Shunga: Not Setting The House On Fire

One of the more interesting aspects of this exhibition at the British Museum of the Japanese erotic art form generically called shunga, is the rather peculiar notion that shunga calligraphy and script was considered to be capable of protecting your house from catching fire. Whilst that would be a clear benefit in 18th century Japan, it is less welcome in the context of a show in which something catching fire would frankly be a blessing.

I'm quite surprised at how positively this exhibition has been reviewed, including in my own newspaper of choice. It just seems to me be rather relentless; just how many drawings of various exaggerated and/or energetic activity can you take before it all becomes, well, just a bit dull?

Afficionados and art historians would certainly argue that shunga occupies a space with which the West has always struggled, hovering between art and pornography. 

However, if looked at in terms of the latter, this show rather reinforces the sense that pornography is generally very repetitive and frankly boring precisely because it completely ignores the kind of emotional engagement which provides excitement and interest.

On this I'm with some of those who have commented on the positive reviews including one person saying: 'It is pornography and like much of its kind it often has to pose couples in unnaturally contorted positions in order to display the relevant bits'. 

So most of the action does look forced and it is salutary to remember that the society in which this stuff was produced was massively patriarchal in structural terms.

The elements which really spark are those which illustrate how shunga was used to parody. Such parodies could be very rude indeed but are frequently very amusing. It is perhaps not too surprising that when the art makes you smile rather than sigh about yet another extraordinarily detailed and meticulously depicted bout of po faced activity the whole thing comes to life.

On the other hand, if looked at in terms of the former, this is one occasion on which a defence of artistic merit is easy to make. The skill and attention to detail is extraordinary. Indeed, towards the back of the exhibition there is a profoundly depressing example of how shunga was overtaken in the early 20th century by photography which produced dull, unimaginatively naturalistic images completely lacking in skill and foreshadowing the kind of stuff turned out in industrial quantities with which we are now all too depressingly familiar. The quality of the beautifully designed shunga from earlier periods has been entirely lost.

Finally, there are some walk on parts for cats. They often look bored and they may well be asleep. But on occasion they look as though they are having a better time than the humans.