長谷川等伯と能登の震災Hasegawa Tohaku and the Noto Earthquake

Last month, I traveled around the Noto Peninsula in Hokuriku, a region where the traces of the earthquake remain deeply visible, but another purpose of my visit there was to attend the exhibition of my beloved painter, Hasegawa Tohaku.

After the earthquake on January 1, 2024, the Nanao Art Museum in Noto had been forced to close for a long period, but it reopened on September 20, and the “Hasegawa Tohaku Exhibition,” commemorating both the 30th anniversary of the museum’s founding and the hope for post-earthquake recovery, is being held until the 16th of next week. Nanao City, located on the southeastern side of the Noto Peninsula, serves as the gateway to the peninsula. Surrounded by steep mountains that make access difficult, Nanao has made faster progress in recovery compared to Wajima in the northern area, which remains largely unrecovered, because access from cities like Toyama is much easier.

It is this very Nanao that is the birthplace of Hasegawa Tohaku, the painter who lived through the turbulent times from the Sengoku period to the early Edo period. Born in 1539 and passing in 1610, Tohaku is said to have worked mainly as a Buddhist painter (ebbusshi) in his twenties. The term ebbusshi refers to monks or temple-affiliated professional painters who specialized in Buddhist paintings or coloring statues. At temples in Nanao, Tohaku’s works from this period remain under the name Nobuharu, and though they suffered damage in the recent earthquake, they have somehow survived and been preserved.

Incidentally, the profession of ebbusshi was not originally Japanese. It traces back to when Buddhist and other Chinese cultural influences entered Japan one after another, bringing with them systems like guilds of professional painters. The system connecting ebbusshi to the court had already been institutionalized by the era of Prince Shotoku, who lived around the late 6th to early 7th century, though his historical existence is often debated. Through the ritsuryo system, it became fully established. During this period, Esoteric Buddhism (Mikkyo) from Tang China was introduced by Japanese monks such as Saicho and Kukai who had studied abroad as envoys. As the influence of Esoteric Buddhism grew strong around the imperial court, the demand for complex Buddhist paintings—such as mandalas—surged, laying the foundation for the emergence of specialist painters called ebbusshi.

However, for a painter from the countryside to have gone to Kyoto and been so precisely traceable in historical records makes Tohaku a rare figure. At the same time, precisely because of this clarity, many doubts persist about his life, and there has been constant criticism that past studies of Tohaku have included overly arbitrary interpretations. The facts remain unclear, but Tohaku was indeed a painter who challenged the dominant Kano school—the most powerful art faction in Kyoto at the time—solely through his own talent, shaking their hegemony. The life of Tohaku from Noto, who boldly entered Kyoto’s ultra-conservative art world alone and challenged the faction that monopolized painting commissions, has long inspired the Japanese people. Thus, some degree of interpretive embellishment is perhaps inevitable, yet by keeping this in mind, we can begin to see his real image more clearly.

Particularly, the interpretation that Tohaku worked early as an ebbusshi during his Noto years is itself dubious. Most current Tohaku researchers assume that during his Noto period, Hasegawa Tohaku worked under the name Hasegawa Nobuharu, thus presuming “Hasegawa Nobuharu = Hasegawa Tohaku.” Yet no one can actually prove that Tohaku called himself Nobuharu and worked as an ebbusshi in Noto. Moreover, this theory relies entirely on a relatively recent hypothesis established by a single scholar in 1938, which greatly deviates from earlier understandings.

Books written in the Edo period, in fact, contradict this later theory. For example, Edo-period painting histories such as Tansei Jakubokushu (丹青若木集), Fuso Meiko Gafu (扶桑名公画譜), and Gajo Yoryaku (画乗要略), compiled from the late 17th century onward, describe Nobuharu as Tohaku’s son. And in Honcho Gashi (1678, 本朝画史), a foundational biographical record of Japanese painters, Nobuharu is described as a painter of the Kasuga workshop (Kasuga esho). The Kasuga workshop originated in the 15th century when Tosa Mitsunobu established a studio serving both the imperial court and the shogunate. The Tosa school that developed from this became a major faction rivaling the Kano school in Kyoto.

In other words, according to Edo-period art history, Hasegawa Tohaku and Nobuharu were generally understood to be separate individuals. However, in 1938, this long-standing view was suddenly overturned. Art historian Doi Tsugiyoshi (1906–1991) found a painting titled Portrait of Nichigyo Shonin (Nichigyo Shonin-zo) at Kyoto’s Honpo-ji Temple signed by Hasegawa Nobuharu. Since the dating of this work coincided with the period when Tohaku began working in Kyoto, Doi interpreted it as a work created when Tohaku was around 34 years old, proposing that he used the name Nobuharu at that time. Thus was born Doi’s “Hasegawa Nobuharu = Hasegawa Tohaku” theory. In other words, the two figures, previously considered distinct throughout the Edo period, were merged into one based on a single art historian’s interpretation in 1938—an interpretation that dismissed Edo-period records as unsubstantiated or crude. Frankly, considering the prewar intellectual climate, this theory feels highly intentional.

First of all, Buddhist paintings such as mandalas or Nirvana scenes, used exclusively for temple ceremonies and rituals, generally did not bear the artist’s signature, as authorship was irrelevant for religious use. This can be confirmed even today by observing existing Nirvana paintings across Japan—none bear the artist’s name. Yet the mysterious Nobuharu, said to have worked as an ebbusshi in Noto, boldly signed his age and name on such works and even sealed them. Existing examples show that Nobuharu often signed Buddhist paintings and sometimes even added his father-in-law’s name. But the practice of painters asserting personal authorship flourished mainly in the Edo period, particularly among urban ukiyo-e artists rather than traditional temple painters. By then, Edo-based ukiyo-e artists proudly signed their works. In contrast, when an artist needed to conceal his identity, he used a hidden signature (kakushi rakkan). For example, while we can identify works and eras for Hokusai and Utamaro, we know nothing of Sharaku, who released numerous works while keeping his identity secret.

Nobuharu is said to have left Noto after the deaths of his adoptive parents, taking his young son Kyuzo with him to Kyoto. Kyuzo, known as Tohaku’s son and talented heir, died mysteriously at age 26—some say assassinated by the Kano school to suppress the rising Hasegawa school. Some accounts even claim that upon arriving in Kyoto, Nobuharu entered the Kano school as a disciple. Whether or not Nobuharu actually apprenticed there remains uncertain; records are vague, and the version that he did so is often favored simply because it makes for a more compelling story. One firm fact is that upon reaching Kyoto, Nobuharu entered Honpo-ji Temple, the head temple of Honen-ji in Noto, his family’s ancestral temple—an ordinary move for a temple-affiliated painter.

However, this raises further questions. Nobuharu is said to have painted Portrait of Nichigyo Shonin in 1572, shortly after arriving in Kyoto, but Honpo-ji at that time already employed many temple painters. How a provincial artist from Noto could suddenly be selected for such a major commission over established painters has long been debated. Moreover, it is unlikely that temple paintings of that era would bear an artist’s seal; thus, the narrative of a sudden extraordinary appointment seems improbable in conservative Kyoto, suggesting that even the dating of this work may be mistaken.

Nichigyo, the subject of this portrait, was the 8th chief priest of Honpo-ji, who died in 1572 at age 30, the very year Nobuharu is said to have arrived in Kyoto. The painting is believed to have been made by Nobuharu after Nichigyo’s death, but the foundation of Doi’s “Nobuharu = Tohaku” theory rests on the assumption that the painting was dated 1572, that the artist Nobuharu was 34 years old, and that Tohaku was also 34 that same year. Furthermore, both were said to have fathers named Dojo, leading to Doi’s conclusion that they were one and the same. Yet this reasoning clearly shows strong arbitrariness.

Although Doi’s theory has become the accepted premise for discussing Hasegawa Tohaku, counterarguments remain. For instance, the diary Kogyoki (己行記) written by the monk who founded Myokoku-ji records a major memorial service held for Nichigyo on his third death anniversary between 1561 and 1585, implying that the portrait was painted in 1574, not 1572. If Nobuharu was 34 in 1572, he would be 36 in 1574—therefore, not the same age as Tohaku, suggesting they were separate people. However, confusion arises because both had fathers named Dojo, and with only a two-year difference in age, the Edo-period theory that Nobuharu was Tohaku’s son also collapses. Thus, while we think we know who Hasegawa Tohaku was, the truth remains elusive. Incidentally, Dojo was Tohaku’s adoptive father.

After his important commission at Honpo-ji, Nobuharu is believed to have continued painting in Kyoto, but his activities in his late 30s to 40s are completely unknown. One possible reason is that during this period, Honpo-ji’s 10th head priest, Nittsu (1551–1608), played a key role. Nittsu, a monk of the Nichiren sect, had led Honpo-ji’s relocation after its persecution and expulsion from Kyoto in 1536, when it temporarily took refuge in Sakai, a rising commercial city. The temple was later restored in Kyoto, and in 1587, during Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s urban reforms surrounding the construction of the Jurakudai palace, it moved again. Nittsu, born in Sakai, spearheaded this reconstruction with the cultural support of the famous connoisseurs Hon’ami Koji and his son Hon’ami Koetsu, transforming Honpo-ji into a flourishing cultural hub of Kyoto.

It was through Nittsu that Hasegawa Tohaku developed a close relationship with Honpo-ji. Through this connection, Tohaku likely traveled between Kyoto and Sakai, then a vibrant cultural center developing its own unique arts. Via Nittsu’s network, Tohaku mingled with the foremost cultural figures of the era, who often gathered in tea rooms. It was likely here that he met Sen no Rikyu, the master who established the foundation of tea ceremony culture, through which Tohaku cultivated a new aesthetic sense. This connection with Rikyu later granted him access to Daitoku-ji, one of Kyoto’s most prestigious Zen temples. Rikyu highly valued Tohaku’s skill, entrusting him with several commissions. This deep link to Daitoku-ji profoundly changed Tohaku’s career and strongly influenced the evolution of his ink painting style inspired by Zen art.

Considering this, while it is generally said that there was a period when Tohaku called himself Nobuharu before adopting his famous name, the timing of this name change is entirely unknown. Moreover, if there was indeed a “Nobuharu → Tohaku” transition, the absence of works from that in-between phase further deepens the mystery surrounding him. In a sense, this very mystery continues to fascinate people. In any case, Tohaku’s most active period began only after his 50s, and his surviving masterpieces are all late works. Rather than viewing him as an isolated individual, I believe his artistic evolution mirrors the movements of his time—the period when regional warlords still fought across Japan and the unification of the country neared completion.

If his lifetime was indeed 1539–1610, its first half coincided with Oda Nobunaga (1534–1582) expanding his power from Owari (present-day Aichi), conquering neighboring domains in his campaign for national unification. Yet Nobunaga, despite nearing this goal, perished in the Honno-ji Incident—overthrown by the subversive efforts of Portuguese missionaries who sought to colonize Japan and their African spy Yasuke, trained in Goa and strategically presented to Nobunaga by the missionaries. After his death, the peasant-born Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537–1598) rose to power.

Knowing full well the involvement of Portuguese agents behind Nobunaga’s death, Hideyoshi immediately launched a campaign against Akechi Mitsuhide (1528–1582), who had assassinated Nobunaga with missionary backing. Overwhelmed by Hideyoshi’s forces, Mitsuhide fell, and Portugal’s colonial ambitions in Japan collapsed. From Hideyoshi’s era into that of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the Portuguese missionaries’ political influence—both overt and covert—became increasingly resented and was systematically suppressed. Their deceptive strategies may have succeeded elsewhere, but not in Japan. Thus, after unifying the country, Hideyoshi built the Tenzui-ji Temple inside Kyoto’s Daitoku-ji complex in 1588 for his mother. Though later abolished in the Meiji period, it was known at the time as a magnificent structure whose screen paintings were said to be masterpieces. These murals were painted by Kano Eitoku (1543–1590), Tohaku’s greatest rival and the leading talent of the Kano school.

Although the murals no longer exist, partial reproductions and sketches found in the late Edo period reveal monumental pine trees rendered with extraordinary mastery, showing Eitoku at his peak. Tohaku, closely connected with Daitoku-ji, likely witnessed the creation of these works firsthand and was deeply impacted by Eitoku’s monumental style. Eitoku’s innovations at Tenzui-ji marked a turning point, spreading rapidly beyond the Kano school as a defining artistic trend. While Tohaku was clearly influenced, he sought not mere imitation but transcendence—creating his own world beyond Eitoku’s brilliance. Tragically, Eitoku died young in 1590, and Tohaku lost his greatest rival.

It was from this moment that Hasegawa Tohaku’s great ascent in Kyoto truly began. Was Hasegawa Nobuharu and Hasegawa Tohaku the same person? Or were they distinct, bound by blood yet separate in identity? Who, then, was Hasegawa Tohaku, and what drove his flourishing after age fifty? I plan to continue exploring my beloved Tohaku from various angles, but as I quietly viewed the surviving works of Nobuharu and Tohaku in their shared hometown of Nanao—still scarred by the earthquake—I felt that the wind of Noto, fused with the refined techniques of Kyoto’s Kano school, embodies the very essence of Tohaku’s art. That same Noto wind, I cannot help but feel, is what gave birth to his iconic ink paintings. The wind of Noto, together with Buddhist devotion and the vibrant, free-spirited Zen culture that intertwined between Noto, Kyoto, and Sakai, gave rise to Hasegawa Tohaku’s masterpieces. And even today, the wind that blows through the Noto Peninsula remains unchanged from ancient times.