Contextualising the peep‐box in Tokugawa Japan

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Contextualising the peep‐box inTokugawa JapanMaki FukuokaPublished online: 15 Aug 2006.

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Early Popular Visual Culture, Vol. 3, No. 1, May 2005, pp. 17–42

CONTEXTUALISING THE PEEP-BOX IN

TOKUGAWA JAPAN

Maki FukuokaTaylor and Francis LtdREPV105682.sgm10.1080/17460650500056998Early Popular Visual Culture1746-0654 (print)/1746-0662 (online)Original Article2005Taylor & Francis Group Ltd31000000May 2005MakiFukuoka4-35-27 Shimo TakaidoSuginami-kuTokyo [email protected]

This paper explores the cultural and historical significance of the peep-box (nozoki

megane) in the context of late Tokugawa Japan. Specifically, I consider three interconnect-

ing aspects of the device: the spatial representation within the pictures used for peep-box

shows, the performance space of the peep-box shows and the use of the peep-box as a figura-

tive trope in popular literature. Focusing on these spatial relations that physically and alle-

gorically relate to this device, I navigate ways in which these three related aspects can be

situated and understood within the cultural and social environment of Tokugawa Japan

between 1780–1820. Note: Japanese names appear in Japanese order, with family name

first. Names of authors of works in English follow the order given in the publication.

Introduction

Peep-box shows became an increasingly popular segment of the entertainment culture

in major cities of Edo (present day Tokyo), Kyôto, Osaka and Owari (present day

Nagoya), from around the 1760s to the early 1830s, and the peep-box itself was referred

to as nozoki megane in Japanese, or ‘peeping-spectacles’.1 Aside from nozoki megane, the

peep-box also took on names such as oranda megane (‘Holland spectacles’) and nozoki kara-

kuri (‘peeping mechanism’), and the device was available in Japan as early as 1717 (Japan

Museums Planning Councils 1977, Oka 1992, pp. 89–100). The prints designed specif-

ically for viewing with the peep-box were known as megane-e, or ‘spectacle pictures’.

Despite differences in the selections of descriptive nouns and adjectives, the variety

of names conveys the nuance of mediation, the functional prerequisite of the device. The

word megane directly evokes ‘spectacles’ in Japanese and, as Timon Screech has elegantly

demonstrated, the directional seeing through spectacles conjured up a kind of seeing that

both superseded and interposed a new technological mediation between naked vision and

images during the late Tokugawa period (Screech 1996, pp. 183–194). In addition, the

word karakuri, as is the case in karakuri ningyô (automata), specifically echoes the mech-

anicity of the device itself.2 These names indicate an interpretation of the peep-box as a

mediating machinery for seeing, rather than a magical optical aid, and the given names

encapsulate the sense of the peep-box as a device of wonderment as well as a construct.3

The pictorial component for this new visual construct, moreover, further express

this formulaic aspect. A genre of pictures known as uki-e, ‘floating pictures’ (not to be

confused with ukiyo-e ‘floating world pictures’), came to be used both as a print viewed

through a peep-box and as individual prints which could be viewed without the media-

tion of the device.4 Uki-e embody various experiments for employing one-point linear

perspective as a technique to construct spatial arrangements and are commonly held by

art historians as examples that illustrate ‘Western’ influence in Japanese art productions

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E A R L Y P O P U L A R V I S U A L C U L T U R E18

during the Tokugawa period. Although Okamura Masanobu, the first self-acclaimed

uki-e artist, began making and promoting uki-e in the mid 1740s, it is uncertain whether

the peep-box was employed for the viewing of these prints during his time. In fact, these

uki-e were widely circulated prior to the popularisation and the assimilation of the

peep-box in Japan. One account confirms that some uki-e pictures were viewed using a

peep-box in 1763. In other words, there did exist uki-e pictures that were specifically

intended to be used with peep-boxes, but such usage came much later than the initial

popularisation of uki-e and the arrival of the peep-box in Japan.

Unfortunately, the technical history of this device, the makers and suppliers

included, has not been fully uncovered. The historical records indicate that there were

portable peep-boxes available, but the network of distribution and circulation remains

vague. It seems, however, that peep-box shows continued to be performed in popular

entertainment sectors of the major cities until the early Shôwa period, probably until

the early 1930s. The size of the device increased towards the end of this period, enabling

several viewers to participate at once.

Conventionally, studies relating to the peep-box in Japan focus mainly on megane-e

and uki-e – the pictorial component of the device. In particular, much scholarly work

has been directed at contrasting the techniques of pictorial representation of accepted

practices among the contemporary artistic circles with those employed in megane-e and

uki-e prints – identifying the crucial distinction as the use of one-point linear perspective

in the case of the latter. These analyses sought out ways to schematise the process of

adapting one-point linear perspective, correlating the pictorial samples with prescribed

developmental stages.5

Numerous studies have taken this initial framework and subsequently mapped out

a genealogical line of ‘realism’ in Japanese art. Perhaps as an outcome of adopting this

programme, some scholars have further claimed that the most significant intended

purpose of megane-e was optical trickery, and thus the primary experience of the peep-

box is in tricking the viewers to feel/see the mediated image within it as ‘the actual scene

(Oka 1992, pp. 79, 122)’. Although I agree that the main attraction of viewing through

the peep-box lay in the anticipated visual trickery, I am uncertain whether the goal and

the effect of trickery were to deceive the viewers’ perception of the actual. Furthermore,

it is unclear as to how these mediated pictures were manipulated to be mistaken for or

recognised as ‘the actual scenes’. The implied convergence of the pictorial illusion

produced by the effects of viewing through a peep-box with the individual recognition

of the mediated image as ‘the actual scene’ contains numerous philosophical and cultural

conundrums that require tenacious and thoughtful untangling. Moreover, I believe that

such confusion reflects the prevalence of a classifying approach common in the history

of Japanese art, a logic that renders a direct causal relationship between the employment

of ‘Western’ techniques of pictorial representation and the category of ‘realism’.

This confluence becomes particularly potent given the fact that looking through a

Japanese constructed peep-box offers a completely different ‘view’ than one would see

when looking through the European models. Compared to the European peep-box,

Japanese counterparts use much smaller lenses, creating an optical experience similar to

tunnel vision. Because of the rougher surface of the lens and the inadequate quality of

the glass, viewing through the Japanese models does not allow for the entirety of the

picture to be captured at a glance. Rather, the viewer, positioning his/her head perpen-

dicular to the device and looking straight in, can only see the blurred central area of a

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T H E P E E P - B O X I N T O K U G A W A 19

picture within a circle. In fact, in order to see the entire mediated picture, one would

have had to adjust not only the line of vision but also the angle of one’s head in order to

accommodate and correspond to the different positioning of the lines of sight. Because

of these necessary bodily readjustments – the redirection of the eyes and the repositioning

of the body – the effect of viewing a picture through the Japanese peep-box is to construct

an image that resembles a mosaic fresco rather than a cohesive, unified representation

of a view.

The facile abstraction and treatment of the effect of optical tricks as being similar to

the experience of the actual, and the identification of the mediated picture as ‘the actual

scene’, therefore, posits a number of issues in regard to the process of viewing through

these devices. For instance, the issue of the standard and the criteria for recognising

actuality must be considered. Similarly, we should attend to the ideological implications

that such an understanding of actuality entails. The differences and similarities between

the approximation of the actual and actual experience also needs further explication.

Furthermore, the presumed causal relationship often employed in discussing ‘Western’

influence on Japanese art, drawn between one-point linear perspective and the devel-

opment of ‘realism’ in Japan, should be reconsidered in light of these circumscribed

technological conditions (Kuroda 1977).

Taking these as yet unresolved and problematic aspects into account, my aim is to

suggest other ways of conceptualising and understanding experiences with the peep-

box as a significant constituting element of the socio-cultural fabric of the late

Tokugawa period. There are three aspects that I will analyse here: (1) the spatial rela-

tions within the megane-e; (2) the consideration of the environment of the public peep-

box shows; and (3) the examination of the use of peep-box as a literary trope. The

order of my analysis does not indicate the order of significance – rather, it resembles

the order of the imagined centrifugal distance from the centre, the peep-box. Travel-

ling from a small megane-e to the festive environment of performances, and then to a

literary text, this paper situates and examines the peep-box as both a device and a

cultural phenomena that has fostered the experiences and imaginations of artists as well

as their audiences.

1. Space within

The introduction and integration of one-point linear perspective into Japanese visual

culture was a manifold process of negotiation and modification. In this section, I will

contextualise megane-e prints and the represented space within them as a platform for

such negotiations.

As mentioned briefly, several scholars have traced the introduction of one-point

linear perspective by considering it a distinct and static ‘Western’ technique that over-

shadows culturally and historically specific pictorial elements. Positioning ‘Western

perspective’ as a model to emulate, phrases such as ‘digested perspective’ and ‘develop-

ing perspective’ operate as key concepts in these arguments. This methodology is, I

believe, problematic in two respects: (1) it presupposes the use of one-point linear

perspective to be a singular, and thus normative practice; and (2) by focusing on its

‘proper’ adaptation in Japanese examples, such an approach towards one-point linear

perspective neglects its particular significance in the context of late Tokugawa visual

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culture.6 Consequently, the tendency to configure one-point linear perspective as an

inactive unchanging norm in these comparative studies renders this pictorial technique

devoid of historical and cultural interactions within the context of European and Japa-

nese practices. Maruyama Ôkyo’s megane-e provides a salient point from which to begin

to historicise the process of negotiations and transgressions regarding the use of one-

point linear perspective in the Japanese context.

Maruyama Ôkyo (1733–1795) produced megane-e prior to establishing himself as a

prominent painter in Kyôto.7 At the request of toy seller Nakajima Kanbei, whose

clients included wealthy regional politicians and merchants, Ôkyo began producing

megane-e around 1759, at the age of twenty-six. The subjects of Ôkyo’s megane-e consist

predominantly of recognisable and familiar places around Kyôto.

While Ôkyo’s use of a vanishing point certainly plays a role in organising the

represented space in an orderly manner and creating and enhancing the spatial illusion

of his megane-e, other pictorial elements reinforce the spatiality of each of the

depicted scenes. For instance, Ôkyo’s positioning of the horizon line, cutting across

the mid-plane of the picture, increases the area of the sky that engulfs the scene. His

treatment of the ground works correlatively with the represented sky in establishing a

strong point of view from which the picture is depicted. In the case of Theater in Shijô

(figure 1) a viewer is positioned across the bridge in the foreground, looking in from

a slightly higher birds-eye view. Systematically placed rows of tall poles in the middle

ground, the roofs of the buildings that occupy the middle and background, and a

small hill that appears at the end of the path further articulate the height of the view

point, while creating a receding sense of space by a gradual change in their respective

sizes.FIGURE 1 Please provide caption

Furthermore, Ôkyo’s megane-e encapsulates a scene of particular seasonal events

taking place at these recognisable regional landmarks, expressing the temporal specificity

FIGURE 1 Theatre in Shijô, attributed to Maruyama Ôkyo.

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of the scenes. Theater in Shijô represents a scene of the opening day of a kabuki theatre

production, and Ôkyo’s choice of the subject matter is a response, I believe, to his effort

to commemorate the ephemeral nature of the depicted event.

Ôkyo’s megane-e transforms the celebrated scenes of Kyôto into spacious spectacles

through various pictorial elements – namely, the familiarity of these represented land-

marks, the use of vanishing point, the inclusion of human figures as self-reflexive

measures of size and the inherent mechanism of magnification through the lens.

Considering the tunnel vision and slightly blurred areas of the images of the

Japanese-made peep-box at this point, it remains uncertain whether the viewers imme-

diately recognised the depicted scenes and the landmarks at first glance. In addition to

the performance of peeking, I believe that hearing the voice of the lecturers (a topic

discussed in the second section of this article) and the observation of the other viewers

looking into the device, assisted in the anticipation and understanding of what one was

to see, thus fashioning the experience of viewing as an interrelated event of various

faculties and media.

Returning to Ôkyo’s print, his focus on temporally specific events and efforts to

commemorate (and perhaps to re-invent) seasonal celebrations in Kyôto suggest his

interest in representing ephemerality. The pictorial elements I discussed above in

Ôkyo’s megane-e reverberate with his principle of painting that came to be identified as

the Maruyama Shijô school. Ôkyo’s treatment of the distance between the viewer and

the pictures and the emphasis on transience of depicted subjects stand out in particular.8

The central element of Ôkyo’s principle of painting can be summarised with the

concept of shasei, or ‘sketching’ – a method of picture-making that was diametrically

opposed to the practice of funpon, a tradition in the official Kanô school.9 Although I am

not claiming that megane-e production is the definitive ‘origin’ of Ôkyo’s principle of

shasei, or that his theory developed based solely on his experience with megane-e, I want

to postulate that the pictorial elements of his megane-e may be configured into his larger

theoretical formulation of the concept of shasei.

In articulating the relationship between different scales and methods of painting,

Ôkyo claimed:

For pictures on byôbu, kakemono, and mano-e, [all of these are large scale paintings]

one must paint them for viewers who see them from a distance. In making pictures,

a painter must always remember the distance between the picture and the audience.

One should be aware that even if [in the picture] there is room between brush

strokes, or if the branches and leaves of trees do not continuously connect to one

another, when viewed from a distance, the picture will appear to be in the state of

shin.10

(cited in Sasaki & Sasaki 1996, pp. 138–139)

Ôkyo’s effort to solidly position a viewer in relation to depicted scenes in megane-e, and

the fixed distance of viewing inherent in the mechanism of peep-box echoes in his

method of calculating the viewing distance first and adjusting the methods of painting

accordingly.

While articulating the significance of calculating distance between the viewer and

the painting, Ôkyo also insisted on the repeated direct observation of the subject,

reflecting his attention to the ephemerality of events and places. He claimed:

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In learning to draw, one cannot make good pictures without the will to look at all

things and the will to understand the state of shin. Looking at people, birds, and

animals, the first goal is to transcribe the state of shin, and ki.

(Sasaki & Sasaki 1996, p. 131)

The concept of shin requires further explanation and articulation that cannot be covered

within the scope of this article. For the purpose of this paper, however, I would like to

characterise it as that which is truthful, real, authentic and/or unchanging. The concept

of shin played a pivotal role in discussions of Tokugawa cultural and social discourse as

a contested issue that articulated and fostered epistemological and cultural discussions.

Outside of Japan, the Japanese ki is probably more commonly recognised as chi, the

Chinese reading of the same character. This concept is most readily understood as that

which fills and travels through the air between heaven and the earth. Despite his use of

abstract ideas such as shin and ki, it is evident here that Ôkyo recognises and accepts the

temporal and ephemeral changes that occur in subjects being drawn. While explicitly

criticising the practice of funpon, in which artists use ready-made manuals to produce

formulaic images, Ôkyo asserts the importance of relying on one’s own sight as a reli-

able sensory tool to transcribe shin and ki. Ôkyo’s emphasis on the ephemeral event in

his megane-e and the centrality of the role of direct observation of the changing state of

things in his theory of shasei participate in a larger shared attitude that privileges the

temporal, unpredictable and ephemeral aspects of the world. Furthermore, the

conscious calculation of the viewing distance and the emphasis on the ephemerality of

the depicted subject in his theory of painting resonate with his megane-e in a curious way.

2. Surrounding space

I have tried to demonstrate how the introduction and production of megane-e pictures

related to contemporary understandings of pictorial representation by looking at the

artistic practices of Maruyama Ôkyo. By focusing on the represented space in his megane-

e and his articulation on the methods and properties of paintings, my analysis delved into

visual concerns. I would like now to turn our attention to the aural faculty and its role

in the exhibiting space of the popular peep-box shows.

In a similar way to early cinema and panoramas in Japan, lecturers accompanied

peep-box shows, often in pairs. The enunciated words and rhythms of kôjô, the phrases

and cries of the lecturers, served to punctuate and compliment the viewing experience.

As a part of the surroundings that enveloped and interacted with the peep-box and the

viewers, it would be fruitful to consider the specific sensory and cultural aspects of kôjô

in the context of misemono, a kind of street fair spectacle in which peep-boxes were

demonstrated, as conglomerate parts of the peep-box experiences. In addition, consid-

ering Kobayashi Tadashi’s explanation of megane-e as a phenomenon that affected the

operation of visuality in the commoner class, the exploration of the misemono culture

seems necessary (Ishida, Tanabe, Tsuji & Nakano 1987, p. 911). By way of introducing

the analytical context for kôjô, I will begin with a consideration of the spatial elements

in misemono.

Misemono activities flourished as a transient form of popular entertainment, partic-

ularly during the late Tokugawa period. These included a multifarious display of

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objects ranging from rare stones to a bamboo sculpture measuring seven metres in

height, as well as performances, from musical concerts of farting to acrobatic shows by

monkeys.11 Consisting mostly of people from the lower class of the Tokugawa social

order such as artisans and merchants, the misemono attracted and allowed people to

experience the extraordinary and, as such, they were filled with a dynamic and ener-

getic culture of display, performance and interaction. Some misemono were set up

almost permanently, but other misemono were planned in accordance with religious

holidays and commemorative local activities, in order to maximise the number of

attendees.12

In historical investigations of optical devices such as the peep-box, some scholars

have conceptualised the act of seeing through the lens of these devices as an act of

‘activation’, correlatively contending that the seeing eye of the viewer brings life into

the pictures (see Blake 2000; Stafford 2001). This metaphor of activation explicitly

establishes the hierarchical relationship between one’s eyes (agency of activation) and

the viewed picture (inactive object), positioning the human faculty of sight as the sole

agency of power. I agree with the underpinning assessment given to the power of the

human vision. However, with regard to peep-box shows at misemono, in which the gaiety

in the air envelops crowds of various types of commoners and different vendors and

performances, the act of seeing cannot be fully understood as an act of ‘activation’.

In this light, the concept of ‘performance’ can translate more fully the relationship

between the viewer and peep-box as well as the atmospheric conditions of experiences

at misemono. This concept imagines the viewer, the pictures, lectures and passers-by as

forming symbiotic and dynamic relationships among one another, so as to celebrate

and foster a temporary performative space. It also expresses the aspect of ‘being seen’

by others, both knowingly and unknowingly. Consequently, it would be more appro-

priate to use the word ‘audience’ in lieu of ‘viewer’ for the purpose of this paper,

since those who came for the peep-box shows were not confined to a mere visual

experience.

For instance, on 21 November 1826, a misemono took place at Honganji temple of

the Pure Land Sect in Owari, in memory of the anniversary of the death of its founder.

Along with the peep-box, this misemono included a display of an unidentifiable animal

known as inokuma, in addition to a horse with three eyes, a woman with male genitals

and an acrobatic horse show that included three horse riders, two female music players

and a lecturer (Kodera 1991).13 Imagine the volume and variety of sound this setting

might have produced – the noises of the animals, the personal conversations, greetings

and the reaction of the audience, the live music from various booths, the kôjô of peep-

box shows and other performances and vendors shouting out various deals. Dating from

1736, the following senryû – a form of rhythmic poetry consisting of seventeen syllables,

often satirical in its characterisation of the times – renders into text the vociferating

barkers around misemono booths:

Overkill! A tiny misemono booth is selling their loud voice.

(Tanahashi, Suzuki & Uda 1999, p. 359)

Capturing the inverse proportion of the loudness of the barkers’ voice and the insignif-

icant and gimcrack misemono content often associated with small misemono booths, this

senryû comments on the ironical and humorous scene. Dramatically expressing the

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contradictory instance of a small-scale misemono tent mistaking the means for the end,

this poem allows us to glimpse the boisterous barkers competing with each other for the

attention of the audience.

In addition, the visual representations of misemono attest to the interactive and

performative environments of these popular entertainment centres. One such depic-

tion dated between 1772 and 1781 includes a pair of lecturers, the audience of the

peep-box show and the passers-by (see Figure 2). The audience for this show consists

of a child and two adults, totalling the number of the audience at maximum capacity.

Surrounding the peep-box to the left are two women, probably geisha. A young

woman on the left corner is exchanging looks with the samurai walking in the right

corner. The lecturer on the right seems to be delivering his kôjô and the second woman

from the left in the foreground is turning her head toward him as if she is doing a

double-take.FIGURE 2 Please provide caption

As we have observed, kôjô belonged to and interacted in such a commingled

sound-filled environment. I want to reassert further the significant role of the oratory

techniques and tradition within the misemono environment. Aside from peep-box

shows, kôjô accompanied various other performances and displays, including the seven

metre bamboo sculpture I mentioned earlier. The names of the celebrated lecturers

were printed in the advertisement, suggesting that the popularity of lecturers played

an equal role in attracting an audience for misemono as the novelty of displays and

performances.

The following is one example of kôjô for peep-box shows:

What I want to show next is the view of Ryôgoku here in Edo. In front of you, of

course, is the Ryôgoku bridge, measuring about 96 kan, [1 kan = 1.9 m].What you

see across [from the bridge] is Ekôin. Hirokôji is located at the end of the bridge, and

a scene of misemono and tea houses are visible. Just a sec, to the left we have a view

looking onto Kitahondokoro komatome bashi, a chinquapin tree, Mimeguri, Ushinogozen,

the bank of Sumida-river, and some hooded gulls are flittering about … Ahead of us,

we can faintly see as far as the ferry on sumida-river. Now we will see night views,

enjoying the cool of the evening.14

(Ryogoku shiori 1783, cited in Uchiyama 1996, p. 56)

Although it is uncertain which peep-box show this kôjô originally belonged to, we

can discern some of its primary elements. Firstly, this kôjô consists of directional tips

for the audience, carefully navigating the already mediated picture with words.

Using several landmarks as punctuating elements throughout the otherwise dry

descriptive comments, this enunciated path works both as a decoding and confirm-

ing guideline for the audience, who may or may not ‘see’ what they are seeing. We

also ascertain that this particular view of Ryôgoku transformed into a night scene. The

famous fireworks over the Ryôgoku bridge might have been visible when the view

turned dark.15

In addition to some of the lecturers being popular attractions in and of themselves,

the lecturers and their kôjô also became acoustic and visual advertisements for the peep-

box show while at the same time playing the role of verbal navigators for their audience.

Like the woman in the illustration, the kôjô performance itself attracted an audience

before and during misemono, thereby serving multiple performative roles.

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3. Fixed distance

After considering aspects of physical presence and aural performances of peep-boxes

and the pictorial elements of megane-e, I would like to consider the figurative use of the

peep-box in popular culture. By considering this aspect, I hope to shed light on the ways

in which the peep-box was interpreted and infused into the cultural fabric of the late

Tokugawa period.

The fixed distance between the picture and the lens, and thus the eyes of the viewer,

is one of the most critical technical characteristics of the peep-box. Without this

FIGURE 2 Nozoki no Kihan, artist unknown, 1772–81.

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programmed distance a peep-box could not realise its prescribed function – providing

an enlarged and focused image of a picture. It is precisely this distance that enables the

viewers to see the pictures, and mediates the pictures in order to provide the desired

sensory experience.

Shikitei Sanba, a historical contemporary of Ôkyo, also imaginatively adapted this

sense of space in his book Hayagawari mune karakuri. In it he offers a delightful interpre-

tation of both the device of peep-box and the optical tricks that the peep-box was

designed to perform. This popular book physically integrates and plays with the spatial

constraints similar to the peep-box.

Sanba employed the mechanicity of the peep-box as a symbolic trope for his

works on several occasions and the popular Hayagawari mune karakuri, which was

originally published in 1810, both accentuates and plays upon the underlying condi-

tions of the physical prerequisite of the medium (Shikitei 1810, reprinted in Takada

& Hara 1992, pp. 167–210).16 Using his own publishing shop, Sanba was able to

create a book of highly intricate pagination and construction. He also produced a

large amount of kibyôshi books, popular fictional works in which words and pictures

symbiotically relate to one another, creating a dynamic humorous tone. I would like

to put into relief the relationship between Sanba’s book Hayagawari … and his

interpretation of the spatial aspect of the peep-box within this intertextual frame-

work.

The title, Hayagawari mune karakuri, can be translated as ‘the mechanism of a

quick changing of hearts’. The book contains seven short stories and is illustrated by

Utagawa Toyokuni. The frontal plate of the book includes a pictorial representation

of a peep-box, inscribing the names of the writer and illustrator on each of the two

sides of the box, and the title of the book on the bottom of the box (see figure 3). A

figure, possibly an automaton, stands on top of the peep-box with writing instruments

in front of him. He holds a sculpture of Kannon, the goddess of Mercy on one hand,

and the thunder god on the other. The aligned row of the lens and the structure of the

top section of this peep-box closely resemble a peep-box recorded in Shashin gakush-

itsu, a documentation of misemono in 1815. Similar to the light-gathering window of a

peep-box now held in the collection of the Kobe City Museum, this peep-box in the

illustration is also equipped with the grid patterned screen beneath the feet of the

figurine. The introduction, moreover, is written in the style of kôjô, rhythmically

punctuating the words with five and seven syllables. Sanba employs numerous sets of

juxtaposition in this introduction, creating a variety of images of transformations and

associations so as to prepare the audience for the unfolding show. The rhythmic repe-

titions of syllables and creative associations end with the following last remark of the

introduction:

What I will show you here is seven stories of changes in minds, right and wrong,

proper and improper. It will be so quick in its structure and delivery you might not

catch the transformation. Well anyway, here we go with the first half.

(Shikitei, 1810, reprinted in Takada & Hara 1992, p. 169)

FIGURE 3 Please provide captionFIGURE 4 Please provide caption

Introducing and framing the book in this manner, Sanba positions Hayagawari as a

peep-box show of the same title, building the anticipation for the unfolding of the seven

transforming ‘views’.17

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Sanba’s Hayagawari was not the first of such visual trickeries within texts. Within

the context of the textual works from the Tokugawa period, there is a group of

published books known as shikake-hon, literally translated as ‘contrivance book’– a

book furnished with mechanisms of visual trickery, additionally layering the reading

experience with extra sensory amusement. For instance, a page including cut-out dolls

of the characters and various costumes was commonly used in shikake-hon, providing

visually transformable paper figures to readers (Tanahashi 1999, pp. 417–418).18

Shikitei Sanba’s Hayagawari belongs to this genre of books. Sanba thoughtfully

combined a creative programme of page turning and the calculated positions of

illustrations on each page to craft a structure of a book that situates the text and image

in a dependent interactive relationship. Moreover, the self-conscious reference to the

peep-box and its mechanism positions the readers as both willing participants in the

unfolding transformations and as the imagined audience of a peep-box show, further

FIGURE 3 Front plate, Utagawa Toyokuni, Hayagawari, 1810.

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complicating the readers’ spatial understanding and the relationship of the text and

image to actuality.

The first instance of this intricate pagination programme is found in the first

short tale entitled ‘An indentured servant transforming into a head clerk’ (see

figure 4). The first two pages (figure 5), viewed vertically, focus on an indentured

servant named Takejirô, who is bored with his accounting tasks and yawns, holding

his right hand next to his mouth. He then notes that his boss and the head clerk are

both absent that day, which is a rare occasion. Complaining at length about the

tedious instructions of do and donts given by his boss (he is told that he is too slow at

eating, errands and using the toilet, for instance) he observes that if he brings himself

to endure and obey all the directions given by the boss, his boss would probably

make him a head clerk. Takejirô then quickly reminds himself that he is not one to

fall into such a predictable and calculated path set up by his boss. Instead, upon

A

B

C

DE

F

G

H

Back

FIGURE 4 Diagram of pagination for Hayagawari.

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hearing the wife of his boss calling his name, the young servant does not answer her.

However, the boss’s wife finds Takejirô ignoring her by sneaking up on him on

tiptoe.19 She asks him to go out and bring back her husband, but Takejirô acts

FIGURE 5 Page A and B, Utagawa, Hayagawari, 1810

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reluctant. After observing his stiff awkward posture, the wife grows suspicious of

Takejirô and asks him to lift the bottom of his kimono. Here are the last segments of

this scenario on page B.

Wife: Lift up the bottom [of your kimono]

Takejirô: OK, OK. But this is kind of … you see it’s …

Wife: If you don’t do it, I will … like this

Takejiro: Alright, alright, alright …

Wife: Ha! Just as I expected!

Takejirô: Oh I’m so sorry …

After reading these words, please open and look around the bottom of this page.

(Shikitei 1810, reprinted in Takada & Hara 1992, p. 180 )


Following these instructions, the readers then open page B and continue on to the top

of page C in the diagram. By manipulating the pages of the book and turning to page

C, the readers construct a new composition in which Takejirô now stands over a plate

of sliced watermelon (see figure 6). The textual and visual tension of this particular

scene owes much to the editing skill of Sanba: by synchronising the development of the

narrative and the corresponding picture in this way, the reader momentarily remains

uninformed while the wife already has learned what lies under Takejirô kimono.

Oscillating between a voyeuristic desire and the act of opening the bottom page, the

reader then sees a plate full of watermelon slices lying between Takejirô’s legs. The

obvious parallel drawn between the bottom of Takejirô’s kimono and that of the page,

and thus the parallel between the act of lifting the bottom edge of Takejirô’s kimono

and the act of turning the page, serve together to make the transformation of Takejirô

more suspenseful and interactive. There is, moreover, another transformation of

Takejirô that is performed by this composite illustration.FIGURE 7 Please provide caption

Despite his claim that the watermelon was given to him, the wife does not believe

Takejirô and hits him with a smoking pipe. She then sends him off before he has a chance

to swear that he will never steal again. The readers are then instructed to flip back from

page C to page B, and open page A to page D. In doing so, we see the head clerk, hold-

ing an accounting notebook in one hand and an abacus in the other (figure 7). This is

Takejirô transformed into a head clerk, presumably by following instructions and obey-

ing the boss and his wife. He goes on to make dismissive commentaries about the long

baths his colleagues take, and about the slow talker Chôbei, whose stories take at least

two nights to tell, as if Takejirô had always been expeditious himself. The gap in Take-

jirô’s personality before and after the last transformation is comically demonstrated in

Sanba’s writing and the orchestrated pictorial elements. The transformation from a

disobedient and dishonest indentured servant to a faithful and reliable head clerk, more-

over, is visually realised by folding the pages in different ways, introducing new dimen-

sions of Takejirô – literally de-composing and re-composing his ‘image’.FIGURE 8 Please provide caption

This book, which also serves as an imagined peep-box show, thus functions by

producing an expandable spatial relationship outside the traditional confined space of

the book, and by allowing the ‘view’ to change through the artful rearrangement of the

expanded space. Sanba turns the transformative mechanism of the peep-box – the

prescribed set distance between the lens and the picture – into an extended stage for

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spatial orchestration.20 Furthermore, Sanba integrates these spatial arrangements and

the act of recomposing Takejirô into the narrative of a drastic transformation of a young

man, construing the malleability of human beings and non-sequential characteristics of

human transformation.

FIGURE 6 Page A and C, Utagawa Toyokuni, Hayagawari, 1810.

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In the next short story, entitled ‘A keen horse turns dull’, Sanba uses a self-referential

spatial layout to tell the story of a young stylish man turning into an unwelcome old

fellow, while demonstratively reminding the readers of their position as an imagined

peep-box audience. The first page of the story consists of two illustrations – one of the

FIGURE 7 Page D and B, Utagawa Toyokuni, Hayagawari, 1810.

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young man sitting and the other of a young indentured servant peeking into a room

through a hole in the shoji paper (figure 8).FIGURE 9 Please provide caption

As Richard Balzer has observed, one of the fundamental differences between the

peep-box show and other optical devices of the same period is the embedded system of

looking into the enclosed space (Balzer 1998, p. 17).21 The unknown enigmatic space

FIGURE 8 Page E and H, Utagawa Toyokuni, Hayagawari, 1810

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that lies inside the encased box tantalises those standing outside. Sanba takes full advan-

tage of this captivating attribute of the peep-box and creates and reveals this cryptic

space through his conscientious use of the patterning of the illustrations in his books. In

figure 8, we see a young indentured servant looking into a closed room from an adjoin-

ing corridor. He is probably in the midst of his chores, as a broom leans against the wall

next to him. Kneeling down to adjust his height in order to see through the hole, a

movement that approximates the gesture one would engage in to view peep-box shows,

Sanba produces the illusion of depth behind the closed shôji doors by implication. In this

way, the mental mapping of the two illustrations, allows the readers to infer the interior

of the top illustration as that of the visually inaccessible room of the bottom. Further-

more, the posture of the young man in the upper page indicates his obliviousness to the

fact that he is being observed by the young servant and the readers, thereby volumetri-

cally increasing the voyeuristic suspense.FIGURE 10 Please provide caption

In the story, the young man is verbalising his desire always to keep up with the

trends, and his dislike of aged men who want to hang out with young people in an

attempt to stay in style.

‘… at any rate, they say one’s mind really doesn’t change with age. That’s probably

why the older men get, the more they want to keep company with the young. I am

trying my best not to turn old. It’s scary, but it’s a pretty distasteful situation when

a man is disliked by others’. As these words leave his mouth, he is getting older and

older.


Sanba instructs the readers at the end of page E to lift up the page behind (page F)

from the bottom edge and flip it over so as to cover the previous illustration. Repeating

the same process with page H, we see the next ‘view’ (figure 9), which consists of text

and an illustration of the transformed young man as an old unwanted fellow seated alone.

The old man, with no trace of fashion and with long hair hanging from his nose, is

speaking to a group of young people, supposedly surrounding him. He is deaf and has

problems with his sight at this point. The old man’s utterances, aside from explicit refer-

ences to the physical traits and conditions of old age, consist of long-winded and

untimely tales of the past as well as desperate efforts to keep up with the young. Working

together, the illustration and the text carve out the dissonant and incommunicable atmo-

sphere. The instructions at the end of page G, moreover, ask the readers to turn only

page G, and the next ‘view’ (figure 10) takes us back to the onlooker from the previous

page. He notes:

‘I see he is really an uninteresting old fellow. No matter how you pray for him, he

will never change. He is a kind of guy who continues to talk even when his own

family comes to get him. What a pain!’



These two successions of transformation (from figure 9 to figure 10) moreover, are

predicted upon the established illusion of depth and spatial relationship mapped out by

the first two combinations of the illustration (figure 8). Upon seeing the old man alone

(figure 9), the readers’ point of view is now assumed to be identical to that of the young

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servant, peeking through the torn shôji door. Turning to the last page, however, takes

the readers back to the position of looking at the interrupted curious voyeur. By reusing

this illustration here, Sanba re-establishes the parallel between the spatial configuration

of this story and that of the peep-box shows, thereby re-articulating their constructed

FIGURE 9 Page F and G, Utagawa Toyokuni, Hayagawari, 1810.

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and enclosed, cyclical space. The reused illustration of the young servant establishes the

narrative of transformation just witnessed by the readers as a change in the ‘view’ or

megane-e of the imagined peep-box show.

In addition, the inaccessible enigmatic space of the peep-box is exposed as a dull,

depressing space, encasing an old man’s endless complaints and nagging, and undermining

FIGURE 10 Page F and H, Utagawa Toyokuni, Hayagawari, 1810.

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the wishful expectation for titillation with a dreary vapid speech (Shikitei 1810, reprinted

in Takada & Hara 1992, pp. 183, 186 ).22 Sanba’s playfulness in this manoeuvre stems

from the careful construction of the discrepancy by calculating the readers’ expectations,

and skilfully running counter to that expectation to the point of absurdity. His contriving

and imaginative construction of the narrative and the programme of pagination incessantly

imbue the text with the physical and psychological attributes of the peep-box, coalescing

the mechanisms, pictorial representations and literary devices into an energetic inter-

textual meditation on the experience of peep-box itself.

I have examined three aspects of the peep-box shows in late Tokugawa Japan that

demonstrate the inter-relationships of spatial issues in artistic and popular cultural

activities of the period. Each of the examples that I have discussed touches upon ques-

tions relating to the construction, negotiation, and interaction with space – pictorial

space in examining Ôkyo, performative space in the context of misemono, and figura-

tive and intertextual space in analysis of Sanba’s work. Although each of these exam-

ples forms a distinctly unique relationship to the types of spaces mentioned above, I

believe that they also simultaneously constitute and interconnect with the historically

specific configuration of the act of seeing and acquisition of knowledge during late

Tokugawa Japan.

Okyo’s concept of shasei, (‘sketching’) emphasises the relationship between

pictorial representations and the empirical act of seeing. In his articulation of the role of

pictures and picture-making, the relationship between an artist’s seeing and the product

of his seeing, i.e. pictures, must establish a fundamental and inseparable connection.

The knowledge of manually transmitted representational techniques, in this way,

becomes unnecessary and useless. His megane-e pictures depict known places of the city

of Kyôto, thus allowing viewers to contrast the depicted views with their mental image

of these places. The peep-box in the environment of misemono posits the viewers as well

as the performers in an interactive and multifaceted relationship involving several

sensory faculties. In such an environment, the performances and display operate upon

and take advantage of the presumed relationship between sight and knowledge, tantal-

ising the viewers’ desire to see and know what lies inside the encased space. The clev-

erness and humour in Sanba’s artful fiction is illuminated by the constant orchestration

of the distribution of knowledge in regard to the narrative and the positional calculation

of the visual accompaniment. In this work, the act of seeing operates both figuratively

(as in the transformation of character) as well as literally (as in the transformation of the

illustration by turning pages). Moreover, the presentation of the story itself as a peep-

box show magnifies and complicates Sanba’s playful meditation, implicating the readers

as the audience, as well as Sanba as the lecturer.

By way of shedding light onto these different examples, I hope to have demon-

strated the permeating significance as well as the complex cultural issues that

surround the historical understanding and uses of the peep-box in the context of late

Tokugawa Japan. In regard to the current line of enquiry, which focuses on seeing and

knowing at the level of popular culture, there are several issues that need further

consideration: what other visual devices and images were available to commoners;

how they related to the peep-box, (i.e., the role of magic lanterns, microscopes in

misemono and ukiyo-e prints); how people described and evaluated pictures; and how

these standards were established.

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In selecting these historical materials, I have addressed the need to excavate the

interconnection between knowing and seeing through materials often overlooked in

studies of visual culture in Japan, such as misemono and popular literature. By revisiting

these areas of Japan’s material history and contextualising them synchronically, I

believe that we will gain a better understanding of the complex social and cultural

networks that brought them forward. Further, I focused my analysis on the uses of

space in regard to Ôkyo’s megane-e, miesemono, and Sanba’s book, in order to rethink

the use of ‘realism’ as a category in the history of Japanese visual culture. Enquiries into

the historical understanding of actuality and the real, I believe, necessitate attentive and

intricate analysis and a willingness to incorporate a wide range of historical materials.

Although challenging and demanding in its nature, such a process should illuminate the

entangled relationships found among the cultural, social, and intellectual facets of

Tokugawa Japan.

Notes

1. The arrival and the introduction of the peep-box in Japan has been well documented

in several books and articles. In English, please see Screech, T. (1996) ‘Machinery for

pictures’, in Western Scientific Gaze and Popular Imagery from Late Edo Japan, Cambridge

University Press, New York. Also see the exhibition catalogue Tokyo Metropolitan

Museum of Photography (ed.), The Advent of Photography in Japan (1997). Metropoli-

tan Museum of Photography, Tokyo. The following works in Japanese are also infor-

mative: Iwamoto, K. (2002) Gentô no seiki [Centuries of Magic Lanterns] Sinwasha,

Tokyo, pp. 76–84; Oka, Y. (1992) Megane-e shinkô, Chikumashobô, Tokyo, pp. 45–

102; Uchiyama, J. (1996) Edo no Kôkishin, Kôdansha, Tokyo, pp. 48–87.

2. For studies of various karakuri other than the peep-box in Tokugawa Japan, please

see Screech 1996, pp. 65–93. In stark contrast to the focus on its mechanical aspect

in Japan, the Italian rendering of the device, Mondo Nuovo (‘new world’) for the

peep-box emphasises the mode of seeing, distinctly evoking an Albertian approach to

pictures.

3. The lack of linguistic distinction between the zograscope and peep-box as indicated by

the word nozoki karakuri, which was used interchangeably for both devices at times,

suggests the irrelevance of distinction of media and classifications that contemporary

scholars hold central in studies of histories of technology.

4. These were also referred to as kubomi-e – ‘sinking’ or ‘indented’ pictures, in contrast

to uki-e – ‘floating’ or ‘raised’ pictures. For both names, the pictorial effect antici-

pated or felt upon seeing these pictures played a key role in their naming. Kishi

Fumikazu explores the possibility that ukie came to Japan from western countries via

China in: Kishi, F. (1994) Edo no enkinhô, Keisou Shobô, Tokyo, pp. 6–10. With

regard to the fact that the use of these prints was not strictly limited as a zograscopic

print, this resembles the practices in the mid-eighteenth century in England. See Blake

2000, pp. 34–36. For considerations of the use of uki-e outside of the zograscope, see

Oka (1992), pp. 63–65.

5. The developmental schema in adapting ‘linear perspective’ from the immature stage

to the mature, fully cohesive stage has been formulated by various scholars. Please see:

French, C. (1977) Through Closed Doors: Western Influence on Japanese Art 1639–1853,

Meadow Brook Art Gallery, Rochester, MI; (1984) Megane-e to Tôkaido gojû santsugi

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ten, kobe shiritsu Hakubutsu kan, Kobe; (1985) Kobe Shiritsu hakubutsukan (ed.)

Development of Western Realism in Japan, The National Museum of Modern Art Tokyo;

Kishi, F. (1994) Edo no enkinhô, Keiso shobô, Tokyo; Uchiyama, J. (1996) Edo no

Kôkishin, Kôdansha, Tokyo.

6. Studies such as Erwin Panofsky’s Perspective as Symbolic Form, Herbert Damisch’s The

Origin of Perspective and Svetlana Alpers’ The Art of Describing, convincingly outline the

possibilities of multiple historical meanings brought forward in the examples of one-

point perspectival images produced in Europe. More importantly, they attest to the

complex set of philosophical, historical and cultural issues embedded in studying this

technique of representation.

7. It should be noted that there has not been decisive evidence that links Ôkyo to the

group of uki-e attributed to him as none of the uki-e were signed. Oka surveys the

available historical data and proposed interpretations in chapter 4 of his book. Oka

(1992), pp. 105–142.

8. As has been well documented, there were several major debates over theories of

painting during the Tokugawa period, primarily between the official Kanô-school

and other newly established schools of painting. Among the contested topics that

triggered such debates was the concept of shasei, often translated as ‘sketch’ in

English.

9. Funpon is a traditional and systematic practice of painting that defined the Kanô school

for generations. It consists of copying the images of old masters, and using selected

subjects, compositions and manners of brushes to create an image. By employing

funpon as a regulative structure of their school, the Kanô school was able to produce

and reproduce a distinguished ‘style’ and to accept large numbers of large scale

commissions from patrons, using multiple painters all trained in the same way. For

the historical significance and cross-cultural conceptualisations of shasei, please see

Tsuji, N. (1983) ‘Shasei to Shai’, in Tsuji, N. (ed.) Flower and Bird Paintings of Japan,

vol. 7, Gakken, Tokyo, pp. 86–95. For a thoughtful study of its history in China,

please see Kôno, M. (1991) ‘“shasei” no “gensen”’, in Akiyama Terukazu hakushi kokik-

inen bijutsushi ronbun shû, Benridô, Toyko, pp. 481–514. For Kôno’s tracing of the

concept of shasei within the Tokugawa context, please see ‘Edojidai “shasei” kô’

(1989), in Yamane, Y. (ed.) Nihon kaigashi no kenkyû, Yoshikawa kôbunten, Tokyo,

pp. 389–427. Timon Screech provides a contextual analysis of Ôkyo and his school

within the framework of Tokugawa art productions in Screech, T. (2000) The

Shogun’s Painted Culture, Reaktion Books, London, pp. 167–207.

10. Sasaki claims that this kind of sensitivity to the viewing distance was unprecedented in

the history of Japanese art.

11. With the advent of the Meiji period in February 1868, displays for misemono were

banned in the name of achieving ‘enlightenment and civilisation’. During the

Tokugawa period, several bans were issued with regard to specific kinds of acts and

exhibits. However, the explicit conceptual connection drawn between the culture of

misemono and enlightenment as antitheses of each other strikes one as a distinctly

Meiji logic for the ideation of ‘enlightenment and civilisation’ promoted by govern-

mental authorities in early Meiji. Two years later, in May 1870, another ban was

issued prohibiting exhibitions of fake objects in misemono, which then was followed

by the prohibition of human deformities in November. Please see Asakura, M.

Misemono Kenkyû (originally published in 1928, reprinted in 2002), Misemono

Kenkyû, Chikuma shobô, Tokyo. For an excellent survey of history of misemono in

English, please consult Markus A (1985), ‘The Carnival of Edo Misemono Spectacles

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From Contemporary Accounts’, Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 45. no. 2,

pp. 499–541 Kawazoe Yu’s Edo no misemono provides a good overview with refer-

ence to primary materials and historical accounts of the misemono culture in the late

Tokugawa period (Kawazoe, Y. (2000) Edo no misemono, Iwanami shoten, Tokyo).

Kinoshita Naoyuki’s Bijutsu to iu misemono carefully considers the relationship

between misemono culture and the formulation of the concept of ‘art’ in the Meiji

period (Kinoshita, N. (1993) Bijutsu to iu misemono, Tokyo, Heibon-sha). Furukawa

Miki’s account of misemono culture during the Tokugawa period includes various

references to post-Tokugawa misemono, highlighting the continuous traditions that

survived the Meiji restoration of 1868 (Furukawa, M. (1993) Zusetsu shomin geinô –

Edo no misemono, Yûsankaku shuppan, Tokyo).

12. Places such as Ryôgoku and Asakusa Okuyama in Edo, Shijô Kawara in Kyôto, Nanbashin-

chi of Ôsaka and Ôsu in Owari offered misemono throughout the year, while for some

misemono were planned according to kaichô – specially coordinated opportunities for

the public display of the treasures of Buddhist temples. In these cases, the misemono

booths stood within the confines of Buddhist temples and the booth operators paid

some money to the temple. Kawazoe Yû (pp. 31–43) elaborates on economical and

administrative procedures of misemono. According to him, popular misemono attracted

anywhere from one to several hundred thousand people, and the duration of operation

for these would be from fifty days to six months. Suehiro Masaharu provides concrete

case studies using primary sources (Suehiro, pp. 10–13).

13. Interestingly, Inokuma, the peep-box, and the horse with three eyes, had already been

in misemono in other parts of Owari by this time. What I call ‘an acrobatic horse show’

(kyokuba in Japanese) includes both humans performing skills and tricks while riding a

horse and horses performing different types of acrobatics acts. For a detailed account

of horse shows and other aspects of misemono performances, Asakusa Musei’s Misemono

Kenkyû offers delightful first hand accounts.

14. One of the most popular entertainment hubs of Edo, Ryôgoku, was situated next to

Bakuro-chô where many inns were located. As indicated in the kôjô, their misemono

was set up throughout the year, and the travellers crowded the narrow streets of the

misemono site. In addition, the celebrated firework shows at this bridge, which crosses

over the Sumida river, was a seasonal staple capturing the imaginations of many artists

and townspeople of Edo. Please see Markus (1985) pp. 507–510.

15. The structure and subject of kôjô of this example creates a stark contrast with examples

from Meiji (1868–1912) and Taisho (1912–1926) periods. Those from Meiji and

Taisho work with contemporary news stories, be it familial tragedy or dreadful crime,

tinting them with melodramatic overtones. Kawamoto Masayoshi’s collection of kôjô

from the Meiji and Taisho is an invaluable resource in this regard. Kawamoto, M.

(1995) Nozokimegane no kôjôka, Kyûzan sha, Toyko.

16. This book was printed five times by different publishers after the initial sales in 1810.

As a detailed history of the publishers and re-prints of this book, Tanahashi Masahiro’s

careful analysis and comments were particularly helpful for this study (see Tanahashi

(1999), pp. 367–431). Sanba also wrote two stories aside from Hayagawari, employing

the transformative aspect of peep-box viewing as a literary trope – one prior to and

one after this book. They are Nigen isshin nozoki karakuri (1794) and Hitogokoro nozoki

karakuri (1811).

17. Some of the peep-boxes had several slots for pictures, which were controlled with an

attached string by the lecturers. It has been speculated that some might have included

figures inside the box, but such physical evidence has not been discovered.

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18. Tanahashi argues that the trend of simultaneous change in costumes in kabuki theatre

had a particularly strong influence on the rise in numbers of shikake-hon books.

19. Sanba puns on the wife, the Tokugawa regime and the gods, by using the word

kamisan.

20. It is interesting to contrast Sanba’s use of the peep-box to Santô Kyôden’s approach

to peep-boxes in his kibyoshi. Screech hypothesises that the peep-box was a device that

‘exposed … inner reality and outer deceit, exhibiting successive images to illustrate

precisely the divorce of interior from surface, of good from bad, and reality from

bluff’ (Screech 1996, p. 119). Kyôden’s approach and use of the peep-box is eluci-

dated by Screech (1996, pp. 127–129).

21. Richard Balzer provides several useful definitions of the peep box: ‘A peepshow is a

closed, or semi-closed box having at least one viewing hole through which a view is

seen. The box may or may not use mirrors to create an illusion or redirect the viewing

point … The zograscope … does not meet this definition. It does not possess a box

or enclosed space, and this robs the viewer of the mystery of entering an inaccessible

space and viewing a hidden image. However, viewing boxes called boîtes d’optiques,

which not only employed the principles of the zograscope but also used a partially

closed box, should be considered as peepshows, even though they utilise a mirror to

redirect the eye’.

22. Screech suggests possibilities of the pornographic use of the peep-box (1996, p. 124).

Notes on contributor

Maki Fukuoka is a Ph.D candidate in the Department of Art History at the University

of Chicago. She is captivated by rich and complex visual cultures of the 19th century,

particularly photographic technology, magic lantern, spectacle shows and festivals in

Japan. Her dissertation entitled “Between Seeing and Knowing: Photography and the

Concept of Accuracy between 1820–1878 Japan” examines the ways in which a group

named Shôhyaku-sha incorporated various picture-making and exhibition practices to

formulate their epistemology of what may be characterized as natural science.

References

Japan Museums Planning Council (1977) Edo no doroe ten, Nihon bijutsukan kyogi kikan,

Tokyo.

Balzer, R. (1998) Peepshows: A Visual History, Harry N. Abrams, New York.

Blake, E. (2000) Zograscopes, Perspective Prints, and the Mapping of Polite Space in Mid-Eigh-

teenth-Century England, Dissertation Thesis, Stanford University.

Kuroda, G. (1977) ‘Maruyama Ôkyo no megane – e ni tsuite’, in Japan Museums Planning

Council Edo no doroe ten, Tokyo.

Uchiyam, J. (1996) Edo no kôkishin, Kôdansha, Tokyo.

Kodera, G. (eds) Sanichi (1991) Misemono zasshi, Sanichi Shobô, Tokyo.

Gunji, M. & Sekiyama K. (eds.) (1987) Nihon bijutsushi jiten, Heibonsha, Tokyo.

Oka, Y. (1992) Megane-e shinkô, Chikumashobô, Tokyo.

Shikiteri, S. (1992) Hayagawari mune karakuri (original work published 1810), reprinted in

Takada, M. & Hara, M. (eds) Sôsho edo bunko (1992) vol. 20: Shikitei Sanba shû,

kokusho kankô kai, Tokyo.

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Sasaki, J. & Sasaki, M. (1996) Maruyama Ôkyo kenkyû, Chuôkôron bijutsu shuppan, Tokyo.

Screech, T. (1996) Western Scientific Gaze and Popular Imagery from Late Edo Japan, Cambridge

University Press, New York.

Stafford, B. M. (2001) ‘Revealing technologies/magical domains’, in Stafford, B. M. &

Terpak, F. (eds) Devices of Wonder, Getty Institute, Los Angeles.

Tanahashi, M. (1999) ‘Gyosanna, ogoe wo uru komisemono’ in Tenahashi, M, Suzuki, K.

Uda, T. (eds), Kibyôshi Senryû Kyôka, eds Shôgakkan, Tokyo.

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Documents

Contextualising the peep‐box in Tokugawa Japan