Wedding Cake

It's serendipitous that this was 40 years ago tomorrow. Susan and I moved house two days after we got married, and lived out of boxes and on wedding cake for weeks while we sorted out the Victorian townhouse we'd just bought, before honeymooning in Scotland in November 1985.

the ritual of cutting the cake

You want to know about the cake? It was a two-tiered rich fruit cake with marzipan and royal icing in a simple, classical design, made for us by a local village bakery/cake shop. I remember it was quite a weight. Some of it was served to guests at the reception with champagne, some was cut up, boxed and sent to friends and relatives who weren't with us on the day, and some, as I mentioned earlier, sustained us through our house move and into the following weeks. Had we known that our first child was going to be born almost nine months to the day after our wedding night, we might have saved some to celebrate that event as well (as used to be a custom, apparently). 

There have been other, very informative blogs this week about the whole history and tradition of wedding cakes from ancient Greek times onwards. They are well worth a read. I will just precis here. Originally they would have been made of bread (and you can see in the photograph above a bread wedding offering with a white ribbon that some friends brought back from Greece for us). Then 'bride pies' as they were often called went through a phase of being more like savoury puddings in the 16th and 17th centuries before evolving into the rich sugar-rush confections that have graced wedding receptions since Victorian times (below, artist unknown).

cutting the cake at a Victorian wedding reception

I assume the symbolism of the wedding cake, its cutting (usually jointly by bride and groom) and the sharing with family and friends, is all about  good vibes for a happy and productive union and the sharing of signs of goodwill all round, rather than any show of ostentation, superiority or condescension on the part of the newlyweds or their families, though I am reminded of the maxim: 'More tiers, more tears.' Make of that what you will. 

For a poem this week, I've chosen something by Naomi Shihab Nye, a Palestinian-American poet of considerable repute.  She's given me permission to reproduce 'Wedding Cake' here. Thank you Naomi. It's from her 1998 collection, 'Fuel' (published by BOA Editions Ltd). If you like this beautifully constructed and resonant poem, I highly recommend you to check out her writings.

Wedding Cake

Once on a plane 

a woman asked me to hold her baby

 and disappeared. 

I figured it was safe, 

our being on a plane and all. 

How far could she go?

 

She returned one hour later, 

having changed her clothes 

and washed her hair. 

I didn't recognize her.

 

By this time the baby 

and I had examined 

each other's necks. 

We had cried a little. 

I had a silver bracelet 

and a watch. 

Gold studs glittered 

in the baby's ears. 

She wore a tiny white dress 

leafed with layers 

like a wedding cake.

 

I did not want 

to give her back.

 

The baby's curls coiled tightly 

against her scalp, 

another alphabet. 

I read new new new. 

My mother gets tired. 

I'll chew your hand.

 

The baby left my skirt crumpled, 

my lap aching. 

Now I'm her secret guardian, 

the little nub of dream 

that rises slightly 

but won't come clear.

 

As she grows, 

as she feels ill at ease, 

I'll bob my knee.

 

What will she forget? 

Whom will she marry? 

He'd better check with me. 

I'll say once she flew 

dressed like a cake 

between two doilies of cloud. 

She could slip the card into a pocket, 

pull it out. 

Already she knew the small finger 

was funnier than the whole arm.

                                         Naomi Shihab Nye

                  

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Myths and Symbols: A Japanese Incense Burner

The Japanese Incense Burner at Manchester Museum is filled with intricate symbolism and myth. I first encountered this impressive, finely crafted object early in 2020 when I visited the busy and fascinating workspace of Sam Beath, Head of Conservation at the museum.

At that time the incense burner was in a multitude of bits (fourteen pieces of patinated bronze weighing in at three-quarters of a tonne) and being painstakingly cleaned by conservation staff, interns and volunteers. Three years on, it is now in pristine condition and has been reassembled after spending sixty-five years dismantled and in storage. It stands formidably at the extraordinary height of 3.7 metres taking pride of place in the foyer of the new Manchester Museum that has recently reopened after a £15m redevelopment.

Japanese Incense Burner
Manchester Museum (image credit: Sam Beath)

To understand the symbolism captured within the object, exploring when and why it was produced is useful. It was created sometime during the Meiji era (23 October,1868 – 30 July,1912) and before 1889, when it was acquired by the Whitworth Art Gallery. The working theory is that it was commissioned for the 1886 World’s Fair.

The original purpose of this type of object was to burn incense during religious rituals. This practice developed in China was then brought to other countries such as Japan. Traditionally incense has been used as symbolic purification of an environment i.e. temple and it was thought to encourage the buddhas, gods, demons etc to make an appearance (KCP International, 2023).

However, during the Meiji era these types of objects were often produced specifically for export, showcasing fine examples of Japanese bronze casting featuring religious iconography, both Buddhist and Shinto (the worship of spirits in the natural world) along with imagery of Chinese origins. During this time period, Japanese collectors also had a renewed interest in Chinese antiquities (Christies, 2023).

To unpick the object’s imagery, a good starting point is the crowning glory, an eagle with ruffled feathers and its wings outspread as if it has just landed after a heavenly excursion. In Japanese mythology particularly in Shinto, the eagle god appears as Amenohiwashi-no-kami, the symbol for power (International Photography Awards, 2023). In Chinese tradition, this bird of prey symbolises strength.

Sam Beath so kindly answered several questions regarding the incense burner’s provenance, narrative and symbolism. Some of her insights have been incorporated in this article. She also mentioned that Adela Hawley (recent Art Gallery and Museum Studies Graduate, University of Manchester) did extensive background research on this object. Much of Hawley’s information is put forward here:

The top of the object also features monkeys fleeing from a large bird, this symbolises tricksters and troublemakers running away from a source of strength.

Japanese Incense Burner Detail
Manchester Museum (image credit: Michael Pollard)

Below this area cherry blossoms or ‘Sakura’ adorn branches - they are linked to the Shinto religion and represent hope, renewal and transience as blossoms are only present for a short while (JNTO, 2022).

Dragons in Japan are often portrayed as a three-clawed, serpent-like being and are believed to live below the sea, control the rain and bestow wishes (Schumacher, 1995).

Japanese Incense Burner Detail, one of seven dragons
Manchester Museum (image credit: Michael Pollard)

One of the larger scenes depicted on the urn shows the story of the Ryujin, the Dragon King of the Sea. He is able to metamorphose into any form he pleases, and as such can enter a human form. The seas are controlled by Ryujin using the ‘tide pearls’. A popular story often depicted in Meiji era art was the story of Takenouchi no Sukune (DMA, 2017). In this story Takenouchi defeats a sea monster and so a thankful Ryujin gifts him a jewel which controls the seas.

Japanese Incense Burner Urn Detail
Manchester Museum (image credit: Michael Pollard)

A turtle with a bushy-seaweed tail is visible near the bottom of the burner, and is used to represent wisdom and longevity. It could also be representing a ‘Minogame’ which is a mythical creature that originates from China and is believed to live up to 1,000 years (Ashkenazi, 2003). The Minogame is most commonly associated with the folktale Urashima Taro as well as, Jurojin, one of the seven gods of luck. The turtle symbol was also used by the seafaring god Kumpira, as a protective emblem against the elements (Young, 2003). Similarly, cranes symbolise good luck and longevity and are often depicted alongside Minogame.

Part of the structure of the burner features elephant-like creatures. Initially, they were believed to depict elephants…With further investigation it can be theorised that the ‘elephants’ are actually ‘Baku’ a mythological beast that is believed to devour bad dreams and evil spirits. The Baku is a chimera, usually comprised of an elephant nose, tigers feet and an ox’s tail. The Baku is part of both Japanese and Chinese folklore and is a protector who eats bad dreams, however, if the Baku is not satisfied with the nightmare, they are said to then devour a person’s hopes and dreams. Legend states that the Baku was created from spare pieces left by the gods after creating the other animals (Reese, 2014). 

Japanese Incense Burner Baku Detail
Manchester Museum (image credit: Michael Pollard)

The Japanese Incense Burner at Manchester is a special object. One can marvel at the traditional symbolism presented in intricate detail and the cast-metal craftsmen who created it and also those who lovingly brought it back to life for present and future generations to enjoy.

A big thank you to Sam Beath, Adela Hawley, Michael Pollard and Manchester Museum.

Japanese Incense Burner

The eagle watches over all, such power
alights to own the mountain as tricksters flee
fixed in space, the fine well-crafted universe
cast two centuries before has lovingly

been restored, reborn cherry blossoms flower
clinging tight to their moulded metal mothers,
those trees snaking upwards towards ceiling and sky,
handles like serpents mirroring each other.

See these entities, branched umbilical cords
attached to round belly, the urn supported
by elephant-like sentries, lucky Baku
their seven backs laden, treasure transported

to heaven yet grounded, they cannot escape
dragons’ hot breath beneath their feet, a fire ring
of desires to know, those who are wondering
who made this, and us, and everything.

Thanks for reading,

Kate J

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Roses

Roses are the topic this week! They come high on the list of flowers that I like, along with iris and gerbera. What gives the rose the edge over others in the boquet in my estimation is their delicious scent - and I'm talking about home-grown organic roses here, not hothouse blooms from some euro-polytunnel or those flowers grown in and flown in from Kenya. Imported roses might look good but they have no smell and the means of production is frequently ecologically unsound (all those fertilisers leaching into the water table).

A perfect rose, with its complex array of petals, fascinating gradations of colour and heady aroma is truly a thing of beauty. Love the rose.

It possibly has more symbolism attached to it than any other form of flora or fauna. The red rose is the adopted emblem of my adopted county (Lancashire) as is the white rose the emblem of that lot on the other side of the Pennines - and indeed a series of battles was fought in the late 15th century that bore the name War of the Roses on account of the main protagonists.

My take on the theme has given rise to not one but two poems this week. The first, Roses, is by Billy Collins, a favourite poet of my dear departed friend Christopher (Christo) Heyworth. Billy Collins is a former Poet Laureate of the USA (2001-2003) and this poem is taken from his 2011 collection Horoscopes For The Dead. The second is a composition of my own in which I've tried to give the idea of roses a somewhat lateral literal twist. (It always amuses me to hear people drop 'literally' into conversations.) What you need to know about the protagonists of Twomb, Alec and Lisa, is they are also varieties of rose.

'Alec' and 'Lisa' entwined symbolic above the grave

First, then, this wonderfully observed and wry piece by Billy Collins, written on a visit to England a few years ago...

Roses
In those weeks of midsummer
when the roses in gardens begin to give up,
the big red, white, and pink ones -
the inner, enfolded petals growing cankerous,
the ones at the edges turning brown
or fallen already, down on their girlish backs
in the rough beds of turned-over soil,

then how terrible the expressions on their faces,
a kind of was it all really worth it? look,
to die here slowly in front of everyone
in the garden of a bed-and-breakfast
in a provincial English market town,
to expire by degrees of corruption
in plain sight of all the neighbours passing by,

the thin mail carrier, the stocky butcher
(thank God the children pay no attention),
the swivelling faces in the windows of the buses,
and now this stranger staring over the wall,
his hair dishevelled, a scarf loose around his neck,
writing in a notebook, writing about us no doubt,
about how terrible we look under the punishing sun.

                                                          Billy Collins


To finish, after a little judicious last-minute pruning, your Saturday blogger's dew-fresh offering...

Twomb
Side by side in death as in life
here lie interred a husband and wife,
Alec T. and Lisa Floribunda Rose.

The red and the white, for his verse and her prose,
entwine now symbolic, a sheltering bower
of protective thorn and commemorative flower

over this tomb of two writers of note:
she, the short-listed novelist who wrote
thinly-disguised tales of their marital strife; 

he, whose poems could cut like a knife,
the short-sighted fiery poet, her foil.
Worms compost through their mortal coils,

enriching the soil in this communal tomb,
make of their burial a friable womb
which nurtures both roses, the white and the red.

So despite the fact Alec and Lisa are dead,
their essence lives on in spike and in petal,
rose-blossoming peace after decades of battle.


Thanks for reading. Love one another, S ;-)

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