrows.

XXVII. Body

I find it impossible to talk about the body without sounding embarrassed or oddly distant. I don’t mean to self-deprecate, but it has been almost too fashionable, too charged a topic for me to feel safe around. (A cowardly thing to say—the truth is, no one is safe.)

I won’t pretend my body is a plain blockhouse, or a slab of flesh aching with desire or lack thereof. Who could have taught me to stay at home in my own body all the while I traveled from one country to another, turning from the spontaneous, if careless, music of my mother tongue to the strict economy of English, reaching out, in the hope of actually reaching and being reached?

For the subjects most critical to me, I find no teachers. Perhaps there is not enough demand? I believe I am badly behind everyone and that I missed an opportunity to ask questions long ago. People my age in this country sound fluent in the body, discussing it with just the right amount of sarcasm and laughter without revealing much, like they have been on intimate terms with it since they learned to speak. I suppose I should have listened to the body harder, without ulterior motives.

XXVIII. Pause

In an attic room, towards evening, the silkworm suddenly stops chewing on a mulberry leaf. Which veins do I bite next, and in what order? it may ask, as I have asked myself many times before. How is it that I am here? Where does this appetite lead, if hunger points beyond its immediate end?

XXIX. Unraveling

As soon as our assigned worms enveloped themselves in thick ovals of silk, we had to bring them to school. Their metamorphosis into moths takes about ten days. You must harvest silk before they emerge, Mrs. Itō said, before their hard, wet eyes break open their cocoons and ruin the fine threads. Like an offering, each student deposited their cocoons in the shallow bamboo basket. Once part of the collective heap, none of us could tell which cocoons used to belong to whom.

Led by Mrs. Itō, our whole class marched to a nearby farmhouse; the long one-story building stood against the hill with a rocky backyard that stretched all the way to my favorite mulberry tree. While we sat upright on the sunburned straw mat, the old woman of the house worked quickly, plunging the cocoons into a wooden tub full of warm water. Her dark and wrinkled face was reminiscent of a Nō mask, of an ancient god with rounded eyebrows. She plucked thread ends from half a dozen cocoons and started unraveling. As the white threads continued being pulled out, the cocoons would bob left and right like miniature souls, gradually turning transparent. My throat tightened. Boiled pupae in their brown shells became exposed, the cocoons kept reeling, and the woman’s hand gathered filaments as fine as smoke, clear like threaded sugar. This is what she had done for the last fifty years.

XXX. If I Were

A caterpillar of any kind, somehow blessed (or cursed) with a mind, I would leafmeal pray that I be spared from the fate of dying with unspun thread still inside my body. In the end, silkworms die soon enough whether or not they have completed their cocoon project. They keep pushing forward—knowingly or unknowingly—spinning out a thousand yards of lucid strand in no more than three days. The rate of their own shroud-making is one foot per minute.

Dr. Miho Nonaka is a native of Tokyo and a bilingual poet/translator. She is the author of a poetry collection, The Museum of Small Bones. Besides poetry of all kinds, her interests include lyric essay, memoir, Japanese literature, surrealism, and modern European literature. Her scholarly research has to do with the non-Western spiritual tradition and cultural identity of Japan within a global framework. It started with modernism and the avant-gardes in the early 20th-century Japan, and moved on to postwar authors and literary movements. She has written articles on the legacy of Arechi (The Wasteland) poet, Tamura Ryūichi, the effects of Emily Dickinson’s poetry in Japanese translation, Endō Shūsaku’s vision of the Church beyond the east-west divide, and Murakami Haruki’s fiction and magical realism. In addition to literature and creative writing courses, she has taught animation works by Miyazaki Hayao and Shinkai Makoto as part of her global literature class. Her creative works have to do with in-betweenness. She often find herself exploring the issues and questions of translatability, home, dreams, and language.

Golden Reflections

15 November-22 December

Golden Reflections features the unique work of Miki Asai, Jo Perkins, and Emiko Suo. Its title is partially derived from Japan’s title as “Land of the Rising Sun”. The idea of kintsugi (“golden joinery”) is also influential, a practice wherein broken things are mended with gold, resulting in greater strength and heightened aesthetic value. These artists are all indebted to Japan in their sense of beauty, balance, and colour. Their pieces on display focus on the beauty of small things, the imperfect and the mundane, challenging traditional conventions. Wabi-sabi (侘寂), a worldview focused on accepting the transience of life, is of great significance in contemplating these works.

Miki’s jewellery is utterly enchanting; the way in which she translates “still life”, which is so often conceived in terms of painting and photography, into a highly physically tangible medium is stunning. Her work possesses a delicacy and immediacy that coexist, formed from materials such as eggshells, seashells, silver, wood, and Japanese lacquer. She aims to express sensations of fleeting beauty, like light and shadow, or the passing colour of the sky. In the artist’s own words, she destroys and reconstructs materials to “digest her experience”. Eggshell is crushed to create the cracking surface representing a frozen moment. Seashells flicker iridescently. The stone-like surface of her brooches comes from powdered mineral stones, representing “time” in their solidity and permanence. Here, materials serve as a nonverbal language, supplying a powerful message to attentive viewers.

In Jo Perkins’ triptych, Unwatched Territories, the concept of reflection is explored. What does a reflection necessitate? A gaze for it to be registered, an object to be reflected, and a surface upon which the reflection itself can be born. Jo provides a lush landscape that ebbs and flows at the rim of a great body of water, unexplored. The scene is continued (or reflected) among three panels, and the three arches beneath the radiant green grass operate as a form of gateway, causing us to wonder about what is located above and below. Her brushstrokes are energetic but in harmony, and her colour palette is inspired by her time spent in Japan.

Emiko Suo is an incredibly talented Japanese artisan, and her works are often geometrically striking. Her jewellery is currently on display at the National Museum of Scotland, and we are honoured to also be able to present her work to the public. She has utilised materials such as cork, stainless steel, copper, and brass to create harmonious or purposefully jarring forms that attract the eye. In doing so, she challenges associations of femininity with weakness, offering pieces of jewellery that are beautiful as well as strong–almost resembling pieces of armour. She is influenced by the folded shapes of origami, and the sheer transience of paper, and her gorgeous copper vases are intentionally designed to change appearance as they weather and age.

This unique exhibition in our Studio urges its viewers to relish moments of stillness. Above all else, these artworks by a trio of women artists usher in peace and delight in simplicity.

Columns

Book Recommendations from Artists

Monster, She Wrote: The Women Who Pioneered Horror & Specular Fiction by Lisa Kröger and Melanie R. Anderson

“This book acts as an accessible gateway into the frighteningly fabulous world of female-driven Gothic fiction. From the well-known to the underappreciated, learn all about these wonderfully weird women via a myriad of facts, legends, and certified accounts. Told with wit and compassion for the subject, Monster, She Wrote demonstrates that the real horror would be these creatives going unrecognised”.

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

“Vividly rich and brimming with empowering electricity, this fast-paced fantasy epic blends Chinese history with sci-fi splendour. Following a young woman forced to become a sacrificial concubine, protagonist Zetain is head set on revenge. How will she get it? By assassinating her sister’s killer. But to get it she must enter into a world of violence and secrets, with only her own will to preserve her”.

“I am currently thinking a lot about In Praise of Shadows by Jun’ichirō Tanizaki. It talks about our relationship with darkness and the positivity of an object’s absence. Tanizaki focuses mainly on architectural environments and the differences found in Japanese aesthetics compared to Western culture. A lovely read”.

“I just finished a book called Pachinko by Min Jin Lee. There were themes of migration, food, and cultural hybridity in the book which reminded me of themes I sometimes explore in my art practice.

I’ve also started reading children’s manga books in Japanese as part of my attempt to learn the language. There’s one book in particular called ねこと じいちゃん and I am in love with the illustrations. It prompted me to start sketching in watercolour again”.

Connie Liebschner

Lucy Hatton

Book Recommendations from Artists The Immortal’s Lament

by Lucy Hatton

Impressionism and Japonisme: An East-West Renaissance of Fans and Feminine Consumption

by Mattea Gernentz

In an 1890 letter to fellow artist Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt gushed, “You who want to make color prints wouldn’t dream of anything more beautiful. I dream of doing it myself and can’t think of anything else but color on copper… P.S. You must see the Japanese—come as soon as you can”. Cassatt was referring to an exhibition at the École des BeauxArts in Paris featuring Japanese woodblock prints, albums, and illustrated books. Inspired by her visit and with a new visual vocabulary through which to translate the feminine experience, Cassatt went on to create a set of ten colour etchings with a profound Japanese influence, including The Fitting. These pieces would be shown in her first independent exhibition at the Galerie Durand-Ruel in 1891.

Mary Cassatt was not the only one infatuated with the refreshing balance and harmony of Japanese art. Beginning with imperial Japan opening up to Western trade in 1853 after almost two hundred years of isolation, a fierce desire for collecting Japanese art and objects began to blossom in Europe. Impressionists such as Edgar Degas were especially keen to acquire these exotic items, and Claude Monet was indisputably inspired by Eastern artistic sensibilities, collecting hundreds of Japanese prints during his lifetime. Because of this trend, the term Japonisme was coined in 1872 by Philippe Burty, a French journalist and art critic, to describe the interest in Japanese artworks and decorative items.

By the time of Cassatt’s letter, Japonisme had already passed into its third phase in France, according to scholar Yoko Chiba. So, we must

delve back even further; many of Edouard Manet and Berthe Morisot’s Japan-influenced works were created during the movement’s second phase, which began in 1868, the year after Japan’s first exhibition at the Exposition Universelle in Paris. During this period, the collection and appreciation of Japanese art was limited to the bourgeoise and cultural elite.

Similarly, in Morisot’s remarkable The Sisters (1869), Japanese fans take on a distinct prominence. One could see the painting as a personal anecdote for Berthe was in fact a sister to Yves and Edma, or one could even view it as a metaphorical union between Europe and Japan, which were seen as sisters in artistic spirit at that time. When one takes a closer look at the piece, it is possible to discern layers of decadent pattern and oriental references. The fan behind the girls depicts a Japanese village scene with a bonfire while the central couch sports motifs of cherry blossoms and birds over its thick stripes. Behind the sister on the right, what appears to be a sage green kimono lies folded over the back of her chair. The fan in her hand is open but lowered, not in use. It acts as a form of deflection while she appears lost in thought; popular feminine accessories such as parasols and fans were viewed as a potential defence against the male gaze and could also be signs and symbols, bearers of language. One must remember that the Victorian era nurtured fan language; the position of a fan could indicate a woman’s desires, marital status, etc. as she sent calculated coded messages. Duvelleroy, a fan maker and retailer founded in Paris in 1827, even published a leaflet that laid out roughly twenty of the most common messages.

In addition to communication through positioning, fans served as an artistic medium of great importance for poets and wordsmiths of the era, including Stéphane Mallarmé and Paul Claudel.

Overall, women had a significant impact in the rise of Japonisme within Europe and especially France. An 1892 edition of Table Talk declared: “Every fashionable hostess who will pour tea through the spring’s sunny afternoons, will ache to possess a kimono after she has once noticed its graceful proportions setting off the figure of one of her sisters”. For women of the upper class, shopping was intertwined with identity, serving as an approved form of agency and consumption. A popular Parisian shop, La Porte Chinoise, specialising in Japanese art and antiques opened in 1863, run by Madame Louise Desoye; its patrons included Baudelaire, Degas, Whistler, Zola, Monet, Tissot, Manet, and more. However, there were also female collectors like actress Sarah Bernhardt, who performed as Hamlet in 1899 (with Berthe Morisot’s daughter, Julie Manet, in the wings). Madame Desoye was an impressive figure in her own right; she was described as “reigning” over the boutique, and visitors reportedly fell in love with her, despite her status as a married woman. She enjoyed spending time abroad, even referring to Japan as “my dear Japan” in a letter, and immersed herself in Asian dialects, traits which allowed her to better recognise Japanese objects of interest and facilitate trade. As Christopher Reed has stated,

Madame Desoye was the “preeminent japoniste” of the 1860s and 1870s. Although she was unfortunately listed as “without a profession” [sans profession] on her husband’s death certificate in 1870, she was clearly a guiding force championing their business, and La Porte Chinoise was often referred to as “Madame Desoye’s shop”.

In considering Impressionism, a movement which was initially scorned but remains incredibly popular to this day, the influence of Japonisme cannot be overstated. As Edmond de Goncourt identifies, Japonisme was a key tenet in the development of modernism. Many of the primary practitioners of Impressionism were collectors or admirers of Japanese art, including Monet, Degas, Manet, Cassatt, and Morisot to name just a few. Japonisme also had a strong influence on Scottish artists that would follow slightly later, such as Edward Atkinson Hornel and George Henry. Art from Japan brought with it a reinvigorating sense of freedom and imagination, and, without its resulting surge of inspiration, we might not have many of the Impressionist masterpieces

art lovers now admire.

Édouard Manet, The Lady with Fans, Portrait of Nina de Callias, 1873, Oil on canvas, 113.5 x 166.5 cm.

Berthe Morisot, The Sisters, 1869, Oil on canvas, 52.1 x 81.3 cm.

Official Label from the Desoye Shop, 1860s.

Ophelia and Ponyo, Millais and Miyazaki : How the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood Influenced the Animated Films of Studio Ghibli

by Nicole Entin

In the NHK documentary Ten Years with Hayao Miyazaki, the animator and film director of Studio Ghibli fame recounts the moment at which his artistic vision was challenged by a rather surprising source. The documentary’s director, Kaku Arakawa, narrates how:

‘A trip to the UK left [Miyazaki] with a stunning revelation. It happened during a visit to the Tate Britain art museum. He found himself transfixed by the works of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, particularly a painting called Ophelia. Miyazaki was startled by the artist’s minute attention to detail, by how different amounts of light rendered subtle changes in the painting’s appearance. “I thought, my work is shoddy compared to those artists. I was just astonished. At that point, it became clear to me. Our animation style could not go on as before.”’1

The artwork that stunned and inspired Miyazaki was, of course, John Everett Millais’s Ophelia (185152), one of the iconic hallmarks of Pre-Raphaelite painting depicting the drowning of its titular subject in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Millais interprets the passage in which Queen Gertrude retells how Ophelia, stricken with madness and grief for the death of her father and the strange behaviour of her love Hamlet, fell into a brook while collecting flowers and drowned under the weight of ‘her garments, heavy with their drink, / Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay / To muddy death.’2 The painting is, as Miyazaki observes, incredibly detailed and precise in its brushwork – as well as in its careful attention to symbolism, and floriography in particular.

John Everett Millais, Ophelia, oil on canvas, 76.2 x 111.8 cm, Tate Britain, London.

10 Years with Hayao Miyazaki, directed by Kaku Arakawa. Tokyo: NHK, 2019.

While Miyazaki’s encounter with Millais’s Ophelia came relatively late in his animation career, several comparisons can be made between the core creative beliefs in the works of Studio Ghibli and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Although the Pre-Raphaelites were perceived as one of Britain’s earliest avant-garde movements, they looked to traditional subjects while seeking to express a modern Victorian ethos in their artworks. This is epitomised in paintings such as Ford Madox Brown’s Work (1852-65), which valorises the virtue of labour and craft in the urban expansion of London.

Like the moral didacticism of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood’s early paintings, Miyazaki is known for his engagement with contemporary social concerns within his animated films. Princess Mononoke (1999) expresses a complex tension between the natural world and human greed, while scenes of cities in flames and distant hordes of bombers in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) illustrate Miyazaki’s ‘great deal of rage’3 regarding the Iraq War.

Resonating with Brown’s Work in particular, Miyazaki depicts collective and personal virtues as contributing to the growth of his characters. In Spirited Away (2001), frames of the protagonist Chihiro working in Yubaba’s bathhouse focus on small actions such as a close-up of her hands wringing a wet towel, or her struggle to clean a bathtub twice her size. Although these frames are more microcosmic than Brown’s monumentallyscaled Work, the importance of relative size in the illustrations demonstrates Chihiro’s persistence at these physically arduous tasks despite her vulnerable position.

The unexpected meeting between Studio Ghibli and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and the two seemingly distant artists, Millais and Miyazaki, is perhaps not as unusual as it appears on the surface. As Alexander Huang writes in ‘The Paradox of Female Agency: Ophelia and East Asian Sensibilities’, the presence of Millais’s Ophelia in Japanese culture dates back as early as 1906. The painting is central to the narrative of Natsume Sōseki’s novel Kusamakura, and has interested Japanese audiences ever since in art exhibitions and popular culture alike.4 Furthermore, in ‘Ophelia and her Magical Daughters: The Afterlives of

Ford Madox Brown, Work, oil on canvas, 137 x 198 cm, Manchester, Manchester Art Gallery.

Spirited Away, directed by Hayao Miyazaki. Tokyo: Studio Ghibli, 2001.

Ophelia in Japanese Pop Culture’, Yukari Yoshihara establishes a parallel between Shakespeare’s Ophelia and the character of Granmamare – or the sea goddess – in Studio Ghibli’s Ponyo, released in 2008 after Miyazaki’s visit to the Tate Britain.5

Taking up this comparison from Yoshihara’s perspective as a literary scholar, one frame from Miyazaki’s Ponyo has significant visual and thematic resonances with Millais’s Ophelia. In this image, Ponyo’s mother has arrived to speak with the wizard Fujimoto, Ponyo’s father, about the imbalance in the natural world created as a result of Ponyo’s transformation into a human. Cradling Fujimoto’s boat in her hands, Granmamare’s floating pose seen from a high perspective is reminiscent of the composition of Ophelia, in which the viewer looks down on Ophelia’s head and upper body surfacing from the water while her lower body remains submerged.

shape of Ophelia’s left wrist is slightly distorted from the refraction of light in the water, although the precision of Millais’s brushwork doesn’t entirely render the effect at its most naturalistic. The ripples that originate from Granmamare’s head breaching the water, conversely, distort the shape of the figure more than Millais’s Ophelia. The lines of the goddess’s hair, arm, and dress are all curved by the rippling waves. There is a distinct difference between the bright patches of light that are cast on the surface of the water by the moon, and the soft glowing light diffused beneath the surface. Miyazaki’s inventive use of light sources, emanating both from the moon outside the pictorial space and from Granmamare herself, echoes his revelatory interest in the effects of light created by Millais in Ophelia

Ponyo, directed by Hayao Miyazaki. Tokyo: Studio Ghibli, 2008.

Millais and Miyazaki both pay attention to how water diffuses light and distorts shape. In Ophelia, the intricate detailing of the beaded lace dress is less distinct where the garment is submerged, with the outer edges of the layered skirt becoming entirely blurred into the surrounding water. The

A side-by-side comparison of Millais’s Ophelia and the frame of Granmamare from Miyazaki’s Ponyo

Both images convey a sense of tranquillity in their depictions of women in the natural world. In Millais’s painting, Ophelia’s drowning is an almost peaceful scene. Her parted lips, half-closed eyes, and soft expression are akin to a woman about to fall asleep. Granmamare in the frame from Ponyo

shares Ophelia’s calm and untroubled expression, even though the context of the two images – one of grief and death and the other of tenderness and familial love – couldn’t be more different. At the same time, Granmamare’s arrival is necessitated by potential disaster: if Ponyo remains caught between the human and mythical worlds, a catastrophic imbalance will be created. Even with these stakes, Granmamare’s physicality is rendered by Miyazaki as calm and collected in comparison to Fujimoto, who in this frame anxiously crouches to speak to Ponyo’s mother. Millais and Miyazaki imbue their female figures with a sense of serenity even when faced with death and destruction. Their harmony with their natural surroundings becomes a source of empowerment in a narrative moment of catastrophe.

While the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and Studio Ghibli appear to be distant in terms of geography, time period, and the kind of art that they produced, one fateful trip to the Tate Britain influenced Hayao Miyazaki to draw on the stylistic practices of artists such as John Everett Millais in the development of his animated films. Although Miyazaki’s tendency to imbue his works with social and moral messages resonates with the Pre-Raphaelite movement before his encounter with their work in 2006, frames from his 2008 film Ponyo demonstrate the evident influence that paintings such as Millais’s Ophelia had on the developing animation style of Studio Ghibli.

Notes

1 10 Years with Hayao Miyazaki, episode 1, ‘Ponyo is Here’, directed by Kaku Arakawa. Tokyo: NHK, 2019. https://www3.nhk.or.jp/nhkworld/en/ ondemand/video/3004569/

2 William Shakespeare, Hamlet (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2016), IV.7.156-158.

3 Hayao Miyazaki, interviewed by Devin Gordon, Newsweek, 2005.

4 Alexander Huang, ‘The Paradox of Female Agency: Ophelia and East Asian Sensibilities’, in The Afterlife of Ophelia ed. Kaara L. Peterson and Deanne Williams (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 81.

5 Yukari Yoshihara, ‘Ophelia and her Magical Daughters: The Afterlives of Ophelia in Japanese Pop Culture’ in Shakespeare and the Supernatural ed. Victoria Bladen and Yan Brailowsky (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2020).

Eureka Moments

1

2

1. Mattea, Our Lady of the Sparrow.

2. Ken, Highgate Cemetery.

3. Alessio, Everything and Nothing at the Same Time.

4. Ting, Timing.

BirdsNest Diary

The Milk of Dreams Review: 2022 Venice Biennale

by Mattea Gernentz

With a title alluding to a children’s book by Surrealist Leonora Carrington, the curator of the 2022 Venice Biennale, Cecilia Alemani, squarely places women’s experiences in the foreground from the start. Alemani’s ambitious vision translates into an exuberant artistic experience stretching across Venice’s Arsenale and Giardini venues, where over 200 artists are represented from 58 different countries. For the first time in its 127 year history, the Biennale includes a majority of women and gender non-conforming artists, a refreshing change altering the historical statistic of 10% inclusion to 90% this year. With such unprecedented representation of women and artists of colour, the tables have turned indeed. However, will this be a change resulting in greater momentum or will it fizzle out here?

One of Venice’s greatest assets is its status as a beautiful ancient cityscape able to sow new seeds; contemporary art interventions sparkle inside of ancient chiesas (churches) and palazzos. To be sure, this fruitful cross-pollination between eras and movements is also witnessed in the 59th Biennale. One of the affair’s most shining features is a lush yellow room boasting a selection of artworks by remarkable women Surrealists such as Maya Deren, Leonor Fini, Leonora Carrington, and Meret Oppenheim, as well as many lesser known artists. It was wonderful to discover hidden gems in diverse mediums such as Eileen Agar, Florence Henri, Valentine Penrose, and more. Curator Alemani explicitly stated that she drew inspiration from the past in order to make sense of the present, in particular looking back at the 1948 Biennale which also initially experienced cancellation. Despite its precarious place in history, it witnessed a powerful renaissance as diverse artistic forms that had been censored under the Nazi regime began to flourish once more.

Overall standouts include Portia Zvavahera, a Zimbabwean artist influenced by ideas of spirituality and cultural ritual. Her vibrant bird-populated paintings line one of the first rooms of the Arsenale, offering bright symbols of togetherness and transcendence that retain an unforgettable pallor of the uncanny. Another distinctive artist is Igshaan Adams, the creator of a vast gleaming tapestry. Raised in Bonteheuwel, a former segregated township in Cape Town, South Africa, Adams’ artworks are inspired by pattern, whether this be the design of linoleum floors found within the homes of family and friends or “desire lines”—unplanned footpaths worn through foot traffic during the Apartheid era, linking communities the government sought to separate. His mixed media work ultimately points to joy and community as a powerful form of resistance.

Significant female voices in art history such as Babrara Kruger, Paula Rego, Ruth Asawa, and Sonia Delaunay are importantly highlighted throughout the Biennale. Two gallery spaces also cast a spotlight on Claude Kahun, a French writer and photographer who was active in the Nazi resistance. This striking presence illuminates the ultimate limitations of a dichotomy of male versus female artists, providing room for a queer perspective that evades proposed confines of gender.

In any endeavour, it’s important to ask one question: who has been relegated to the margins? Several collateral events involve “outsiders” and indigenous groups fighting for space and recognition with venues representing Hong Kong, Palestine, Scotland, and others. Regarding the official Biennale space too, considerations for potential visitors include an absence of trigger warnings despite shocking material, limited food and drink options, scarce bathrooms (with long lines), and the innate inaccessibility of Venice itself. During my trip, I marvelled over parents carrying heavy strollers up and down copious canal bridges and cannot even imagine the strain for a wheelchair user. Land fares no better than sea with any prospective Biennale guest encountering steep water taxi prices.

With an overwhelming array of artists and their manifestos, the Biennale is a cultural whirlwind with a ticking clock. A ticket only guarantees admission to each venue once, necessitating a dazed trek through galleries upon galleries of work in a vain attempt to absorb as much as possible. In the future, are there ways in which access could become more sustainable and lasting? Could a pass be bought to gain entry for a week in order to experience spaces on an individual level rather than on a consolidated macro scale? This current form of consumption seems emblematic of our culture: a stream of endless sensational input and data, leaping from subject to subject and voice to voice. The end result is an undeniably dazzling experience that falls short of being lastingly fulfilling.

It didn’t help that the experience at times took on a “Disney World effect” as ticketholders devotedly queued outside of more in-demand pavilions, such as Italy and Greece, in a phenomenon hearkening back to childhood memories of Epcot. When art is consumed capriciously buffet style, how high quality is the resulting meal? How satisfied do we feel? Perhaps there is a way forward to promote sustained forms of revelation and long-term exposure to the incredible art involved.

Songbird Finds a New Nest

by Mattea Gernentz

The story begins in early 2020 during the beginning of the lockdown when Sho visited London to see her family. At this time, the entire nation was immersed in panic. Hygiene became the top priority, and everyone took precautions to preserve their health during the pandemic, such as washing their hands many times a day and wearing face masks. The Brand family household in London was no exception. Visitors became a rarity, except for a specific amiable bird who fluttered over into the garden every day. It would appear near the window as the members of the household would wash dishes. This bird became a welcome regular visitor, offering joy and companionship during this time of solitude.

Artist Bio: Brent Millar

Millar’s grandfather was an incredible artist, which influenced him deeply. From a young age, this act of creation fascinated Brent and seemed to have a magical element to it. Birds, animals, and flowers have remained consistent motifs in his art in the years following. Although his preoccupations and source of inspiration have largely gone on unchanged, Millar has pivoted recently from painting to ceramics. He would like to open a pottery, and his 2021 exhibition featuring a variety of ceramic faces, bowls, jars, and more proved to be immensely successful.

Millar is inspired by Joseph Beuys, Robert Rauschenberg, and the dreamlike art of Odilon Redon. However, his roots remain firmly in the Scottish tradition of “belle peinture” exemplified by painters of the Edinburgh School. He works with a feverish quickness and great fascination for sensuous colour. During his time at Edinburgh College of Art, he studied under Elizabeth Blackadder and Robin Philipson. Millar’s work has been appreciated across the UK, and he starred in The Whole Point About Flowers Is That They Die, a short documentary film about his art by Kenny Thomson.

Millar enjoys drawing from life, and close friends recall Brent having an aviary within his home. However, this imaginative endeavour soon became a problem when scattered seeds from the birds led to an influx of mice. He has also created installations from canary cages, sculpting small canaries from red clay to be placed within these confined structures. These exercises importantly foreground pieces such as Songbird.

Produced over twenty years ago and still vibrantly resonant, Songbird is a poignant illustration of the precarity of life and hope amidst darkness. The symbolism of the canary is imperative as it was a bird once used by coal miners to signal the presence of deadly gases like carbon monoxide. Miners would descend into the depths with a singing canary; if it fell silent, the miner would be alerted to danger and countless other lives would be saved. Millar presents the bird without a visible cage yet still surrounded by a cavern-like darkness. In an eccentric artistic trademark, Millar never includes the feet of the birds he depicts, believing that would look silly–through this omission, he condemns his birds to be winged citizens of the sky rather than the earth below. This is a fascinating juxtaposition to the piece’s presumed underground setting.

Although the purple bird exists in a state of silence, Millar significantly preserves the bird’s vocation, its song, in the work’s title. The artwork’s unique frame with a gilded edge complements the piece well; Millar relies upon a distinguished framer in Leith, the same one used by Barbara Rae.

Provenance

This painting, Songbird, was originally owned by documentary-maker, writer, and art critic W. Gordon Smith and his wife, Jay.

This unique piece has now found a new loving nest in the Brand family home in London. It will be displayed in a beautiful modern kitchen voted the “Best Kitchen of 2022” by Livingetc magazine.

A Quick Review of Frieze London 2022

by Audrey Chi-Wen Tu

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An Art Fair or Event?

There were few signs of an impending global recession during the VIP opening of Frieze London. In other words, it seems that inflation does not have a great impact on the success of contemporary hits. At the Frieze preview night, the crowds outside the tent portrayed this situation. On average, people had to wait for at least an hour to enter the venue, even though they had already booked their tickets online. For some gallerists or collectors, it is more than a fair: rather, it is more like an event (fig.1). However, few collectors complained about this “more-the-merrier” event. Why? The reason is simple: the record of sales satisfied them.

Most of the galleries had more than six-figure or seven-figure sales at the preview night. Collectors from all over the world contributed to the sales, including British, European, Indian and Chinese collectors, with representatives of some global institutes also being a main group of buyers. They were not here for the scene but to buy artwork. For example, James Marshall’s latest painting Black and Part Black Birds in America sold for $6 million to an unnamed American museum by David Zwirner Gallery. Goodman Gallery sold the work Freedom by the Ghanaian artist El Anatsui, which was priced at $2.5 million. Some stands even replaced sold works every day, which proved the sale was really a hit.

A Thirst for Fresh Painting Talent

Furthermore, in the Frieze Art Fair this year, the collectors showed their thirst for fresh painting talent. However, the so-called “ultra-contemporary art trend” is a double-edged sword for young artists. Many young talented painters who are in their 20s and 30s were in high demand at the fair, as shown by the painting made by 31-year-old Flora Yukhnovich which sold at $2 million. The paintings by two rising stars, Umar Rashid and Joy Labinjo, were sold at $45,000-$70,000 and $50,000 respectively. What is most noteworthy is the 29-year-old British abstract painter Jadé Fadojutimi represented by Gagosian. Seven of Fadojutimi’s works were sold out before the exhibition opened (fig.2). The price was estimated at £500,000 each. However, two years ago, Pippy Houldsworth Gallery, which represented Fadojutimi until this June, sold large paintings by the artist between £100,000-£130,000 (The Art Newspaper, Frieze Fair Edition, 13 October 2022). This trend is different from the solid market for the historical classics whose prices are rather stable and consistent. The boom for these young rising stars reached an unprecedented height without support from academics. We might ask how much higher these prices can go, and what the basis for such market prices is. Is it hopeful growth or a suicidal move?

Collecting Video Work Is Becoming A Trend

Despite the over-hyping of young artists at the fair, which is always a cause for criticism, the high profile of the video work was a highlight. More than one tenth of galleries displayed video works. Some stands provided more than half or even a full space to display video work. In other words, some galleries chose video work as their main show. Video work has become a trend in collecting. The themes and approaches of these videos are refreshingly more diverse and innovative. Peggy Ahwesh’s video sculpture and 360 degree touch videos portray our role played in a hyper-connected society and discuss topics about cultural identity and displacement (fig.3). Marcin Dudek’s Control Room uses the security surveillance center of a stadium to discuss the issue of politics of identity, space and surveillance. What surprised me is Chinese multimedia artist Lu Yang represented by Société Berlin this year (fig.4). Born in 1984, Lu Yang has been recognised as one of the most creative artists in China. His 3D animations and installations are experiments to explore how the internet could control ourselves over our identities and partially be free from the limitations of gender and nationality. His latest works are around the character DOKU, who is named after the phrase “Dokusho Dokushi”, meaning “we are born alone, and we die alone”. This character is an avatar or a reincarnation of himself into a parallel digital world where he challenges the relationship between spirituality and science, body and consciousness, technology and the limits of being human. Overall, Lu Yang’s work is influenced by manga, anime, religion, neurology and the human body, which lead his present work in a macro-scale scope to present unexplored territory, which garnered high expectations and attention.

The prosperous and hit market in Frieze London might prove that art is still necessary for human life especially in these difficult times. In a digital era, contemporary art should provide more options of creation and possibilities in the world. The over-hype might be a quick way to make money, but, in terms of long-term development, it is not the correct way towards success. Truly excellent works always deserve real respect and recognition, with their value proven in the future. Time and patience are key elements. As an emerging gallery in Scotland, BirdsNest Gallery focuses on the long-term promotion of potentially excellent work, from oil paintings to the latest installation or video work, no matter what topics or material as only quality and creativity matter. Just like our motto: “Preserving Tradition, Nurturing the New”, we will be consistent in our beliefs and perseverance.

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Meet Our Staff

NATALIA (SHO) BRAND Founder

Born in Taipei, Sho came to Britain in 1998 and attended Essex University for a postgraduate degree, Edinburgh University for a Master’s, and Glasgow University for her PhD, reading art history. Her specialities range from the Renaissance to the present day. After gaining her doctorate and British citizenship, she started working as an independent art historian in 2006, based in Edinburgh. Since then, she has written 13 art books and numerous articles for magazines, journals, and newspapers. She writes two monthly articles for the top art magazines published in Mandarin. Entitled The Artist and Art Collection + Design, they are widely read in Taiwan, Mainland China, Singapore, etc.

Her published articles relate to exhibitions and collections from all over the world. She has also written catalogues for international artists’ exhibitions and often delivers lectures in Taipei, Mainland China, the USA, and other countries. She has also curated an exhibition in the 2016 Venice Biennale. Her career has developed connections with individual artists in Scotland and throughout the world. She has also offered advice to many art lovers to help enhance their collections, based upon her experience as an art historian.

A graduate of George Heriot’s School Edinburgh, Ken has a postgraduate degree in Sculpture from Edinburgh College of Art. He has spent most of his life creating art work, teaching, organising venues and exhibitions, and travelling around the world’s main art galleries. He was Principal Teacher of Art and Design at Broughton High School in Edinburgh for many years until his retirement.

Ken has an extensive understanding of Scottish and Western Art. He is a regular tutor at the Scottish Arts Club and has given many lectures there. He has also been responsible for tutoring different forms of life drawing in the Edinburgh art scene. He offers expertise in professional art-making to our Gallery.

CHI-WEN TU Executive Director

Chi-wen Tu, a Taiwanese curator and exhibition coordinator, has worked in the art industry for more than a decade, including in public museum and galleries in Taiwan. In her early art career, she had an internship for the installation of CAI GUO-QIANG - Hanging Out in the Museum in the Taipei Fine Arts Museum (TFAM). Then, she was also part of the exhibition production team of TFAM’s Elsewhere: Paul Gauguin, the most comprehensive Gauguin exhibition in Taiwan. In recent years, she has worked with Chini Gallery and successfully cooperated with art institutions and biennials in Italy, Israel, Singapore, and Portugal to present multiple exhibitions of Taiwanese artists outside of Taiwan.

Tu has two master’s degrees in related disciplines: an MA in Journalism from National Chengchi University and an MA in Art History from the University of St. Andrews. While studying in Taiwan, her research mainly focused on photography and the body, influenced by the thought of Roland Barthes, John Berger, Pierre Bourdieu, and Maurice MerleauPonty. Her master’s thesis in Taiwan focused on adult women’s bodies that underwent the learning process of ballet to discuss female body awareness and its influence on one’s body and gender identity. This thesis was awarded the First Prize of Chin-Lin Master’s Thesis Award by Taiwan’s Dance Research Society. Her dissertation at the University of St. Andrews focused on colour theory and abstract painting analysis, discussing the blue works of French artist Yves Klein, American artist Sam Francis, and Taiwanese artist Jo Hsieh.

KEN JOHNSTONE Resident Artist and Art Director

JIM JOHNSTONE Business Development Director

Jim went to George Heriot’s School in Edinburgh and, subsequently, graduated with MA Economics from Edinburgh University and MBA from the Harvard Business School. He has had extensive multinational experience in various senior positions as an executive, consultant, and entrepreneur, based at different times in London, New York, Brussels, Tokyo, and Beirut.

He is now in London, using his expertise to help companies expand their business internationally and in the UK. Jim has also spent time in the public sector as CEO of the Scottish Council for Development and Industry, charged with attracting international investment and developing the country’s exports. Jim has had a lifelong interest in art, encouraged by the career of his brother, Ken.

MATTEA GERNENTZ Curator and Researcher

Mattea is a poet and art curator from Franklin, Tennessee. She graduated with Distinction from the University of St Andrews with a master’s degree in Museum and Gallery Studies. Her dissertation focused on Berthe Morisot, Julie Manet, and the feminine gaze within Impressionism. She has previously gained curatorial experience at the Frist Art Museum, Scottish Fisheries Museum, and University of Dundee Museum Collections. She studied English literature and psychology at Wheaton College as an undergraduate, and she is highly interested in modernism, the intersection of visual art and the written word, and feminist approaches to art history. She was selected by the Scottish Poetry Library as a Next Generation Young Makar in 2022.

ALESSIO TURINI Marketing Manager

Alessio is a recent graduate from Florence, Italy. He moved in Edinburgh at the age of 18 to start his degree in business management with a focus on marketing, business development, and digital strategy. He has a multifaceted background that includes the creation of a fashion brand. This involved editing skills, in addition to social media, e-commerce, and advertisement knowledge. He is passionate about music and film and fluently speaks French, Spanish, Italian, and English, believing “languages are the glue for cultures”.

TING-YU TU Creative Manager

Ting-Yu is a visual designer with nine years of experience and an art project manager with three years of working experience. She has a multidisciplinary background across art, culture, and design. She holds an MSc in Modern and Contemporary Art History from University of Edinburgh and a BA in Creative Cultural Industries Management from National Taipei University of Education. Her main foci are culture and sustainability, visual design, contemporary art curatorial practice, and racial and gender representation in art history.

BirdsNest

Mia Takemoto, Roots & Routes (2022), tempera and wood veneer on plywood.