Ancient Blood, Contemporary Blood (1971)

Author(s): Okamoto Tarō, Reiko Tomii and Bert Winther-Tamaki

Source: Review of Japanese Culture and Society , DECEMBER 2011, Vol. 23, Expo '70 and
Japanese Art: Dissonant Voices (DECEMBER 2011), pp. 102-112
Published by: University of Hawai'i Press on behalf of Josai University Educational
Corporation

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Ancient Blood, Contemporary Blood (1971)
Okamoto Taro

Translated by Reiko Tornii

I'll give
You
A
Red
Rabbit

This is a poem, painting, that I wrote when I was young.

... A mass of red blood gushes out. This is death. At the same time, it's an intense
flash of life surging forth.
Let death, let life flow out from the chest en masse, in the form of an almost erotic
"Red Rabbit." To whom is it given, to a woman? To a man? To the universe? I don't
know. But it's an offering to the absolute. I rarely compose poems. But this is my scream,
a form I give to the illusion of life. I have always shuddered in enduring its actuality.
However, such an extreme sense of life toward blood might not be contemporary.

Godard's Week End

The other day, I saw Jean-Luc Godard's shattering masterpiece, Week End. I foun
very interesting. With every other scene stained by blood, this 1967 film exudes a curio
sense of actuality, brilliantly revealing the meaning of blood in contemporary socie
Roland and Corrine are a decadent young bourgeois couple. Each of them vies
kill the other by staging an accident. A wild, carefree, yet curiously contemporary coup
they speed along in their convertible. Along a road in an open countryside landsc
so narrow that cars can barely pass each other. The road is jammed with cars, lik
due to some accident ahead. Although they honk like crazy, the traffic doesn't bud
They first stay at the end of the line for a while, but they soon move to the oppo

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 Okamoto Taro

lane, swiftly passing the stranded cars. A moving camera shows the passed-over cars
receding into the background as though on display at an auto show. White, black, red,
and blue cars. Brand new models and beaten up oldies. Chic designs and ragged makes.
A Renault Dauphine, a Mini Cooper, a Peugeot 404, a Citroen 2CV, a Peugeot 204, a
Volvo 9800, another Citroen 2CV, and a truck that carries a lion, a monkey, a llama,
and such. The llama's head sticks out of a cage, looking lofty and mysterious. A guy
leans out of a window, while honking. Some have already given up: some of them play
cards, another guy leisurely throws a big ball to his friend who climbs out of the sun
roof of a car further back. One old couple, who have completely gotten out of their car,
now play chess on the roadside grass, while a family eats their lunch nearby. Somehow,
a car trying to move in the opposite direction is stuck in the middle. Its front bumper
faces that of a large tank truck. A young woman driver honks hysterically, glaring up at
the truck's high driver seat.
The married protagonists brazenly pass all the cars lined up in the other lane.
Naturally, angry taunts come from the stranded cars, but the husband and wife are
unfazed. They raise their fists and scream back, continuing along their way shamelessly.
They try to wedge themselves in wherever they see an opening. But the car behind
immediately closes the gap, preventing them from cutting in. When they finally get back
in line, their car is hit from behind.
The subtitle shows the passage of time: 1 1 a.m., 1 :40 p.m., 2: 10 p.m. As time flies
by, their weekend is being wasted away.
Finally, they reach the end of the jam. Sharp whistles of a traffic policeman. A
tragic scene unfolds. Bloody bodies are scattered about. A big pool of blood forms on
the road. Two cars are overturned, completely totaled.
The two pass the scene of the accident, fiercely speeding away, as though finally
freed from being shackled.
In a sense, the scene is utterly, nonsensically cruel. But the composition of the
scene is so impressive, almost perfect. I see in it the skilled and stunning visualization
of contemporary blood and contemporary temporality.
Probably no more than tens of cars appear in these scenes. Still, they symbolize
contemporary people, contemporary cars, and the contemporary itself. Models and colors
vary. We are all different. Adult and young, aged and adolescent. Yet, we are all the same.
People and their containers are strictly delimited. A small space sandwiched by a
car behind you and another before you. A tiny space, a speck of time before you, confined
between the back of the previous car and your car. You will not let others in that space no
matter what, even if the space surely allows. You insist on the ownership of your space.
When Roland tries to cut in, the driver behind the gap quickly closes it up. He is not so
much mean as merely reflexive. However, the space thus ferociously guarded from others
is not useful to anybody. Playing chess or honking incessantly, they know it's useless.
Or, all the more because they know it, they do what they do, like aimlessly playing catch.

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Okamoto Taro

Beyond that awaits cruel death gnawing at the road. Spilled blood. But nobody
pays attention.
It exemplifies contemporary times itself. Vietnam, the Middle East, Biafra: blood
is spilled all over the world, as reported daily. Our life relates to them although the
connection may be invisible. Yet, we are almost indifferent- although our indifference
ultimately deprives us of the sense of living our lives to the fullest extent. "A fun
outing" over the weekend is hollowly assumed. It's habit. Godard's moving camera
deftly visualizes a row of empty automatons.
A strictly delimited space and time before our eyes. You may think that it's yours,
but it's empty and it's being wasted. Nonetheless, people living in contemporary times
anally focus on the void before them, without thinking about what the future may hold
and what the past means. They don't care, because it's useless to think about the past
and the future.

That is why contemporary people are dissociated from human drama. Even if
blood is spilled, even if death explodes.
This film, every other scene of which is so bloody, ends with a cruel yet
humorous scene. At the base camp of outrageously unrealistic guerrillas. Deep in the
forest, the female protagonist Corinne and the guerrilla leader eat stewed meat from a
large pot by hand.
"So delicious."

"Yeah, I mixed pork with the meat of British tourists."

"The meat of the ones on the Rolls-Royce?"
"Yes, indeed. And your husband's meat is mixed in too."
Corinne, with no sign of shock, says, while chewing,
"OK, then I'll have a second helping later."

Encounter with Ancient Mexico: Blood and the Sun

I have loved the color red since my childhood. Not bright, garish, or cheerful red, bu
violent red, reminiscent of the color of blood. Later, I came to use primary colors,
especially red in my work. Some detested my red, but I was already attracted to th
color in my youth.
Back then, red was deemed a girls' color. So I secretly wondered: "Why on earth
do I love a girls' color. . .?" Still, isn't red a men's color? It symbolizes ferocity. An urg
to dye my whole body in red. This color of blood embodies the emotion of life, and it
thus my color. I have long felt so.
Back when I was a teenager. While walking beneath an elevated railroad in
Shinbashi [in Tokyo], I heard the sharp noise of a car jamming its brake. As I turne
around, I saw a middle-aged man falling down, hit by a car. "Oh my god," I rushed to the
man without thinking. But, immediately, I held back, terrified. Bright red blood gush
out of his head. I shivered. And I ran away as fast as I could.

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 Okamoto Taro

While running away, I loathed my cowardice. I thought I had seen passion in the
color of blood. Then why was I running away upon seeing real blood?
This subtle sense of regret has stayed with me. The horror, the shock: I nonetheless
managed to convince myself that's why I had been attracted to the bloody red.
When I was about twenty and living in Paris, a friend of mine showed me a
photograph of an ancient Mexican pyramid. Pre-Columbian culture had long been known
there, but new discoveries made around that time finally began to attract the attention of
European intellectuals. When I was in Japan, although I was an art student, I never saw
or heard of ancient Mexican civilization. The history of human civilization I was taught
was as follows: "beauty," or art, dates back to Egypt, made Greece and Rome its home,
and reached its height with Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo in the Renaissance.
A poet-friend of mine said excitedly: "Look, a very old culture was just discovered
in Mexico. No less grand than the Egyptian pyramids!"
I found it magnificent, too. His story, however, horrified me. Countless humans
were sacrificed on an altar at this pyramid. They were cut up alive and their hearts were
offered to the sun. Their blood spilled over the cold stones, flowed into drains along its
ridges, and overflowed from the wide open mouth of a carved snake at the bottom of
the pyramid.1
I shrieked. All the blood in my body froze. This is it! This is how it should be.
At that moment, my blood flowed backward, boiling up within me. The pyramid I saw
was no longer a pile of stones. It transformed itself into the huge figure of man- no, an
intense image of the whole universe that transcends humankind.
This represents the drama of the universe, the drama of humans. Blood then
powerfully returned to me as a compelling object. I have since had a strong interest in
Mexico.

Certainly, nothing thrusts upon us the mystery of blood as compellingly as the lost
civilization of Mexico. This blood differs from the fresh blood that flows forth from our
own individual bodies. It embodies the supernatural engagement between humankind and
the heavenly body. Through a transparent flow, human life undertakes an exchange with
cosmic energy. This is a magic worldview before the narrow perspective of humanism
was devised.

Mexican mythology narrates the birth of the Sun God as follows:

Once upon a time, when there was no such thing as "day," the deities gathered
together at Teotihuacán (the capital of deities) in order to determine who would
give light to the world.
One deity, named Tecciztecatl, volunteered: "I will!" His self-nomination was
accepted. The deities wanted to have an alternate as a backup. But no one stepped
forward. They all fidgeted, making excuses.
A young sickly deity listened to the proceedings without saying anything in
the corner.

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Okamoto Taro

"You, Full-of-Sores [Nanauatzin], you do it!" When everybody pointed to him,

he readily accepted, saying "It would be my honor."
The two chosen deities purified themselves for the next four days.
On the day of the festival, a bonfire was made at the end of a deep cave.
Tecciztecatl made offerings of such treasures as lumps of gold (in lieu of bundles
of wheat), the best-quality copal (a fragrant resin), needles made of precious stones
(in lieu of bloody thorns), and red corals.
Full-of-Sores, Nanauatzin offered thorns stained red with his own blood and the
scabs of his sores, instead of copal.
The festivity lasted four days and four nights. At the very end, the two came before
the bonfire. Tecciztecatl wore a beautiful garment decorated with gold, silver, and
jewels, whereas Nanauatzin wore a paper-made garment.
A little past midnight, the deities signaled them.
"Now is the time. Jump in."
The cave was vast and the bonfire burned robustly. So much so that the first deity
became frightened after approaching the fire and held back. He made another
attempt, yet again he was fearful, and came short of the fire. He made four attempts,
in vain, unable to overcome his fear.
The rule stipulated that the candidate would be disqualified after four attempts.
So the deities yelled, "Nanauatzin, it's your turn."
The moment he heard this command, the young deity closed his eyes and threw
himself into the bonfire with all his might. The flame cracked and he was immolated
instantly.
Seeing this, the scared Tecciztecatl followed, finally jumping into the bonfire. He
was immolated, too. Legend has it that an eagle also flew into the bonfire. That is
why this bird has black feathers. A tiger followed, but it did not burn completely
and was just engulfed by the flames. That is why the tigers' fur is striped yellow
and black.2
Soon, the kneeling deities saw Nanauatzin, now reincarnated as the sun, rise in
the eastern sky. He was bright red, yet staggered slightly. Nobody could stare at
it, because if they did so they would go blind The sun's light was so strong that it
shined on all corners of the world.
Next, the moon rose from the horizon. Because Tecciztecatl had hesitated, his light
was less bright and he became the moon. One deity, infuriated by Tecciztecatl' s
cowardice, threw a rabbit against the moon. Since then, the moon has shown the
shadow of this rabbit. (Isn't this fun! Our familiar image of the rabbit pounding
mochi [rice cakes] on the moon has an unexpected parallel here.)
Eventually, all the deities had to die. Quetzalcoatl killed them all. The wind
took their hearts out and nourished the newly born heavenly bodies. (As told by
Bernardino de Sahagun.)3

Another tradition has it that the sun thus born was immobile. In order to make it revolve,
energy was required and the nourishment of blood. So the deities sacrificed themselves.

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 Okamoto Taro

These are fascinating mythologies of the sun that reflect the sacrificial rituals of ancient
Mexico.

Aztecs performed the Four Sun rite dedicated to the Sun God, Tonatiuh. At dawn,
a sacrifice (the bravest, handsomest, youngest, and noblest man selected from all the
prisoners of war), dressed in the garment of Tonatiuh, would climb a pyramid. Atop th
pyramid was a temple in front of which a calendar stone was installed. In front of the
stone, priests would lay the sacrifice on a sacrificial stone. While four of them held down
his limbs, one of them would cut open his chest with a stone blade, take out the heart
while he was still alive, and offer it to the sun. The crowd would gather at the plaza and
watch the proceedings, with their breath held. Thereafter a chaotic festival continued
until noon. They danced madly, bleeding, as they mutilated their ears and bodies. In the
afternoon, jaguar warriors and eagle warriors performed a dance that symbolized the
sun's rejuvenation. At the festival climax, the warriors would kill the captive tied to th
calendar stone atop the pyramid, mimicking warfare.4
The blood rite of sacrifice was at the sacred core of the Aztec worldview. No other
time in world history saw blood rites executed more frequently and more constantly
than in those times.5 For example, the festival of Tezcatlipoca, a deity of the darkness,
was as beautiful as it was brutal. A year before the rite, the priests would select a
handsome youth from among the captives. They made him live a life of luxury, like a
prominent aristocrat, and taught him king's manners and how to play holy music with
a flute. When he walked through the streets, playing the flute, people would worship
him as the manifestation of Tezcatlipoca. Twenty days before the fateful engagement,
four beautiful virgins were given to him in marriage, serving as wives only for the next
twenty days. These women received delicate training specifically for this purpose and
were bestowed with the names of goddesses. Five days before the ritual, the man was
accorded the honor of becoming a real deity. The king would retreat into his palace, and
aristocrats would walk after the young captive. On the day of the ritual, together with
his four wives, he would visit a small island on which a temple stood. Upon arrival,
he would say goodbye to his wives who tearfully saw him off, and climb the pyramid
alone. As he ascended the steps, he would destroy the clay flutes he had played during
his glory year, one after another.
The priests awaited him atop the pyramid. They would lay him on the sacrificial
stone, four of them holding his limbs down. One priest would cut him open with a stone
dagger, take out his still pulsating heart, and raise it high toward the sky, offering it to
the god.
Every day, human sacrifices were made atop pyramids somewhere in Mexico. It
is said that Aztecs constantly fought wars just so they could collect captives for these
rites. The most honorable of the warrior's code at the time had the warrior offer captives
he had caught alive to the deities and throw himself on the sacrificial stone. In doing so,
he could go to heaven and become an attendant of the sun.

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Okamoto Taro

When an Aztec woman had a baby boy, she would say, while cutting the umbilical
cord, "You are born to this world, in order to offer your blood to the sun." She would
continue, "This house is not your home. This is your crib, and your pillow. But your home
is elsewhere. You are destined to another place. A wilderness where a battle is fought.
You have been sent to this world. Your task, your reason for being, is war. Your duty is
to have the sun drink enemy blood, to feed the earth with enemy flesh. Your homeland,
your wealth and blessings lie in heaven, in the sun's temple. Your fortunate fate will be
to die while flowering in the battlefield."
The blood rites were at once joyful and sad. Everybody would watch the death
of a sacrifice, focusing their attention on the rite as though it were their own death. It is
recorded that the executing priest charged to cut out the heart would mourn and cry over
the death of the sacrifice as though he were his own son. Yet, Aztec rituals sometimes
included the horrifying act of skinning the sacrifice, wearing his flayed skin, and dancing
and leading a crowd while splashing his blood around.
The fear and distress of the designated sacrifices is more than we can imagine.
Even though they were treated as deities, they would go crazy the day before the fateful
event. That's very human.
Yet, their grief and pain were not mere grief and pain in that they signified honor
and salvation. Their pain and grief were exposed for all to see. At the very moment of
death, a smile would emerge. On a thin veneer of tragedy.
This is how I envision the intense drama of spirit, its climax.6 Then, with a great
deal of sympathy, I think of the mysterious expression of the "smiling" figurine of
El Tajin.7 You can see it on display at every Mexican museum. It may appear to be
"smiling," yet its expression is unusual and eerie. The expression is said to represent
the exhilaration of the sacrificial victim, although I do not know if the sacrifices really
died bearing such expressions. Yet, I believe that such a form was given to the idea that
they should die like this. Indeed, blood is joy and fear.

Sacrifice = Unification with the Universe

Depicted in relief on a wall of the Great Ball Court of Chichen Itza is a beheaded man,
from whom blood streams out in the shape of seven snakes. A pelota ballgame dedicated
to the deities was played here, at the ball court. The game consisted of kicking a rubber
ball and tossing the ball through a ring attached to the wall. The captain of the losing
team would become a ritual sacrifice.8 Some say that the winning team embodied the
god's will and, thus, it was the winning members who were killed and their blood spilled
as an offering to the gods. This tradition resonates with me more. Either way, it's an
extremely brutal world.
Although these legends were merely tips of the iceberg, they nonetheless point
to the horrific and chaotic cosmic view of the time. It perplexes contemporary people.
It exceeds our understanding. Certainly, it seems barbaric and crazy. Yet, there exists

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 Okamoto Taro

a mystery that transcends, as I explained above, the naïve sentiments- or what I call a
"closed" sentiment- of distress, pain, or pity.
The hot, violent reaction and circulation between human blood and the universe.
The world rested in an uncertain critical balance, with darkness and the void always
encroaching as reality. In order for the sun to continue shining and for humans to continue
living, blood had to be offered. They staked it on the cycle of life, reincarnation, this
struggle of theirs. The sun itself had to jump into a scorching bonfire. And other deities
had to infuse it with energy by letting their blood. They were right. Humans, too, spilled
their blood with joy. To sustain the universe.
"Sacrifice" poses a fundamental question about human existence. I would like to
discuss it more in the future. However, my focus here is blood.
At any rate, at the bottom of these blood dramas lies a spirit violently torn apart
by the contradictory characteristics of ancient Mexico. Whether on the Mexican plains
or the Mayan highlands, their deities equally embodied an inexplicable paradox. For
example, Tezcatlipoca, who I have mentioned above, means "Smoking Mirror," and he
is the deity associated with the night wind, darkness, and warfare. However, his four
avatars ruled the four directions. Huitzilopochtli, the Southern Tezcatlipoca, embodied
the noontime sun at the apex of the heavens, and he is also associated with warfare. The
Eastern Tezcatlipoca was the winged snake, Quetzalcoatl, symbolizing art, learning, and
culture. He was also the Venus, or the Sun.
Today, light and darkness are two opposite things, unable to form a single entity.
However, in Mexico, many deities are associated with contradictory things such as the sun
and nocturnal darkness, war and culture, young and old, benevolence and malevolence.
Only fresh human blood could bind the violent contradiction, keep the world
revolving in harmony. An unknowable magic, indeed. Yet it somehow appeals to us,
evoking fervor throughout our entire bodies. We understand it as a matter of life.
The sun is a concentration of life, a mass of energy. However, it dies without
offerings of blood and life. An economic principle is at work here. The sun supplies
energy. It gives energy and takes it back. This is the rule. It releases energy in abundance,
keeps giving it to the world. And to this gift, humans must respond. Otherwise, the sun's
life will wither and vanish, which is to say, human life will vanish. Therefore, humans
must let blood, take out living hearts, and offer these life forces to the sun. In returning
something back to that which gives so generously, so nobly, so sacredly, what could be
more suitable than the essence of human life, the hottest and noblest blood and hearts.
We do not passively receive what is given to us; we actively engage ourselves in this
transaction. The sacrificial rituals confirm our engagement. And they renew the whole
universe, humans included. We look up to the sun in its supreme height as a fearful deity.
Yet, we see the presence of the sun and ourselves as one. Without the sun, we would not
exist. But, without human blood, the sun would not exist. It is contradictory to kill or die
in order to live. However, as I have explained before, the presence of gods inexplicably

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Okamoto Taro

and infinitely permeates this world. What a miraculous image amidst this bloody chaos!
A solid unyielding pyramid stands, plainly and proudly pointing to the heavens. Under
the glaring sun, the orderly stone steps lead to the top, where the temple stands quietly.
Blood spilled at this dignified yet harsh sanctuary is proof of an existence residing within
chaos and functions as a pivot on which the universe rests in balance.
A singular characteristic of this ancient Mesoamerican culture makes us reflect on
the fundamental nature of human culture. Already in 1000 B.C.E. when there were signs
of primitive agriculture, or even before then, this region boasted large-scale temples and
advanced social structures that governed people's lives. A few thousand years later, they
developed a civilization whose great achievements in religion and art, as well as such
intellectual endeavors as astronomy and the calendar, far surpassed our imagination even
today. The Spaniards who invaded Tenochtitlan, the capital of the last Aztec kingdom,
were stunned by the city's magnitude, beauty, and riches, and their records repeatedly
refer to it as being like a dream, beyond description. It had a large market unparalleled
anywhere in Europe; its economy thrived, security was intact, and the aristocratic class
enjoyed every possible luxury of life. It constituted a great power. Yet, this was still during
what is called the "stone age." The label of "stone age" does not therefore necessarily
mean underdeveloped culture. Mexican civilization forged unusually heavy developments
in religion, art, and spirituality. (So did Andean civilization in South America.) Yet it
was easily vanquished by European civilization and vanished. Its worldview may have
been contrary to ours, yet I find it powerfully relevant to the coming information society.
I have titled this chapter "Ancient Blood, Contemporary Blood." The same human
blood carries such different shades in two worlds.
Ancient blood was indeed a sacred life that communicated with transcendence.
Then, how about contemporary blood?- It's utter nonsense. No matter how appalling
a bloody incident may be, it's like fragments of broken glass. Meaningless. Ignored.
Blood flows and spills through all cultures on earth. Europe, Africa, China ....
The examples are limitless, if we start looking for them. So let me close this chapter
with a thangka (Tibetan Buddhist painting).
I am referring to this picture, because I made an interesting discovery. Around the
figure of Remati,9 who is seated on a carpet made of flayed human skins, her Rãksasa
relations run about wildly. They each wear a flayed human skin, holding up a pulsating
heart in their hands.

I was surprised that this iconography is so similar to the Mexican one. That such
a singular iconography could exist in two places, on opposite sides of the earth. Does
this mean that the Asian mind resonates with those faraway?
Blood. Heart. And a red rabbit.

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 Okamoto Taro

Notes

Originally published as "Waga sekai tions and types of sacrifice. During

ticularly with the site of Remojadas.
bijutsushi" (My World Art History), the festival of Toxcatl, a handsome,
El Tajin was the most important site
Geijutsu shinchõ (1970); republished flawless, youthful victim was in Veracruz between the Late Classic
se-
as "IV Kodai no chi, gendai no chi" lected to impersonate Tezcatlipoca and Early Post-Classic periods (c.
600- 1 200 A.D.). There is no evidence
in Okamoto Tarò, Bi no juryoku [The (a ritual that is accurately described
Magic Power of Beauty] (Tokyo: in the following paragraph). There that these figurines depict sacrificial
victims.
Shinchösha, 1971); reissued as pock- is no evidence that large solar altars
etbook edition (Tokyo: Shinchösha, (calendar stones) were placed atop 8.

2004), 75-97. pyramids, where space was rather There were several varieties of the

The notes on pre-Columbian art limited. Gladiatorial sacrifices like ball game in ancient Mesoamerica,
are by Andrew Finegold.
1.
While serpent head sculptures are
found flanking the bases of the
stairways of the main temple of
the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan
(modern-day Mexico City), there
was no system of channels to funnel
sacrificial blood to emerge from
their mouths. The poetical logic of
such imagined dramaturgy can be
ascribed to the source from which
and while certain ceremonial matches
the one described by Okamoto would
might have ended in sacrifice, this
have taken place in the plazas in front
of temples, especially during the
was certainly not the case every time
annual festival of Tlacaxipehualiztli
a game was played.
9.
(associated with the deity Xipe Totee,
"The Flayed One"). It appears Okamoto conflates Tibetan
5. and Indian mythologies in his discus-
This assertion is somewhat disin- sion of this female deity. The illustra-
genuous, and perpetuates a view
tion that accompanies his original text
of the Aztecs as a uniquely bloody in the book shows the iconography
civilization. Aztec human sacrifice
of Shri Devi, a female protector
was a dramatic spectacle that made deity in Tantric Tibetan Buddhism,
a powerful impression on Spanish in her two-armed manifestation as

Okamoto heard this description:chroniclers,

a who likely exaggerated Magzor Gyalmo (For a similar illus-
poet-friend. the quantity of victims. That Aztec tration of Shri Devi, see http://www.
2. sacrifice has come to define the entire himalayanart.org/image.cfm/105.
Even though tigre was the noun often culture, while Roman gladiatorial html). Okamoto calls her JematI in
used by early chroniclers, this legend games, crucifixions, etc. are but a Japanese katakana transcription,
refers to the spots of the ocelot; tigers footnote to an otherwise cultivated which is phonetically close to Remati
in the modern sense of the term were (Palden Lhamo in Tibetan), a form
society celebrated for its artistic, liter-
not found in the Americas. of Shri Devi, customarily depicted
ary, and political contributions, is due
3. with four arms. However, the story
to the extent that these early accounts,
This is an abridged version of the Okamoto gives about her cannot be
written to justify the subjugation of
myth found in Book 7, Chapter 3 of a people characterized as "savage" exactly sourced to the known legends
Barnardino de Sahagún's General and "uncivilized," have colored our of Remati in Buddhist contexts. For
History of the Things of New Spain , perceptions. a basic description of Shri Devi,
also known as the Florentine Codex. 6. see http://www.himalayanart.org/
4. It should be stressed that Okamoto' s search/set.cfm?setID=2126, and for
While it is generally accepted that descriptions of the emotional state ofRemati's legend, see http://www.
according to Aztec cosmology the Aztec sacrificial victims is entirelykhandro.net/deities_female_Palden-
sun required blood sacrifice to con- speculative. Lhamo.htm. This annotation benefits

tinue on its journey through the sky, 7. from information provided by Dr.
Okamoto' s account of a supposedly Okamoto is here referring to the Christian Luczanits.

specific rite conflates details from "Smiling Figures" associated with

several different festival celebra- Classic Veracruz culture and par-

On the Author

Okamoto Tarò (191 1-96) was one generation. During his lengthy with the Abstraction-Création group
of the most conspicuous figures stay in Paris (1930-40), the young and the surrealists, and also studied
in the Japanese art world of his Okamoto exhibited his paintings ethnology under Marcel Mauss at the

DECEMBER 2011 REVIEW OF JAPANESE CULTURE AND SOCIETY 111

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Okamoto Taro

oppositionalism" ( taikyokushugi ), at Expo '70, Okamoto's paintings,

University of Paris. After serving in
the Japanese Army in China duringin prolific and polemical writings. ceramic tile murals, and sculptures
World War Two Okamoto assumed His essay "Dialogue with the Fourth became familiar among the larger
a leading role in the early postwar
Dimension - On Jõmon Pottery (Yon- Japanese public and later in life the
Japanese avant-garde, notably jigen
in to no taiwa - Jõmon doki ron, artist emerged as a cultural figure.
the Yoru no kai (Night Society),1952)
a and his best-selling book, ArtShortly after Okamoto's death, two
of Today (Konnichi no geijutsu, 1954) art museums dedicated to his work
progressive group of artists and intel-
lectuals he founded in 1948 with the were particularly influential among were established in the Tokyo area.
critic Hanada Kiyoteru. The artistthe postwar generations of Japanese
addressed a wide range of topics,artists. After his well-publicized role (by Bert Winther-Tamaki)
including his own theory of "bipolar as producer of the Theme Pavilion

112 REVIEW OF JAPANESE CULTURE AND SOCIETY DECEMBER 2011

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