Bloodied Skies

By Shireen Ali

Nearing the end of the Second World War, the infamous nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki left cities in ruin and citizens in anguish. Survivors- known as the hibakusha- bore immense trauma of the horrors they had witnessed and lived to tell. [1] An event so devastating naturally integrates itself into art, becoming the central motif of powerful, soulful portrayals of a wartime massacre that have represented ‘the conscience of its community’ and fueled discussion to this day. [2]

A-bomb art is intense not only to the observer. Many of its artists- especially those who were hibakusha themselves- have confessed to a feeling of dread while articulating and visualising the terror most pray to forget. Why, then, did they continue to create art despite the persistent urge to let go of the past? Why did they turn to art at all?

To answer these questions, we will examine A-bomb art to pinpoint the role of art in the aftermath of tragedy in trauma recovery. First, we will observe (i) the experiences of the hibakusha in the aftermath of the bomb, before examining (ii) the psychophysiological nature of trauma. Then, we will take A-bomb drawings as the primary case study to understand (iii) why artistic expression offers an effective medium for personal trauma recovery, looking through the lenses of (a) how art enables the artist to place themselves within the artwork, and (b) how art-making engages with the psychophysiology of trauma.

(i) The experiences of the hibakusha

Lifton, writing in 1968, took note of four processes undergone by the hibakusha in the aftermath of the bomb: ‘psychic closing-off’, formulation, mastery, and transformation. Psychic closing-off occurs as the hibakusha ‘ceases to feel’ and becomes emotionally unresponsive to the horrors of the bomb and the devastation left in its wake. [3]

Formulation, succeeding psychic closing-off, is the hibakusha’s attempt at ‘psychic rebuilding’, in which he begins to come to terms with the traumatic experience of the atomic bomb and comprehend a seemingly incomprehensible event. [4] Mastery can be thought of as the hibakusha’s need to reclaim power over the death-dealing force, and by extension, the trauma encompassing it. [5] Successful mastery allows the hibakusha to regain control over harrowing memories of the bomb, and in turn not be controlled by these memories. Transformation refers to how the hibakusha processes traumatic memories by any means of alteration or modification- what we know commonly as methods of coping.

Formulation, mastery, and transformation are all intertwined. In order to formulate a personal narrative surrounding the bomb and give definition to hazy memories of the event, the hibakusha must also confront and master some of these memories. Transforming these memories into tangible, alternate objects facilitates mastery by allowing the hibakusha to approach the traumatic event through personalised perspectives. All of the above constitute ‘psychic opening-up’- the opposite of its closed-off counterpart. The hibakusha faces and engages with the traumatic experience, providing the agency necessary for the resolution of trauma. [6]

Lifton’s observations on formulation, mastery, and transformation then beg two main questions, both of which we hope to answer in the next few sections. One, why is the direct engagement with trauma (as in formulation and mastery) crucial to the hibakusha’s process of coping and recovery? Two, how does artistic expression come into play? To answer the former, we must first understand the psychophysiology of trauma— what happens to the body and in the brain in how trauma comes to be.

(ii) The nature of trauma

Trauma, adjunct to all of our perceptions of the world, grounds its roots in memory. [7] Memories, in turn, are rooted in the senses. We perceive and sense the environment around us before the memories of these feelings take shape. [8] To understand why and how trauma comes to be, we must first understand the relationship between the senses and memory- for which we refer to Rothschild.

There are two main forms of memory, namely, the explicit and the implicit. [9] Both are encoded in the limbic system, comprising two areas of the brain- the amygdala and the hippocampus. [10] The hippocampus stores explicit memory. Explicit memory (sometimes declarative memory) encompasses facts and concepts that are founded on the use of language, ie. what we consider conscious thought. Thinking of ideas, telling stories, and coming up with opinions are all examples of explicit memory, as they involve the person explicitly describing the concept they are actively thinking of. The hippocampus ‘gives time and space context to an event,’ and affixes the event to the individuals’ personal timeline to secure its position as something that has happened, and has since passed.

The amygdala processes implicit memory, highly-charged emotions such as fear and distress, increasing in activity during traumatic events. Implicit memory (sometimes non-declarative memory) operates unconsciously as it deals with aspects of thought independent of language, ie. sensory stimulus and feelings. Implicit memory encompasses emotions or bodily sensations, as we do not ‘think’ about the happiness we feel when we win video games, or the pain we feel when we accidentally prick our fingers. If explicit memory were to be applied here, we would be inclined to explain these feelings in narrative terms, describing precisely in words what part of playing the game made us happy, or how sharp the needle was when we pricked our fingers.

These two types of memories go hand in hand with each other: where implicit memory forms the bulk of the actual experience (what we felt and sensed), explicit memory steps in to narrate the event and enables us to contextualise these experiences (why/how/where/when we felt and sensed). Our feelings of sadness are stored by way of implicit memory, while explicit memory tells us why we feel sad: maybe our favourite character didn’t make it through last week’s episode, or perhaps we didn’t do as well on an exam as we would’ve hoped. The mutual interaction between both implicit and explicit memory allows us to give meaning to our seemingly abstract emotions, and thus, allows us to build an understanding of the next step we can take to properly cope.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) seems to be an effect of implicit and explicit memory not moving in tandem as we’d expect. When faced with traumatic experiences, the hippocampus becomes suppressed while the amygdala continues to function as normal. The implicit information we are exposed to- terror, grief, anger- are processed and encoded, but the explicit information needed to contextualise these feelings are left out.

Without any attachment to chronology, the individual does not perceive the event as something concrete that had happened in the past. Rather, the incident becomes ‘free-floating in time’- we see these memories invading the individual’s sense of the present with the occurrences of flashbacks. [11] Therefore, the disconnect between the experience of the traumatic event (implicit memory) and the context required to make sense of it (explicit memory) appears to lie beneath the structure of trauma. [12] They feel and remember the pain, grief, and anger experienced the day of the incident, but are unable to assign any meaning to these feelings.

David Stahl and Mark Williams argue how the traumatic experience free-floating in the psyche remains ‘ongoing’, continuously assimilating itself as constituent to the survivor’s identity. [13] As survivors of traumatic experiences, the hibakusha attempt to accept ‘the existence of a radically altered sense of self.’ [14] Hence, because trauma directly impacts the individual’s perception of who they are, the aim of trauma therapy is for the survivor to ‘repair the [radically altered] sense of self.’ [15]

Following Stahl and Williams’ as well as Rothschild’s characterisation of trauma, we come to the conclusion whereby healing ‘cannot be effected without reintegration of the traumatised self.’ [16] The fluid emotions housed in existing implicit memories of trauma must be reconnected to constructions of explicit information which can ground these feelings into one whole story, allowing the survivor to better comprehend the event not as something indefinite or, but as something they are able to give definition to. The recovery process can only begin once the person accepts trauma as something to be reframed, not removed.

One method of reframing past traumas can be seen in the world-renowned Hiroshima Panels of Toshi and Iri Maruki. Initially wanting to create optimistic, bright paintings in the aftermath of the bombing, Toshi remarked that ‘we would first have to communicate the nature of the darkness that kept encroaching on our work.’ [17] Much like the observation made earlier, Toshi’s statement implies that before true healing can begin, we must first confront- or even embrace- the ghosts that haunt us, as will be discussed in the next section.

(iii) Art as the bridge between the implicit and explicit

Art and art-making enables the individual to fill in the gaps between the implicit and explicit by constructing narratives to connect feelings with meaning. [18] According to Rothschild, as sensory triggers make up the core of trauma present in the mind (implicit memory), processing these triggers in kind by employing sensory means is imperative to the successful confrontation and recovery of trauma.

As we are more concerned with the process of art-making as a method of healing, the ‘therapeutic needs of the person to express’ is of far greater interest than aesthetic value. [19] Seen in many A-bomb drawings housed in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, the hibakusha employed relatively raw methods, such as simple pencil colouring, to depict the scenes witnessed during the bombing.

The acute emotion behind the artwork is nevertheless still striking, emphasised even more by the artist’s statement. Hiroharu Kono captured her despair in a dark painting of herself in search of her loved ones, kneeling by a shadowy mass of bodies: ‘My older brother, older sister, and the three-day-old baby all died in the fire. I found their bones after removing more than one foot of soil. I put my hands together and just prayed to Namu Amida Buddha. I wept and wept.’ [20]

Above: Drawing by Hiroharu Kono, courtesy of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum (Kono).
Below: Drawing by Yasue Enomoto, courtesy of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum (Enomoto).

In a haunting drawing of corpses and skulls among rubble by Yasue Enomoto, he says: ‘I dropped by a friend's place to see what happened. There, I was shocked and frightened out of my wits to find his skull [and] the dead bodies of his wife and child in a firm embrace. Overwhelmed, I put my hands together in prayer.’ [21] If anything, the crude style of these drawings only amplifies the observer’s emotional experience, as we are forced to overlook aesthetic barriers and come to grips with the raw grief of the artist projected onto the canvas.

The power of artistic expression in aiding the construction of narratives has two folds: one, the ability of the artist to place themselves within the artwork, and two, the ability of the art to engage with the sensory core of trauma.

(a) The ability of the artist to place themselves within the artwork

Lifton took note of two features of the hibakusha which are vital in the attempt to frame new narratives. Firstly, the hibakusha are imprinted with the ‘death imagery’ of the bomb- the smell of dead bodies and the sight of grotesque corpses to name a few- which become ‘interwoven’ with the memories of the bomb in its entirety. [22] Secondly, the survivor tends to ‘incorporate within himself an image of the dead’ and hence, by psychologically identifying with the dead, ‘binds’ himself to it. [23]

The use of shape, lines, and colour allow hibakusha— like Kono and Enomoto— to materialise mental images of death, and subsequently evaluate the identity they perceive themselves to hold among the dead. The memory of grotesque corpses are translated into portrayals of convoluted, twisted human forms; the macabre air of the atomic bomb expressed by the use of dark tones. In Enomoto’s drawing, the blue mass of bodies contrasts the landscape as a possible allusion to how the echo of death stands out in the artist’s memory. In Kono’s artwork, the rough, unrefined strokes may be a reflection of the deformed, mutilated corpses left behind by the bomb.

As memories of the atomic bomb are now given visual representation in the real world (as opposed to mental images), the hibakusha are able to better digest the details of the event, encompassing how what they saw, how they felt at what they saw, and so on. These formulations are further solidified by the artists’ accompanying caption to the drawings— providing the abstract memory with concrete narratives and hence, bridging the implicit and explicit.

(b) The ability of the art to engage with the sensory core of trauma

As elaborated by Malchiodi, artistic expression, naturally employing the use of the senses (sight, touch, smell, sound), allows the individual to ‘tap into’ the sensory elements of trauma. [24] Survivors, like Kono and Enomoto, were able to project the visual memory of what they had seen onto the canvas. They are now actively externalising internal conflicts, thereby processing trauma through sensory means rather than intellectual- directly engaging with the ‘heart’ of the traumatic experience.

Simple verbal communication only allows the individual to describe the traumatic event in clear-cut words. They are deprived of traversing the sensory aspects of trauma, as the confines of language restrict the free portrayal and exploration of these emotions. In this way, art-making triumphs over verbal interventions as only the process of creating art ‘mobilizes the expression of sensory memories.’ [25]

Linking back to the initial observation made by Lifton, artistic expression represents the transformation of trauma, in that the hibakusha applies ‘aesthetic traditions and individual talents to evolve new ways of “seeing” [trauma] and giving it form.’ [26]

The shapeless notions of trauma are transformed into ‘tangible objects’ which they are empowered to physically alter. [27] Because the individuals are affecting the world around them by means of artistic creation, they realise the potential they have to ‘take action’- in our case, gaining control over the elusive nature of trauma. [28] Instead of hovering in the mind as languid thoughts, the traumatic memories are now given shape, which the hibakusha are able to mould and morph into forms they can comprehend, and hence, manage or confront.

Specifically, building a story around these memories implies, like all other stories, the imposition of a time and place setting. Pinning the event to a specific point in the individual’s life shifts the survivor’s perspective of trauma being continuous; they begin to view the event as but one part of the ‘overall life cycle,’ which includes other positive experiences and factors outside of the traumatic incident. By restricting the expanse of the traumatic incident, the survivor ‘[avoids] the tendency to view herself strictly as trauma-bound’ and reshapes an identity integrating trauma, not solely based on it. [29]

At the same time, as they work on the artpiece, they are invited to approach the possible meanings behind the sensory triggers (in this case, visuals) attached to traumatic experience and why they may be so upsetting. [30] Kono and Enomoto, by creating these drawings, are effectively constructing the narratives necessary to link the implicit memory of the traumatic incident to the explicit. They are able to tie the harrowing subject of the drawings- the immense pain and grief felt in the face of the bomb- to a sense of chronology, recognising the event as something that occupies one definite spot in place and time. Anchored by these pieces of information, the ‘free-floating’ memory of the bomb becomes more defined and the hibakusha are able to grasp the event as past, and not an unending phenomenon.

The creativity and freedom of artistic expression empowers the individual to build narratives around the traumatic event. The construction of narratives, in turn, opens safe and conducive pathways for the individual to explore the emotions behind the memories, leading to greater engagement with the distressing nature of the traumatic memory itself.

While A-bomb drawings like that of Kono’s and Enomoto’s portray the gruesome sights as witnessed by the hibakusha, others centre around the eerie aftermath of the blast in an almost tranquil setting, conveying a sense of peace- the ‘calm after the storm’ so to speak- to encapsulate the hope of a promising future.

The Holocaust of Hiroshima by Ikuo Hirayama, courtesy of the Hiroshima Peace Media Centre (Hirayama).

In Ikuo Hirayama’s six-panel mural, the Holocaust of Hiroshima, the glaring red of the sky is as if the piece itself is hot to the touch- an evocation that pales in comparison to the true incinerating blaze of the bomb. The inspiration for the piece came after seeing the Flame of Peace burning in the Peace Memorial Park in 1979. [31] Combining both red flames, one symbolising peace and the other reminiscent of the bomb, Hirayama created the mural to represent the immortality of the city. [32]

Corresponding to Buddhist motifs, the red sky can be seen as reminiscent of a phoenix, and thus becomes not just an image of violence, but of rebirth. [33] Focusing on the sky, instead of the desolate city below, perhaps requests the viewer to ‘rise above’ the devastating experience and explore the vast possibilities of healing. In Hirayama’s own words, the Buddhist god of wrath in the top corner of the mural overlooks the city of ruin to ‘[tell] everybody to rise like a phoenix, to stand up and live for all eternity.’ [34]

Hirayama, in providing the memory of the blaze- which was undoubtedly rooted in tremendous sorrow- with newfound meaning and context, is an example of just how artistic expression aids the individual to understand, interpret, and cope with traumatic memories by the creation of personal narratives surrounding the event. Hirayama was able to transmute the memories of the blaze he had witnessed into messages of peace. Colours he ‘could not get rid of from behind his eyelids’ [35] were transfigured into vivid artwork and imbued with messages of hope.

Kono, Enomoto, and Hirayama are all demonstrations of the artist’s bid at making sense of distressing mental imagery by casting these images on paper. Step by step, as the hibakusha add another stroke to the artwork, they begin to explore the implications behind the colours they choose, the shape they’ve decided to paint, the texture they want to depict, and hence, the memory that plagues them. In his own words, ‘I believe that art can overcome hardships. I believe that flowers can blossom from anguish and inhumanity. You can overcome these things and make something beautiful.’ [36] While the macabre detail of Kono’s and Enomoto’s drawings may not convey the same serene beauty as Hikayama’s mural, I’d like to think the ‘beauty’ we discover lies not in the artwork, but in the healing and solace art-making helps us achieve.

List of In-Text Citations

[1] ‘Hibakusha’ roughly literally translates to ‘bomb-affected people.’ It encompasses victims who were diretly exposed to the bomb and its ensuing radioactive aftermath, as well as those exposed in utero. For the purposes of the paper, mentions of the hibakusha will largely be referring to individuals directly exposed to the bomb.

(“Who Are The Hibakusha?”) (https://hibakushastories.org/who-are-the-hibakusha/)

[2] Davis, 7.

[3] Lifton, 31.

[4] Ibid, 11.

[5] Ibid, 92.

[6] Ibid, 509.

[7] “The brain processes perceptions and stores them as thoughts, emotions, images, sensations, and behavioral impulses. When these stored items are recalled, that is memory. For a piece of information to become a memory it must traverse at least three major steps: encoding is the process of recording or etching information onto the brain; memory storage is how and for how long that information is kept; and memory retrieval accesses the stored information, bringing it back into conscious awareness.” (Rothschild 26-27).

[8] Rothschild, 39.

[9] See ibid, 28-31, for an explanation on implicit and explicit memory.

[10] See ibid, 12, for an introduction into the role of the limbic system in memory formation.
[11] Ibid, 66.

[12] Ibid, 44-45.

[13] Stahl and Williams, 7.

[14] Ibid, 6.

[15] Van der Kolk, qtd. in Crenshaw, 35.

[16] Stahl and Williams, 6.

[17] Dower and Junkerman, 123-124.

[18] Malchiodi, 21.

[19] Ibid, 1.

[20] Kono, qtd. in “NG241.”

[21] Enomoto, qtd. in “GE42-23.”

[22] Lifton, 23. See also 24-27.

[23] Ibid, 469. See also 26; 201.

[24] Malchiodi, 21.

[25] Steele; Steele and Raider qtd. in Malchiodi, 20.

[26] Lifton, 397.

[27] Malchiodi, 19.

[28] Levine, 28.

[29] Crenshaw, 35.

[30] Malchiodi, 21.

[31] Kubo.

[32] Ibid.

[33] Crawley, 2.

[34] Hirayama, qtd. in Rand.

[35] Ibid.

[36] Ibid.

Bibliography

Journals and Periodicals

1. Crawley, Ciarán. “In the Fallout: Responses in Japanese Post-War Art to the Hiroshima and Nagasaki Bombings.” 2017. Massachusetts College of Art and Design, Research Paper.

https://www.academia.edu/36193850/In_the_Fallout_Responses_in_Japanese_Post_War_Art_to_the_Hiroshima_and_Nagasaki_Bombings. Accessed 18 October 2020.

2. Crenshaw, David. "Neuroscience and trauma treatment." Expressive and Creative Arts Methods for Trauma Survivors, edited by Lois Carey, Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2006, pp. 21-38.

3. Davis, Walter A. Art and Politics: Psychoanalysis, Ideology, Theatre. Pluto Press (UK), 2007.

4. Dower, JW and Junkerman, John. The Hiroshima Murals: The Art of Iri Maruki and Toshi Maruki. New York: Kodansha International, 1985.

5. Malchiodi, Cathy A. “Art Therapy and the Brain.” Handbook of Art Therapy, edited by Cathy A. Malchiodi. The Guilford Press, 2003. pp. 16-24

6. Levine, Stephen K. “Art Opens to the World: Expressive Arts and Social Action.” Art in Action: Expressive Arts Therapy and Social Change, edited by Ellen G. Levine & Stephen K. Levine, Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2011, pp. 31-42.

7. Rothschild, Babette. The Body Remembers: The Psychophysiology of Trauma and Trauma Treatment. W.W. Norton and Company, 2000.

8. Stahl, David and Williams, Mark. Introduction. Imag(in)ing the War In Japan: Representing and Responding to Trauma in Postwar Literature and Film, by David Stahl and Mark Williams. Brill’s Japanese Studies Library, 2010, pp. 1-25.

9. Thornber, Karen. “Responsibility and Japanese Atomic Bomb Literature.“ Stahl, David and Williams, Mark. Imag(in)ing the War In Japan: Representing and Responding to Trauma in Postwar Literature and Film, edited by David Stahl and Mark Williams. Brill’s Japanese Studies Library, 2010. pp. 269-302.

Websites

1. “Who Are The Hibakusha?” Hibakusha Stories, https://hibakushastories.org/who-are-the-hibakusha/. Accessed 14 October 2020.

2. “NG241.” Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, 2016, “http://a-bombdb.pcf.city.hiroshima.jp/pdbe/detail/26891. Accessed 15 October 2020.

3. “GE42-23.” Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, 2016, http://a-bombdb.pcf.city.hiroshima.jp/pdbe/detail/25844 . Accessed 15 October 2020.

4. Kubo, Yumie. “Summer of President Obama’s visit to Hiroshima: 52 significant minutes, Part 4.” Hiroshima Peace Media Centre, 2016, http://www.hiroshimapeacemedia.jp/?p=62820. Accessed 18 October 2020.

5. Rand, Robert. “Art, and Hope, from the Ashes of Hiroshima.” National Public Radio, 8 June 2008, https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=87963598. Accessed 18 October 2020.

Images

1. Kono, Hiroharu. NG241. 1945, Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, Hiroshima. “NG241” 2016, “http://a-bombdb.pcf.city.hiroshima.jp/pdbe/detail/26891. Accessed 15 October 2020.

2. Enomoto, Yasue. GE42-23. 1945, Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, Hiroshima. “GE42-23” 2016, http://a-bombdb.pcf.city.hiroshima.jp/pdbe/detail/25844. Accessed 15 October 2020.

3. Hirayama, Ikuo. Holocaust of Hiroshima, 1979, Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, Hiroshima. “Summer of President Obama’s visit to Hiroshima: 52 significant minutes, Part 4” by Yumie Kubo, Hiroshima Peace Media Centre, 2016, http://www.hiroshimapeacemedia.jp/?p=62820. Accessed 18 October 2020.