Iwa ni Hana

You just know that the Chinese civilization has not been around for five thousand years for nothing by looking at all the words they have for describing different nuances of beauty – of beauty in the abstract, in nature, in men and women. Whatever you can think of, the Chinese is likely to have coined a word for it already. If you were ever to compile all those words together, you may actually end up with a nice dictionary of several hundred pages. What I have time to write about on this blog is only a tip of the iceberg.

There are two words in Chinese that describe the beauty of decay. They are easily confused with each other but I think several fine points of distinction would be as follows (feel free to disagree with me though):

墮落美 [duo luo mei]
The decadent beauty of something fallen that is alluring in a sinister way, but is at the same time evocative of pain and longing in being a reminder of what it once was and what it no longer is – namely, the pristine state of innocence and purity it can no longer return to. In some (but not all) cases, the evil originates from a pure, noble and innocent motivation that turned bad in its means and execution for lack of choice, and from its existing state of badness it can only go from bad to worse and beyond salvation. The emphasis of this word is on the state where you have fallen from. Duo luo mei says to the viewer: ‘There was a time when I used to be not like this.’ It evokes pain and regret in the viewer, in that beneath those layers of decay, there may perhaps be a shred of that past innocence left.

頹廢美 [tui fei mei]
The decadent beauty of something fallen that is strangely attractive in its defiance and self-abandonment. It is frequently associated with moral decay but instead of angsting over its downfall, it rejoices in its fallen state. The emphasis of this word is the state of ruin as it is. The vision is focused on the end which is near – of impending doom, destruction, disease or death. It says  to the viewer: ‘This is just the way I am now and I have no regret about it. I long for the final release and I shall put on my best dress to greet that final release.’ It is brazen and is indifferent to what the viewer feels. Tui fei mei springs from the conviction that there is no tomorrow and tends to expresses itself in a rebellious attitude, by going out of the way to do something to excite jaded senses, to be lost in worldly pleasures and self-gratifications, and the pursuit of all that is unwholesome by society’s standards. Often, it is about slipping one notch lower, then another notch lower, then another notch lower, but keeping up pretenses of greatness with extravagant and sumptuous external appearances which are calculated to hide the interior emptiness. Tui fei mei is often found in artistic works towards the end of each dynastic cycle in Chinese history; an example of this would be the poetry of the late Tang.

An illustration of Han Lu's latest manhua series "Chang An Huan Ye" (长安幻夜)

To me, the name of the shoujo manga artist Yuki Kaori (由貴香織里) is synonymous with duo luo mei and tui fei mei. This is particular so when you look at her earlier works (though she seems to have lost steam and ran out of ideas in her more recent works). I think the whole school of aestheticism Yuki Kaori developed is perfected by the newcomer Han Lu (韩露), a PRC manhua artist about whom I have yet to write more proper reviews. What Han Lu produced was not so much blind imitation (though the artwork look amazing alike), but perfection of what Yuki Kaori was never quite able to achieve in terms of the depth of feeling and ideas, as well as the thoughtfulness and philosophy behind each story.

I have also often heard the films of Wong Kar-wai (王家衛) being described as full of tui fei mei. But that is another topic that will take me three days and nights to get through.