Coming into this room, our eyes are first drawn to the big cranes, and then to the ones in the distance flying towards us. They’re not flying away from us; they’re flying towards us, which puts the cranes that have already arrived right there before our eyes. They have traveled a long journey, and have only just landed.
This room is actually a guest room for the trainee monks traveling on a pilgrimage across Japan. When night falls during their journey, they often ask nearby temples if they can stay for the night. At Muryōji, after they’ve removed their straw sandals and wiped their feet, they first come in through this room.
Imagine you are a traveling monk in training, nervously calling on a temple you’ve never been to before. How do you think you would feel seeing the cranes on these fusuma paintings? Would you feel relaxed, because the cranes are already making themselves at home? Perhaps Rosetsu was taking into consideration the traveling monks who would stop here when he painted these fusuma.
Let’s take a closer look at the painting. Starting on the right, we first see a reed stalk, which indicates a quick change from the rest of the building. Suddenly, it’s as if we have been transported to a big marshland. Then, if you look into the distance--the distance being the corner of the room--cranes are flying in from some unknown place to join the ones who have already stopped for a rest.
This room contrasts with the others in the temple in that it’s very simply painted. But if you look closely, even places that look white are very lightly painted with ink. This is not dirt or age; it is the depiction of the curtain of night falling. The ground, you will notice, still has some remnants of the light from the setting sun. This painting was crafted to indicate the time of day. Moreover, this room is facing west, and the corner from which the cranes are flying aligns with the setting sun. This painting is certainly not as simple as it looks. Rosetsu managed to create an entire world, without having to paint the whole landscape of the marsh.
That’s another of Rosetsu’s many charms. Ōkyo never revealed his tricks; in order for his paintings to be as realistic as possible, he hid them behind a veil of logic. On the other hand, Rosetsu allows us to enjoy his tricks, as if he wanted us to find amusement in uncovering the secrets of his paintings.
This Rosetsu painting tends to be left out of guidebooks that talk about his work.
Taken out of the context of the temple room, arranged in a flat line on a page, the fusuma paintings lose the sparkle one would only recognize if they were seen as they were meant to be. The Collection Room was completed in 1990, but the full restoration of the paintings within the Main Hall were not completed until 2009.
The difference between the way this painting is displayed in the collection room, and how it should be viewed in its original arrangement, is the biggest among all of the paintings.