Post #2: The Artist (Part I)

Following this initial connection, Ms. Davey and I stayed in touch. Over numerous email exchanges, I learned about Inukai and how Davey, and her late husband, John, became interested in his life and work (I will share more on this in a subsequent post). Davey asked me questions about the painting and encouraged me to try and trace its provenance- how did it end up at an antique store in Maine?

I called the store where I purchased it and spoke with the owner, sharing a little about why I was eager for any information about its journey. They contacted the seller from whom I had purchased it and then later relayed to me that he could not remember with certainty where he had found it but thought it was either at a “yard sale” or “the dump.” I was stunned (and also pained to have to share this with Ms. Davey). How could such an incredible work of art come to be, quite literally, thrown away?

I asked Davey if I could purchase a copy of Inukai’s memoir, “Confessions of a Heathen,” which she had published, and which also included essays by her, Anthony Jones, former Chancellor & President-Emeritus of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where Inukai studied, and others. Davey generously offered to send a copy as a gift. About a week later, it arrived in the mail with a handwritten inscription: “To Abigail, with my best wishes, Miyoko Davey, in New York, Sept. 19, 2021.”

Everything I know and am about to share about Inukai came from this book, or from Davey herself. There is scant scholarship on his work, outside of what Davey has painstakingly compiled through research and contact with family members. This was no small feat, period, but it bears mention that much of her work occurred pre-internet. When we met face-to-face nearly a year later, I would learn that she went through numerous phone books, from all over, calling anyone with the last name, “Inukai.” 

The story of Kyohei Inukai’s life, as unearthed and told by Miyoko Davey, is rich and complex, simultaneously tragic and full of promise, and reflective of the experience that many Asian Americans have had, and continue to experience, in our country today. This post will begin a series in which I share what is known about his life, in broad strokes. For a deeper understanding, I encourage readers to seek out a copy of his memoir, and have included the citation at the close of this post. 

Kyohei Inukai was born on March 15, 1886 in rural Tsukubo County, Japan (now Okayama Prefecture). An older sister, Kume, and older brother, Kenzo, preceded him. He exhibited aptitude for “music and the arts” at a young age, however this was only half-heartedly encouraged by his parents, who did not see the arts as a viable career path. Inukai also recalls in his writing that he had a “secret” desire for a military career, however his family would not have been able to afford military academy tuition. In 1900, when Inukai was only 14, his cousin offered to take him to America, specifically Hawaii, where he was embarking on a business venture. Inukai describes his idea of America at the time, “I had built in my mind of a vast country where fortunes grew on trees, where wealth was scattered upon the street, and where the air was filled with sunshine and laughter.” The trip to America was not meant to be indefinite, however Inukai would never return to Japan during his lifetime.

It was while staying in Hawaii that he enrolled in public school and learned English. It is also where he made the decision to pursue a career in art, despite his parents’ objections. In 1903, at age 17 and with the help of his cousin, Inukai relocated to San Francisco to enroll at the Mark Hopkins Institute of Art (now called The San Francisco Institute of Art) as its youngest student. He worked part-time for a florist in exchange for room and board. 

Inukai came to be well-respected by his peers and instructors at the Institute and developed a close circle of friends, which must have helped ease the difficulty of being far from his family. However, this was often overshadowed by the intense bigotry and racism that he, and other Asian Americans, were forced to contend with.

In his memoir, he discusses a local “newspaper” which, “under the banner of ‘Yellow Peril’ advocated not only for the policy of exclusion, but expulsion of the race in order to preserve the sanctity of the white man’s land and its noble traditions.” He writes further, “Wherever my people showed any competition the same reaction set in. Labor organizations, small farmers and shop keepers were joined with hue and cry by those who nursed the blind dogma of race hatred. New discriminatory measures were adopted privately and publicly and put into force without regard to their constitutionality.” 

It is during his time in San Francisco that he is brutally assaulted and beaten by a group of white men while on his way from school to work. He recovered physically, however the impact that racism and anti-Asian hate would have on his personal life and career, for the remainder of his life, is undeniable. The striking parallels of his experience to those of Asian Americans in the United States today, nearly 125 years later, is also undeniable. 

Three years into his studies, catastrophe struck. On the morning of April 18, 1906, a major earthquake occurred on the coast of Northern California. Subsequent fires raged for days, killed thousands, and destroyed more than 80% of the city, including the Hopkins Institute. This event would come to be known in history as “the great fire of San Francisco.” Inukai survived, and while surely traumatized, remained determined to continue his education. After a short stay at the home of a school friend in Kansas, Inukai made his way to Chicago.

Related references & links (post #2):

  • Inukai, K.(2014). Kyohei Inukai (1886-1954). (Davey, M. Ed.) (1st edition). 46 WSS Press.

The next blog post, “The Artist, Part II” will be released on Sunday, May 14. 

Photo of the book cover, “Kyohei Inukai (1886-1954). Depicts Inukai in a 3-piece suit, looking at the camera, with one hand on the hip and what appears to be an overcoat draped over the other arm.

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Post #3: The Artist (Part II)

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Post #1: The Painting