SAMURAI: Armor from the Collection of Ann and Gabriel Barbier-Mueller
Philbrook Museum of Art
March 12, 2025
If you’re anything like me—a shy scrawny dork who grew up in rural Rogers County watching shows like Power Rangers, Pokemon, and Dragon Ball Z and playing video games like Tamagotchi, Grandia, and Suikoden—you may have at some point felt that the country of Japan has somehow been marketing to you for basically your entire life.
You may have, in full earnestness, once (or twice) attempted to shoot a power blast out of your palms as a pre-teen, as I did; you may have hung scrolls of Japanese characters on your wall as a teenager, as I did; you may have a story of a half-hearted attempt to learn the various kanji and hiragana as a college student, as I do; you may have visited the country and read books on its history as an adult, as I have.
If any of these ring true, you may be, like me, a perfect viewer for Philbrook’s SAMURAI: Armor from the Collection of Ann and Gabriel Barbier-Mueller. SAMURAI offers a mind-boggling array of samurai paraphernalia from the bulk of the 2nd millennium AD, tracing the samurai’s evolution through the multiple power struggles between the Imperial Family and the various Shogunates, past the forced end of Japanese isolationism due to American intrusion in 1853, and into the Meiji Restoration and the modernization of Japan.
As a window into historical Japan and the ethos of Japanese craftsmanship, as well as a display of art and aesthetics, it’s a massive accomplishment, and deserves to be visited and savored. Around every corner, I found something to gasp about.
It’s a real shock to see even a single full set of 15th-century samurai armor in Tulsa, Oklahoma, much less around a dozen. These pieces are complex: one single helmet, for example, contains iron, shakudo (a Japanese fusion of gold and copper), lacing, silver, wood, brocade, fur, bronze, brass, and leather; it's a miracle of storage that these pieces still exist at all. Here, a golden Chinese lion emerges from the top of the samurai's helmet, extending his fearsome aspect far above the hairline.
The golden wings that spout from the top were, I learned from the explanatory material, a response to the introduction of guns to Japan by the Portuguese. Startled by the new phenomenon of gunsmoke during battles, samurai began crafting shiny, bespoke headpieces that would easily identify a warrior in heavy smoke.
Philbrook is at its best when it engages playful and academic sides simultaneously, something this exhibition does extraordinarily well. Multiple types of curatorial material, ranging from simple to extremely complex, help to effectively ground the exhibition; most of the questions I had about samurai armor were answered. Additionally, there’s a video on the creation of a Japanese sword, which I will probably go watch a second and third time. I also enjoyed “TEST YOUR SAMURAI STRENGTH,” a little experiential moment near the end, where a selection of 10-, 20-, and 40-pound weighted vests are available to try on, representing the average weights of the samurai armor suits.
There were times in my life when I thought my obsession with Japan was something to be ashamed of. It’s dorky; it’s cliche; it’s borderline weird. But as I age, and with the privilege of traveling to Japan and studying its language, I see that that cultural fixation has plenty to recommend it.
The history and culture of Japan—like the history and culture of any society—is complex, rife with both soaring good and deplorable evil, and if the study of it is taken seriously, it can increase the store of heart one has, I think, towards all human societies.
This exhibition brings under its ken a wide and misunderstood section of Japanese history, bringing viewers to terms with it in a way that will not happen again anytime soon here in Tulsa. The Japanese phrase “いきましょう” (ikimashou or ee-kee-mah-SHOW)—meaning “Let us go,” “Let’s go,” or “Shall we go?”—sums up my thoughts about it. It’s on view until August. Let’s go.
