Following the Master
First appeared on Penlovers Online magazine.

Since I sold my orthopedic clinic a year ago, and entered a life of semi-retirement, I delighted at the chance to visit the Tokyo National Museum of Art on a weekday morning. A time when I knew it wouldn’t be too crowded and I wouldn’t have to push and shove in order to catch a glimpse of the exhibits. I bought my ticket from a Japanese woman who looked impossibly old. She handed me my change in a slow trembling hand, but when she spoke to me, I was surprised. Her voice seemed far too young for her age. What was even more surprising was that she spoke perfect English .“What are looking for?” she asked. “The Matsuda Gonroku exhibit,” I replied.

She blinked and said, “How wonderfully refreshing. We do not get many visitors here to see that, and rarely does a young westerner like you seem interested in lacquer ware.” She circled the exhibit on the museum map and sent me down an empty corridor.

As I expected, other than a few senior citizens with sketchpads, I was the only one in the museum. When I reached the exhibit I quickly found the two items that I had came to see. Matsuda’s Crane cabinet and his famous tebako (cosmetic box)

If you are a hardcore maki-e collector, then undoubtedly you know the name. If you are new, then perhaps you haven’t. Gonroku Matsuda is considered the all time master of maki-e art. He was the son of a well-to-do Wajima maki-e artist, and grew up watching his father work. However, just being in the right environment doesn’t make one great. Thousands of other boys grew up the same way in that sleepy little maki-e village. However, Matsuda was the Mozart of the maki-e world. He learned effortlessly and had the eye of a veteran master. He officially became an apprentice in 1903 at the age of 7. Upon his entry of the Tokyo Museum of Art, his teachers conceded that there was little they could teach him. His skill was better than any they had ever seen before, and yet he was still just a boy.

His graduation project in 1919 caused something of a scandal. Never before in the 400 year history of the school had a final project been given a perfect score, nor has it since. Indeed, the projects are designed to be nearly impossible to finish on time; a test meant to instill the real-world pressure of a deadline. Yet, Matsuda made it look easy by presenting something breathtaking and went way beyond the scope of the project.

It was not surprising that after graduation, Matsuda received dozens of work offers, some of these were from the most prestigious art studious in the country. All of the big names were fighting to sign him up, and they offered him record salaries and unheard of benefits. Matsuda turned them all down.

It is here that Matsuda’s personality started to show. Like many great artists, he wasn’t interested in wealth or position. All he cared about was art. His first real work was restoring some of Japan’s ancient lacquer artifacts. This was what he wanted to do, and he considered it an important part of his training, but his professors and peers were aghast. This was what they considered a hack’s work. Important, to be sure, but this work was far beneath his genius.

In 1926, an old professor came to Matsuda and proposed that he leave the restorations and take a position with the Namiki Pen Company. Namiki was experimenting with lacquer and maki-e artwork on fountain pens, and had plans to market these abroad. It was a great chance for Japan to exhibit the scope of its art, which had often been snubbed by Europeans. Matsuda wasn’t convinced, but he agreed to go to an event that Namiki was preparing. Namiki was opening a new factory outside of Yokohama, and Matsuda would have the chance to meet with Namiki and some of the lacquer artists already contracted.

True to his word, Matsuda arrived, but was soon eager to leave. He did not enjoy such social gatherings. He would wait until Namiki’s speech and then try to escape. Namiki was a little man, but his voice carried weight. In his speech he noted that he had selected the day of “Butsumetsu”, of all days to open the important Hiratsuka factory. All of his resources were invested in this factory, and it was a sink or swim venture. The day was important because under the Buddhist calendar it was the most unlucky of unlucky days, the day that Buddha died. No one would ever think of launching such a venture on that day, but Namiki wanted it to be clear that if they succeeded, it would not be because of luck or good fortune. They would succeed by cleverness and perseverance. Matsuda was so impressed with this unorthodox speech that he decided that this was the company he wanted to join, and in 1926 he became Namiki’s chief maki-e design artist. He oversaw all of the other artists and they followed his designs. In these early days, Matsuda helped make products not only for Dunhill, but also for Maple, Croty, and Montblanc. Maple and Croty were perfume and cosmetic companies. Many mirrors, combs and other such maki-e items with the Namiki name are known to exist. I imagine these items were made for these companies. I certainly would like to know what Matsuda did for Montblanc.

In 1933, Gonroko visited the European customers himself. This was a great learning experience for him and he fell in love with European art. In six months he made over 500 sketches and designs of the European masterpieces that he was interested in combining with maki-e, but upon his return to Japan, his professors were furious. Though he was the design leader and no one could compare with his artistic talent, he was still only in his early 30’s. He was not given complete freedom. His superiors seized his sketches and burned them before him. Later he said,

“The reason was that my sketches and designs were in the latest fashion at that time in Europe. For our client companies, who so highly appreciated the distinctive characteristics of Japanese and Oriental traditional art objects, it was put simply, intolerable for the Japanese design manager to copy and study avant-garde, abstract designs. This event made me re-evaluate Japanese art.”

Murakami, in his research for his book “Namiki and maki-e Pens” found that Gonroku Matsuda presented the Japanese royal family with several fountain pens of his design. Though, today, no one seems to know what became of them.

As I sat in the museum, taking in all of Matsuda’s creations, I felt a deep sense of pain. You see, I have been taking maki-e lessons myself. I have no aspirations of setting the maki-e art world ablaze with my work. But I think I feel what any artist feels when they see the work of a master. It is painful to see what you would like to be able to do, but know that no matter how much you train or practice, it will never happen.

As I left the museum, deep in contemplation of the works that I had just seen, I was stirred from the reverie by that unmistakable voice. I turned to see that the old woman who had been selling tickets was now working the gift store. “Ahhh, I see that you found the Matsuda exhibit. It seems that just about everyone who comes here to see that exhibit leaves with the same sullen face.”

I smiled and nodded. “I am sure that must be true,” I said and walked outside.