Sekien was not a madman; he was a scholar. An ukiyo-e artist and a retainer of the Tsuyama clan, Sekien lived during the Edo period, a time of peace and burgeoning print culture. The rich merchant class of Edo (Tokyo) had money and free time, and they loved ghost stories. But they also loved encyclopedias.
A Karakasa Kozo (Paper Umbrella Goblin) hops past. It has one leg, a giant eye in the hole of its paper canopy, and a long, flapping tongue. Next to it, a Mokumokuren (a paper screen covered in eyes) slides by. These are minor annoyances, not killers.
The genius of the layout is that there is no hierarchy. The umbrella goblin is as visually loud as the giant skeleton. This flattens the fear. The message is clear: In the world of yokai, a talking lantern is just as significant as a god of plague. Why are we, in the age of CGI and slasher films, still obsessed with the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons ? Why do prints of a 300-year-old parade sell for thousands of dollars today?
In the humid, inky darkness of a pre-industrial Japanese summer, there was a sound that struck more fear into the heart of a traveler than the howl of a wolf or the crash of a typhoon: the faint, chaotic murmur of a festival where no festival should be.
Through the haze of ink-wash, you see the giant. The Daija (Giant Serpent) or the Gashadokuro (Giant Skeleton). These creatures are so large that they fill the sky. The Gashadokuro is formed from the bones of warriors who died in battle, never buried. It crushes cities.
Just don’t join the dance. Once you step into the Hyakki Yagyo , there is no stepping back. Have you encountered the Night Parade in modern media or art? The parade is always recruiting new demons—and new fans.
