Kitsune: the Art of Laura Laine

“Kitsune Noir” by Laura Laine

The Kitsune (Japanese for fox) has a long and fascinating history in Japanese culture. They are particularly well-known for shape-shifting into the form of exquisitely beautiful women, especially with “a narrow face with close-set eyes, thin eyebrows, and high cheekbones” (Wikipedia). They make very convincing ladies, and in many tales will marry and have children before being surprised into showing their true identity. Some ways to discern Kitsune from women are to get them drunk (and careless), to look at their shadow or reflection (which may show their true form), or to look for a tail, which is often difficult for them to hide. And a Kitsune, depending on the strength of its powers, can have up to nine tails...






The presence of dogs also often gives away a shape-hiding Kitsune, as the barking really rattles them.
According to Karen Ann Smyers, in The Fox and the Jewel,

“The earliest extant fox story in Japan also purports to explain the etymology of the word for fox, “kitsune.” A sixth-century man from Mino one day met a woman in the fields. She agreed to marry him, and soon they had a son, and at the same time, their dog had puppies. Life was peaceful, except for the incessant barking of their puppy at the wife. She begged her husband to kill it, but he felt compassion for it and could not bring himself to do so. One day the dog startled the wife with its barking, and suddenly she reverted to her true fox shape, perched upon a rough fence. Although the husband was surprised, his love for his wife was deep, and he told her that he would never forget her, and that she should come back to sleep with him, which she did, nightly. Her name, and the name of all subsequent foxes in Japan, was therefore Kitsune, ‘come and sleep.’
“The fox in this story is a good wife and mother, but another kind of fox-woman in Japanese stories seduces men and makes fools of them. Foxes in human form may play harmless pranks, or they may possess people against their will. Spirit foxes were employed to nefarious ends by sorcerers; mediums and healers may be assisted in their tasks by white spirit foxes even today. Fox stories in the rakugo and Kyogen traditions are hilarious; the more macabre tales can be nauseatingly gruesome. Foxes are associated with the earth where they make their homes, with fire, with sexuality; they can fly, change shape, cause mirages. They range from villainous to saintly.”

In fact, their behavior can be so villainous, there is a Kitsune-okuri (fox-expelling) festival in the Totomi province of Japan every year on January 14th. A procession of people carrying straw foxes is led out of town by a priest, where they bury the dolls, thus buying themselves protection for the following year.

Otherwise, the Kitsune would be free to possess hapless victims, start fires or throw lightning with their tails, waylay travelers with something much like a siren’s song, and overwhelm ordinary locals with elaborate illusions. “Some tales speak of kitsune with even greater powers, able to bend time and space, drive people mad, or take fantastic shapes such as a tree of incredible height or a second moon in the sky. Other kitsune have characteristics reminiscent of vampires or succubi and feed on the life or spirit of human beings, generally through sexual contact.....”(Wikipedia)

In a demonic fox possession (until the early 20th century, a common diagnosis for the mentally ill), the fox enters a young woman (always a young woman) by sliding underneath her fingernails or into her breasts. You might realize what’s happening by a subtle shift in her facial features, making them slightly more...“fox-like.” The possessed young lady may have abilities she didn’t have before--a newly-gained literacy, for example, or knowledge of a foreign language. And she will have sudden, relentlessly ravenous cravings for fox-favored foods, like tofu, sweet red beans, and rice. If she recovers, having had a successful exorcism, it is likely she will never be able to eat those foods again.
The actual grisly possession is described in Lafcadio Hearn’s Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan:

“Strange is the madness of those into whom demon foxes enter. Sometimes they run naked shouting through the streets. Sometimes they lie down and froth at the mouth, and yelp as a fox yelps. And on some part of the body of the possessed a moving lump appears under the skin, which seems to have a life of its own. Prick it with a needle, and it glides instantly to another place. By no grasp can it be so tightly compressed by a strong hand that it will not slip from under the fingers.”

In A Field Guide to Demons, Fairies, Fallen Angels, and Other Subversive Spirits, Dinah Mack traces this less friendly, demonic aspect of the Kitsune to old tales of the Fox Fairy in China:

“There, the Fox Fairy is greatly feared and always propitiated. It is believed that cases of madness caused by fox possession are retributions for former offenses against the Fox Fairy by a member of the victim’s family; however, the Chinese Fox Fairy has been known to possess a human being for the sheer malevolent mischief of it. When inhabited, the human can fly, go through walls, and has other striking powers...
A priest is often called in, berates the Fox Spirit, and tells it to get out. The fox negotiates its terms, arranges for rice and other offerings, and if satisfied will finally agree to leave. Cases continue to be reported in contemporary times.”

“Haunted House” (I recommend clicking the link for a better view of the creepiness of these two images...)







However, according to The Complete Idiot’s Guide to World Mythology,
“Tengu and Kitsune, though they are certainly not human, should not be thought of as monsters. In fact, they are more like demon-angel hybrids, in that they have capacities for good and evil that are similar to those of humans.”

In fact, throughout history, the white Kitsune have been strongly associated with the spirits of the rice fields, and gods of nourishment. And let’s not forget that some of those lovely ladies make angelic wives and loving mothers...


“Hide and Chic”

While studying the extensive lore surrounding this creature (so much more than fits in this post!), I discovered
How to achieve magical powers!
In The Catalpa Bow, a Study in Shamanistic Practices in Japan, by Carmen Blacker, she describes 17th century accounts of an Izuna rite:

“For this rite you must first find a pregnant vixen in her lair. You feed her and tame her, taking particular care of her at the time when her cubs are born. When the cubs are grown up, the vixen will bring one of them to you and ask you to give it a name. Once you have done this you will find that you only have to call the young fox by name for it to come to you in invisible form. Then you can ask it any questions you like, on any matter however secret, and always it will be able to find out the answer for you. Other people cannot see the fox in its invisible form, so when you show them that you know of these hidden things they will all think that you possess divine power.

This peculiar rite, described in almost identical terms in several Tokugawa works, seems to be a degraded vestige of something which in early medieval times was a religious rite of heretical but not very evil character. The Izuna rite...was at this period another name for the Dagini or Daten rite, much performed by warriors, noblemen or priests anxious for power or wealth. It was by dint of performing the Dagini rite...that Taira Kiyomori rose from obscurity to be virtual dictator of the land...References throughout medieval literature are legion to the successful performance of this rite by perfectly respectable people.”

All the artwork in this post is by the Finnish artist Laura Laine, whose work I discovered via Phantasmaphile. Her own webpage is here. She is rather famous for her fashion illustrations, featuring foxy models with fantastically-detailed hair:


(Anyone else see possible tails, here?)

Also, this fantastic collection of the horoscope figures:


“Horoscopes”

She also applied her fantastic attention to detail in the creation of this modern version of the traditional Japanese Kokeshi doll (now owned by another lovely artist, Audrey Kawasaki) for the Kokeshi show earlier this fall at the Japanese American National Museum:



Kokeshi


(Close-up)

Note the three hands--one fiddling with her hair--and the rather possessed look in the eyes....

I am traveling this month and am unlikely to get a chance to post again until the new year. I hope everyone has a great holiday and luxuriates in tons of life-affirming celebrations, full of spirit, health and joy!

Monsters Part II: Saints and Dragons

Painting is "a form of magic designed as a mediator between this strange hostile world and us, a way of seizing the power by giving form to our terrors, as well as our desires."
--Picasso




Green George




The Tale of St. George and the Dragon (Wikipedia)
According to the Golden Legend the narrative episode of Saint George and the Dragon took place in a place he called "Salone," in Libya. The Golden Legend is the first to place this legend in Libya, as a sufficiently exotic locale, where a dragon might be imagined.

The town had a pond, as large as a lake, where a plague-bearing dragon dwelled that envenomed all the countryside. To appease the dragon, the people of Silene used to feed it a sheep every day, and when the sheep failed, they fed it their children, chosen by lottery.

It happened that the lot fell on the king's daughter. The king, distraught with grief, told the people they could have all his gold and silver and half of his kingdom if his daughter were spared; the people refused. The daughter was sent out to the lake, decked out as a bride, to be fed to the dragon.

Saint George by chance rode past the lake. The princess, trembling, sought to send him away, but George vowed to remain.

The dragon reared out of the lake while they were conversing. Saint George fortified himself with the Sign of the Cross, charged it on horseback with his lance and gave it a grievous wound. Then he called to the princess to throw him her girdle and put it around the dragon's neck. When she did so, the dragon followed the girl like a meek beast on a leash. She and Saint George led the dragon back to the city of Silene, where it terrified the people at its approach. But Saint George called out to them, saying that if they consented to become Christians and be baptised, he would slay the dragon before them.

The king and the people of Silene converted to Christianity, George slew the dragon, and the body was carted out of the city on four ox-carts. "Fifteen thousand men baptized, without women and children." On the site where the dragon died, the king built a church to the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint George, and from its altar a spring arose whose waters cured all disease."


"Flight of Swallows Over the Field of Gold"




And, not that Perseus is my favorite or anything, but Wikipedia goes on to say: "It is also possible that the 'George and the Dragon' myth is derived from the myth of Perseus and Andromeda."








According to his website:
Clive Hicks-Jenkins "...worked as an actor in films and television, and toured Europe and America as a dancer. From his early twenties until his mid thirties, Hicks-Jenkins was a highly successful choreographer, director and stage designer, creating productions with leading companies, including the Vienna Festival, the Almeida Theatre, Theatr Clwyd and Cardiff New Theatre, where he was Associate Producer. His stage designs displayed a powerful vision, and exhibitions of them were held at Oriel Theatr Clwyd, Cardiff New Theatre and Newport Museum and Art Gallery."


After a while, he tired of the traveling life of a performer, resettled in Wales and began to focus entirely on the visual arts he'd been developing as a set-designer and mask-maker for theater performances.







From the Mari Lwyd series.


A 2005 article in the Journal of Mythic Arts gives a description of the Mari Lwyd tale and its traditions:




"The Mari Lwyd, or Grey Mare, is an ancient figure found in Welsh folklore, a spectral messenger between the worlds of the living and the dead. In a centuries–old folk drama still enacted in parts of Wales today, the Mari Lwyd is represented by a horse’s skull mounted on a decorated pole and carried from door to door by a man hidden under a long white sheet. In some areas this took place at night, the Mari Lwyd led through the streets by a group of rowdy wassail singers bearing lanterns to light the way. As described in Crafts, Customs, and Culture in Clwyd (1981): "The first intimation often received was the sight of this prowling monster peeping around into the room…or sometimes shewing his head by pushing it through an upstairs window." The men accompanying the Mari Lwyd then knock loudly upon the door and challenge the inmates of the house to a pwnco, or contest of wits. This contest is conducted through the musical exchange of traditional and improvised verses that are rudely satirical in nature, with each participant insulting the other’s singing, drunkeness, etc. The Mari Lwyd group is required to win the challenge in order to gain entrance to the house, whereupon they partake of cake and ale, sing a farewell song, and then depart. Though the ritual is now generally performed at Christmas, scholars date the Mari Lwyd figure back to the pre–Roman era and believe she originated in the winter rites of the Celtic horse goddess Rhiannon. Similar customs can be found in Switzerland, Austria, Bavaria, Slovenia and other Celtic areas of Europe."




"It Comes at a Clacking Rattling Run"
(From the Mari Lwyd Series)


From a poem by Catriona Urquhart, written for a gallery showing of the Mari Lwyd works:


"But it is never welcome,
not to me.
I would forbid it entry if I could.
I'd lock the door and swallow down the key
and never face again the swirling hood
around that gruesome grin,
that monstrous, spectral head.
I'd swap our Chrismas plenty
for a begging bowl.
I'd barter all I have
if I might win.
I'd be good forever
if only God would strike it dead;
but Hetty lifts the latch and lets it in."





(From the Mari Lwyd series)




"For many years," writes Clive, "I made a daily car journey from Newport to Tretower Court near Crickhowell, and in all that time I don't think that I once passed through the village of Llanover without slowing to a snail's pace, drawn by the darkly mysterious painting of a Mari Lwyd above the Post Office door. I'd never seen a Mari Lwyd other than in that painted sign, but my father had, and late in life he recounted his childhood terror of the sheeted horror which had come at him out of the night. The memory had stuck, ambushing him at moments of vulnerability. All his life his family were aghast at the power nightmares had to unseat his usual composure, but by the light of day he was a man who walked in the sunshine, laughed a lot, and was content.


"He was eighty-four before he admitted to what had been bothering him, looked at it in my drawings, called it by its name, faced it down. As he lay dying in hospital, besieged by God knows what unseen monsters, he cried out and battled with his bed-sheets. He never liked to be confined by a sheet. Too much like the Mari, and too much like a shroud. With his passing the Mari Lwyd became central to my work, but quickly slipped the tether of its folk custom origins, metamorphosing into something less corporeal."





(From the Mari Lwyd series)






In the 19th century, a group of panels depicting the "Lives of the Desert Fathers," already several centuries old, was broken up and dispersed. At the Christ Church Picture Gallery in Oxford, there are now 9 panels together. Clive Hicks-Jenkins did a study of those panels and also created several of his own paintings inspired by their theme, a series he named "Temptations of Solitude." His own writings on the thought process behind the paintings of this series are amazingly lush and descriptive.
From his journals:

"12 November, 2002, Christ Church Picture Gallery
I’ve returned to study the fragments of what was once an intact and magnificent altarpiece. There is a collage reconstruction in the Christ Church catalogue of how the whole may have appeared before the act of vandalism which reduced it to a jigsaw puzzle. Nineteen pieces are spread across the world. Christ Church has nine, the largest number in one place. These dismembered relics by an artist or artists unknown are so beautifully painted, and yet so heart-achingly incomplete, that the images contained within them have haunted me since I first saw them last Easter.
The scenes are bathed in an unearthly, greenish twilight which fools you into thinking that you are about to strain your eyes. Yet the paradox is that, when you draw close to the paintings, there is in them a dreadful clarity, as in the worst nightmares. The desert floor ripples like wave-washed sand, while the rocky places are modelled into stiff meringue peaks of ghostly greys and umbers. The figures, animals and trees throw no shadows, and their lack eerily heightens the dream-like state. Patches of richness irradiate briefly: the tawny pelts of wild beasts, the iron oxide of pantiles, the crimson flash of an angel’s unfurling wing.
Islands of vegetation are darkly impenetrable, traceried branches and leaves patterning the shadowy depths like sombre brocade. In two of the scenes the sky is visible, a thunderous Prussian Blue, lightening only towards the horizon. In just one painting does relief come, in the form of a distant, cheery prospect of golden hills.
The ground particularly is unnerving, scattered with bone-like pebbles, snakes and odd, pincer-shaped plants that might be traps for the unwary. Bare feet seem vulnerable in such a hostile terrain! And I don’t like the look of the water either. Clouded, phlegm-green, and perilous with currents, undertows and whirlpools. In a sharp-snouted black boat, two winged demons are doing something unspeakable to a naked man, possibly with grappling irons.
The picture planes are flattened. Landscape rears up and details appear undiminished by distance. In seven out of the nine paintings, vermillion flares in the dusk - most spectacularly in the tunic of a barbarian being devoured by a lioness. It’s as though the splendour of his garment has marked him out for a blood-letting!
Evil things walk in the light. A fearsome devil steps shockingly from behind a rock to brandish a scythe in the face of Abba Macarius, and an Ethiopian reels beneath the blows from a sturdy demoness. But to balance these horrors there are passages of tenderness and strange beauty, such as the sainted monk rising like a flower bud from the hollow heart of a tree, fed from on high by an angel descending from the clouds with a gift of bread."





A Vision of Angels Ascending



Here, he describes some of the process leading to the shapes he gives his figures. Note the uncomfortably twisted forms of the men on the ground of Angels Ascending...

"December 2002, Prague
At my studio back in Cardiff the walls swarm with a cast of hermits, angels, penitents, devils, wild beasts and anchorites. They are made of roughly painted card, jointed for articulation and capable of surprisingly varied and unlikely positions, rather like elaborate shadow puppets. They were constructed as studio aids to achieve a more expressive use of the human figure and free me from the choreographer’s understanding of the body.
I’m reminded of these matters as I discover the treasures of the Narodni Gallery here in Prague. So many of the figures in these Gothic Bohemian paintings have the same kind of postural distortion that I’ve been striving for in The Temptations of Solitude. In the Master of Wittingau’s The Agony in the Garden, Christ on his knees forms a perfect and sinuous ‘S’, and his agonised shape emerging from the shadowy, foliate background of Gethsemane infuses both the figure and the painting with a desolate isolation. Here form and colour conjoin to conjure the emotional tone of the subject. This is not about flesh and the corporeal body. The image almost ignites with the violence of Christ’s spiritual agony.
Crossing the deserted Charles Bridge at midnight, a dusting of snow muffling our footsteps, we passed an elderly man sitting at a little table, only his long beard and mittened fingers showing outside his old great-coat. He was playing a dulcimer, his Jewish folk tunes fading in the gusts of wind that scattered them to the darkness, as timeless and melancholy as the frost."





Elijah and the Raven


"Elijah fed by the raven sent by God, was the first subject I set myself when I started preparations in earnest for The Temptations. Saint Paul, too, was supplied with bread by ravens, the ration doubling when Anthony of Egypt came to visit and then stay with him. On Paul’s death, Anthony buried him with the assistance of lions which appeared out of the wilderness to dig the grave. The stories are full of these encounters and miraculous alliances between men and wild animals. "





"The Embrace"



The Virgin of the Goldfinches