The one who painted this work was not Rosetsu; it was Ōkyo. When Rosetsu came to Muryōji in Ōkyo’s stead, the first thing he did when he arrived was place Ōkyo’s painting in this room. Ōkyo created it in Kyoto and entrusted it to his apprentice, who then brought it to Muryōji and placed it here in the most formal room.
Okay, are you sitting in the alcove?
If you are, look around at the fusuma in this room. How do you feel?
Do you feel like you are floating on a wave?
Ōkyo’s magic starts as soon as you step into the room. The sennin, or wise mountain hermits, are moving counterclockwise along the fusuma. This is the same direction our eyes naturally take as we enter the room. It gives the impression that we’ve joined the line of sennin. On top of that, the waves that overcome even the frames of the fusuma give a sense that they’re going to engulf the whole room. That’s why we feel like we are one with the sennin, on top of the wave.
It’s almost like teleportation. Just by painting on the walls, Ōkyo created a magical space that turns into a whole different world. But there’s also the calculated visual and emotional effect of logic. That’s a speciality of Ōkyo’s work.
Now, Rosetsu’s real work starts. What has he painted in the next room? This is where his true teste begins.
Let’s pause here for a slight digression in our story. This room was actually once used by visiting shogun.
The main hall was reconstructed in 1786, and that same year Rosetsu arrived. Decades later, in 1862, the fourteenth shogun Iemochi Tokugawa stayed in this room. Since Iemochi was once the feudal lord of the Kishu domain, which included this area, it was likely that many of his former subjects came to Muryōji to pay their respects to him in this very room.