Friday, 21 November 2014

Osaka Prints - How They Were Made

Kunikazu, Actors with Dice Hats
There exists a document which is a first hand account of the entire process of the theatre artist’s work from stage rehearsal to the final production of the woodblock print. Written by Kawasake Kyosen, the son of the famous ukiyo-e artist Utagawa Yoshitaki, it was published in Japanese in 1938. The only complete copy that I know of in translation is in the Philadelphia Museum’s catalogue of the Theatrical World of Osaka Prints from 1973, edited by Roger Keyes. It’s an invaluable resource in a now out of print publication. Below is an account of the complete process which uses significant chunks of Kyosen’s original text. The account itself is charming and deeply personal, Kyosen talking about his father with real affection.

The piece begins with a description of the planning process for the New Year’s season of plays:
When the New Year performances had been decided on at the theatres, we would pick the scenes from the hit plays that looked like they would be popular and would make interesting scenes (a chilling murder from a ghost play for example), and these would be published. … the publishers would set out to theatres on opening day with the artists and the floor of the theatre would be spread with rugs. Tables were set up with brushes and paper, and all was made ready for the happenings on stage. The artist sat in the middle with the publisher and his clerks. Besides them, some first class female entertainers managed food and drink and things were quite lively.
Yoshtaki, Ghost at the Crossroads
Kyosen goes on to describe the urgency with which the artists were expected to work and conveys something of the fevered anticipation among the many kabuki fans awaiting the arrival of the first of the new season’s prints:
Prints for summer and New Year’s performances would be issued in quarter block format (chuban) as diptychs, triptychs, even five and seven sheet sets. No matter how well theatre prints were designed, if the faces of the figures were not the exact likeness of the actors they would not sell at all and the publishers took a terrific loss. The publishers were at pains to obtain the services of the very best portrait artists and sent them presents to encourage them to finish his commission even the least bit sooner than others. My father Yoshitaki and others were usually beseiged for their actor portraits by several publishers.
Yoshitaki, Yorimitsu no Minamoto Fighting Hakamadare and his Magic Snake
He next goes into detail how the production process was managed
Hirosada, Actor Riding a Deer
Going to the theatre and sketching scenes and actors live was nothing more than a formality. We had drawn the same scenes so many times that there was no need to see them over again, but the publishers had to show their enthusiasm and put on their own little show. …publishers wanted to put their prints on sale a day, a half day, even an hour earlier than their competitors, and they kept after the artists to to finish the ‘block copies’ (hanshita) quickly. An artist with two or three orders from different publishers would keep them all satisfied by passing out panels of triptychs one at a time to each of them in rotation, enabling them to get started on the engraving as soon as possible.
The block copies were nothing more than an outline drawing on thin Mino paper with no colour at all. The designs and the detail were not subject to the publisher’s approval, but left completely to the artist’s discretion and the artist sent them directly to the engraver without the publisher even seeing them. The engraver pasted the block copy face down on a piece of cherry wood. The head arms and legs were done by the skilled specialist - the ‘head engraver’ and the rest was done by the regular craftsmen. When the key block was finished he sent it to the printer who printed up sometimes twenty impressions on thin Mino paper which he then sent to the artist with a request for colour indications (irozashi).

Once finished, the set was was returned to the engraver who pasted them on on both sides of cherry blocks, engraved and re-labelled them and returned them to the printer. The printer sent proofs to the artist with a request for comments on colour balance.

The work had to be finished within two or three days at the most and slips were occasionally made in the hastily carved colour areas. The artist might suggest that the sky should be darker blue or the brown blacker, the red shaded at the bottom etc. When these changes were carried out, editioning would begin.
Kiyosada, Actor as Moronao
From the above it is possible to see how the artist was given the most importance in what was also a hugely collaborative effort. Sole responsibility for the look, design, colour and composition, as well as likeness and detail, lay with the artist. Relationships between the artist, printer, and carver must have been very close and each must have been able to trust the judgement of the other in the progress of the work whilst under such a tight deadline. The publisher, who is often characterised as being interfering or grasping, comes over as highly accommodating and not overly keen to change the direction of the artist’s vision. Kyosen then goes on to discuss the final editioning process:
The first printing was called ‘block-letting’ (ita oroshi) and consisted of a stack of two hundred impressions. Additional impressions were printed on demand also in groups of two hundred. It was customary to give two or three impressions of the original edition to the artist. Since everything from the sketch to the finished print was left up to the artist, the publisher had no idea of what to expect as a result. But he was used to this. When a fine print came out he was delighted and set it out for sale in the front of his shop where customers were already waiting. The first edition would sell in no time at all and edition would follow edition, to his great gain. This is what happened when the portraits were well received. But the opposite could happen too, and sometimes not a single impression would sell, to the publisher's loss, and an entire edition would never see the light of day. Most portraits lacked the actor’s name and people recognised them from their faces and crests, so it was essential to work the crest pattern somewhere into their costume. Fans of the various actors would compete with one another to buy prints, and would mount them in albums to preserve them.

The above is a general account of how theatre prints were made. They were not like today’s prints at all, which imitate the effects of painting, but rested close to the artist’s heart and showed the qualities of the true woodblock print.
Hirosada, Kataoka Ichikawa
This marvellous description is a unique insight into the production of Osaka actor prints. It shows how incredibly popular were both the actors but also the artists and their prints. This idea of people queueing, minute by minute, for the latest print is very exciting and especially so when bearing in mind the touching nature of Kyosen’s final valedictory comment that these great prints: "rested close to the artist’s heart and showed the qualities of the true woodblock print".

The piece was originally published in Kinsei Insatsu Bunkashi Ko, 1938, pp. 46-48.

Masterpieces of Osaka Printmaking is at the Toshidama Gallery from 21st November 2014 - 2nd January 2015.

Friday, 10 October 2014

Reassessing Kunisada

Kunisada, Actors in Mirrors 1832
Utagawa Kunisada (1786-1865) known in his lifetime as Toyokuni II and in our time as Toyokuni III, remains one of the least appreciated artists of nineteenth century Japan. What follows here is not an academic appreciation - there is plenty of information on the internet regarding his life and times - although, tellingly there is not a single half decent book on his works in print at the time of writing. Rather, to coincide with a show at the Toshidama Gallery, I found myself trying to look at Kunisada’s woodblock prints out of the context of the assumptions normally made about his position in the field of ukiyo-e.

Kunisada’s conservative life is well enough recorded. He was born into semi-prosperity - a solid Edo merchant class family - and apprenticed very young to the leading commercial woodblock artist of the day, Toyokuni I. For the first decade of the nineteenth century he worked as a competent pupil and by the 1810’s was widely appreciated as a coming and talented artist in his own right. He found early success as a theatre artist, much like his mentor, and in the 1820’s as one of the leading artists of female figures sometimes called bijin-ga portraits. There swiftly followed outstanding commercial success both for these ‘fashion plate’ prints and for his increasingly
Kunisada Bijin 1839
lavish and popular theatre prints which, with few exceptions, were to be the mainstay of his career until his death in his late 70s in 1865. He was without doubt the most successful and prolific Japanese artist for one hundred years and yet despite the lavish praise of the French impressionists in the late nineteenth century, his work and his achievements were dismissed by early 20th century Western academics as decadent and worthless and were again passed over in the new appreciation of Japanese woodblock prints of the late twentieth century, which favoured the landscapes of Hiroshige and the drama of Kuniyoshi, his two closest rivals and competitors.

Whilst all three artists - and there were only the three of them in terms of originality, stature and fame in the first fifty years of the 1800’s - produced prints of famous or beautiful women, each developed their own specialism. Kuniyoshi cornered the market in historical and monstrous subjects: warriors, heroes and legend; Hiroshige in landscapes and travel prints; leaving Kunisada the theatre as his primary subject. Kunisada’s artistic developments and his genius with colour, composition and daring innovation are disappointingly overlooked these days and he still suffers from the accusation that destroys an artist’s career - in the west at least - that of being commercial. For those of us in the west, it can be very hard (if not impossible) to appreciate the art of a very different time or culture. In so doing academics and museums naturally tend to tie unfamiliar art into pre-existing models, often with disastrous consequences. So it was with the art of Japan over the last 150 years. There is still little or no professional appreciation of Japanese woodblock prints anywhere. There are hardly any courses in the world that are dedicated to ukiyo-e, what information that is assembled is done more often than not by commentators who are either academics in other, unrelated fields or else by enthusiastic amateurs. The outstanding contributions to the study of Japanese woodblock prints are more often than not at the whim of dealers and sale rooms, hence 2009's groundbreaking show on Kuniyoshi at the Royal Academy London was guest curated by Izzy Goldman, the world’s outstanding commercial dealer in ukiyo-e from prints in the collection of the American enthusiast, Arthur R Miller a Professor of Law. Given Kuniyoshi’s status, this situation is more akin to the coterie enthusiasms of the eighteeenth century than contemporary academic study.
Kunisada, 1863

Japanese art then, has a history of outsiderism… even when taken seriously, it is ring fenced in the exotic and the outré. A good example of this is the recent bout of interest in shunga prints, again following a London exhibition this time at the British Museum in 2013, and another one on the same subject at the Fitzwilliam in Cambridge. Like the Kuniyoshi exhibition, the event was publicised as something exotic, strange and peripheral - the director of the museum feeling it necessary to ‘contextualise the exhibit’ in press releases. So what hope is there for Kunisada, the producer of wildly commercial prints of actors in what many see as garish or clashing colours?

Predictably, the academic appreciation of his work lies mainly in how much it can be connected to the ‘classical’ Japanese art that preceded it. In the introduction to Kunisada’s World (Japan Society 1993) the now out of print text book on the artist’s work, leading Kunisada expert Sebastian Izzard attempts to deflect criticism of the artist’s commercialism by locating his talent very firmly in the dry tradition of the bijin-ga portraits, ‘for which he is best known’. His early work is the primary subject of this book and other studies and for the same reason… there is something vaguely serious and classical in those muted and faded colours and in the soft attenuated forms of women of the floating world. These are prints and drawings that have all of the polite self-effacement of the old master, and his later ‘garish’ compositions can be explained away by that old enemy of the romantic genius… commerce. But what if we ignore the romantic genius and the polite beauties and embrace Kunisada’s real world? That world is the busy whoring streets of Edo Japan - the theatre doors brimming with gay female impersonators, underage male prostitutes, young boys and old dissolute actors; the red light district; the public crucifixions; the revolution that was stirring in the 1850’s… what if we see the work of Kunisada in the context of the largest city on earth at a time of crisis, persecution, enforced austerity and the sheer joy of escapism. What if we see Kunisda’s world as a celebration of the human need to escape privation and drudgery and to celebrate, however futilely, the chance to dream? For some insight into the real life of Kunisada’s Edo, I can recommend The Woman Without a Hole and Other Risky Themes from Old Japanese Poems by Robin D Gill, published by Paraverse Press.  In this extraordinary collection of senryu - popular verse of the time - there is revealed a ruddy and intemperate culture which relied on pleasure and stimulation of every kind with which to combat the rowdy and competitive city of millions.

Kunisada, Scene from Kabuki Play 1857
Kunisada, Hirai Gonpachi 1852
 In his outstanding and brilliant portrayal of the fantasy world of the Edo populace, as revealed by the kabuki theatre, Kunisada (and his colleagues) eschew the cultural elitism of the samurai class and dive instead into the world of hedonistic pleasure in which they lived and worked. In this context, his work comes alive. As soon as we stop trying to compare a print such as the suicide of Hirai Gonpachi - seen here eviscerating himself - with a fantasy portrait of a courtesan by Utamaro, Kunisada’s intentions and his personal territory become clear and distinct. In this context, there is no more similarity between Kunisada and Utamaro than between the former artist and Titian. Like his pupil and follower, Kunichika, Kunisada embraced not just kabuki theatre, but the world of kabuki. This world extended beyond the riotous stage to the dressing rooms, the stage door and into the Yoshiwara 
Utamaro courtesans
(red light district) itself. Kabuki today has an elevated, rarefied status similar perhaps to opera or ballet in the west. Kabuki in the nineteenth century was a very different thing altogether. Similar perhaps to the rowdy and bawdy English stage of the sixteenth century, the kabuki theatre was the repository of folk tales and contemporary dramas as much as soap operas and cable television are today. It was also a place of sedition and rebellion, an activity that was constantly monitored by government and frequently persecuted for its lack of morals, its hedonism and excesses. As the place of dreams for the populace of Edo, its amanuenses - the woodblock artists - produced works of art that acted as keepsakes for this kind of popular, urban longing. It is in this context that Kunisada’s prints as much as his significant output of illustrated books and shunga pamphlets needs to be seen. It is not for nothing that the other great expression of nineteenth century urban longueurs - the Impressionists - looked to the art of Kunisada for inspiration. It is precisely because of Kunisada’s late colour; those brash and astonishing combinations; because of his unflinching portrayal of urban life and his raw portraits of hard working actors and liminal figures that the impressionists and realists of Paris in the eighteen eighties littered their canvasses with his prints or copied his palette or drew Aristide Bruant in the manner of Bando Hikozaemon.
Toulouse-Lautrec, Aristide Bruant
Kunisada, Tokaido Road 1838
Kunisada’s innovations are often dismissed or passed over in the desire to place him in the classical tradition of Utamaro or Eisen. It is forgotten that Kunisada was making single sheet  polychrome woodblock prints of warriors of legend several years before Kuniyoshi was to make his name using the identical style and subject matter. Or that Kunisada, far from copying Hiroshige’s succesful forays into the Tokaido Road, had produced his own set of landscape ‘journey’ prints several years prior to Hiroshige’s ‘ground-breaking’ series. With his late work, in the many half length actor portrait series and especially his last great effort of looming okubi-e (big-head portraits), Kunisada shows himself a caricaturist (in the best sense) of extraordinary inventiveness. His compositions are those of the daring and confident artist, aware of his culture and happy to push hard to do the artist’s job - representing the experiences people already know but can’t quite see.
Kunisada, Actor Portraits Past and Present, 1863

Friday, 29 August 2014

The Flowers of Edo

Clockwise from top left: Toyokuni I, Kunisada (Toyokuni III), Yoshitoshi, Toshihide, Kunichika, Kuniyoshi.
The current show at the Toshidama Gallery is titled The Flowers of Edo. The phrase (edo no hana) was an ironic and popular saying in the eighteenth and nineteenth century to describe the devastating fires that ravaged Edo (Tokyo) with horrifying frequency. Edo had grown dramatically during that period to become the largest city in the world; nevertheless it was far from the teeming concrete, brick and stone metropolises of London, Chicago or Paris. Edo was a tightly crammed medieval city of self built wooden and straw houses with paper walls. There was no electricity or gas and hence the only method of heat and light were the dangerous naked flame andons. The active fire brigade (the Hikeshi), were an essential part of the city's infrastructure and the only defence against the devastation that afflicted the citizens. Add to that the relatively frequent earthquakes and it is little surprise that the citizens coined the ironic gallows humour of edo no hana to describe the anxiety under which they lived.

But, this show is not about the fires of Japan… the phrase played into the sophisticated humour and word play that characterised nineteenth century Japanese coteries. The exhibition is full of such examples of allusion, wit, puns and hidden meanings. Mitate, a phrase that exploits this very Japanese phenomenon, describes a picture (or poem in fact) where the apparent subject matter is a disguise for some other, entirely different meaning. Whilst mitate is predominantly familiar in Japanese prints as the means to avoid desperate censorship imposed by the failing government of the 1840’s, it predates these strictures by a century or more as a device of purely intellectual pleasure. Hence the phrase itself - The Flowers of Edo - is a complex mitate whose meaning at this distance is elusive and to some extent meaningless.
Kunisada, Yozakura Cherry Blossom at Night, 1848
Edo was a city of flowers. Those areas that remained undeveloped were given over to the planting of flowering trees, plum and famously cherry. At certain times of the year, when the blossom was at its height, it was fashionable to view the rich and abundant blossoms in an organised, ritualistic fashion. The activity is called hanami, and goes back as far as the eighth century appearing for the first time in literature in the epic novel of the period, the Tale of the Genji. Blossom viewing traditionally is accompanied by picnics under the trees and of course romance. Cherry blossoms as a symbol, as a theme and as illustrations for kabuki plays were extremely common in Japanese prints. Flowers generally were laden with allusions and there are countless print series by great Edo artists such as Yoshitoshi, Kunichika and Kunisada which compare actors, characters or heroes to the qualities of different blooms.

Kunichika, Flowers & the 12 Months: October
The phrase spread further than the allusions to the great fires and the prevalence of flowering trees. It became common to refer to both ukiyo-e artists and kabuki actors as the "Flowers of Edo".  This of course leads to immense confusion with the distance of time. In Kiyochika’s series Patterns of Flowers (Hana Moyo) of 1896, for example, the flowers of the title refer to the women illustrated in each very fine triptych. In the current exhibition, we are showing a superb print by Kunichika from 1880: A Comparison of Flowers and the Twelve Months: October (Maple Leaves). Each of the months is itself paired with flowers and there is an explicit comparison between the roles of the actors and the flowers. Kunichika shows Ichikawa Danjuro as Ishikawa Goemon, the famous Robin Hood character of Japanese kabuki, and like Robin Hood, loosely based on a real historic figure. Goemon was a prolific thief who attempted an assassination on Mashiba Hideyoshi. In the kabuki play, Goemon has taken up residence in the vermillion temple of Nanzenji, although in reality Goemon was captured and sentenced to be boiled in oil with his young son, in an iron kettle still called a goemonburo (Goemon Bath), the subject also of many grim ukiyo-e. The place of Goemon’s capture, Nanzen-ji Temple, is famous for its maple leaves; the japanese tourist board remark, 'When you climb up to Sanmon, one of the three great gates of Japan, the view of red-colored leaves can be enjoyed in 360 degrees. Kabuki fans may be familiar with Ishikawa Goemon's line inspired by this place: "A magnificent view! A magnificent view!"  Inside the premises, the combination of the brick aqueduct and autumn foliage is a popular place to snap photos because of its old-fashioned feel.'

Kunisada made a very fine series of prints in 1863 which used the same conceit, Popular Matches for Thirty-six Selected Flowers. In one of the best prints in the series, Heron Grass, Kunisada pairs the white herons and black crows on the kimono of Ume no Yoshibei, played by Sawamura Tossho II, which symbolize innocence and bad luck respectively with the heron grass in the upper right cartouche from the series of flowers (pictured right).

Kunisada, Flowers of Edo, 1865
"The Flowers of Edo" was made famous in 1865 by a huge print series and collaboration of twenty-one leading artists of the Ukiyo-e era. Kunisada designed the outline for the Edo-no-Hana Meisho-e series and his kabuki actor portraits feature on every sheet in the set. The title of the print series Edo-no-Hana Meisho-e translates as The Flowers of Edo: A Collection of Famous Places. In this example, "The Flowers of Edo" was used to describe the finest features of everyday life, as experienced in the various districts of Japan’s capital during the mid-nineteenth century. Included within the scope of the work were examples of outdoor beauty, inspirational examples of ancient accomplishment and creative excellence. The prints show images of famous kabuki actors, natural landscapes and celebrated Japanese myths and legends. The prints also present classical songs and poetry, advertisements for popular commercial products of the day and historical accounts that are associated with each of the locations being examined. The series illustrates perhaps better than any other, the diversity, complexity and connectedness of Edo culture. For this great civilisation there were few important cultural hierarchies… hence restaurants, national heroes and actors and poets had equal billing as examplars of taste. Referring almost certainly to this set, Kunichika designed in 1872, Flowers of Edo or Kunichika's Caricatures (pictured below right). A series of actor portraits which rarely, if ever bother to illustrate flowers other than some blossom in the cartouche.

Kunichika, Flowers of Edo
"Flowers of Edo" then, could well be translated as the best of Edo. The best views, the best actors, the most beautiful women, the most handsome men… and of course the finest artists. Outstanding among these are Toyokuni I (1769-1825), Kunisada (1786-1865), Kuniyoshi (1797-1861), Hiroshige (1797-1858), Yoshitoshi (1839 - 1892) and Kunichika (1835-1900). They are an unbroken master-pupil line that covers every year of the nineteenth century. From Toyokuni I in the opening years of the 1800’s, each artist has built on the style, technique and skill of their mentor or colleague. As a body their work reveals, explores and uncovers the fears, superstitions and hopes of a unique and vibrant culture that grew, peaked and finally expired with the onslaught of western consumerism and technology. The subject matter - actors, famous views, historical heroes, beautiful women and war - barely changed for one hundred years and the consistency of methodology, despite enormous social change, is remarkable.

The exhibition at the Toshidama Gallery reviews the entire century of these extraordinary artists, beginning in the first decade of the nineteenth century with the groundbreaking actor portraits of Toyokuni I. Outstanding here is a modest portrait of Sawamura Gennosuke as Ume no Yoshibei in an unusual format. From Toyokuni’s adaptation of classical eighteenth century ukiyo-e to the the demotic, populist demands of the theatre, there emerged a new, vigorous and endlessly surprising type of art. Dismissed for years as being ‘decadent’, the mid-century works of Kuniyoshi, Kunisada, Yoshitoshi and Kunichika are simply outstanding. Not only do they describe a vibrant, curiously modern culture, they also can now be seen to exert a powerful influence on the birth of European modernism.

It seems very appropriate then, to describe these artists and their beautiful work as the "Flowers of Edo". It is to be hoped that the west comes to appreciate these creations for what they are… The best of Japan.

Friday, 30 May 2014

Images of Men and Women in Japanese Woodblock Prints

Toshikata, Samurai and Landscape, 1887
The current exhibition at the Toshidama Gallery shows twenty-four prints of men and women, all of them from the nineteenth century. Immediately obvious is how, despite stylistic and technical development, images of men remain pretty consistent throughout the period; yet women go through a noticeable transformation, stylistic and conceptually, from compliant and decorative beings to bold and active, sometimes threatening individuals. Roles change as well: most female likeness is restricted to the genre called bijin (beautiful woman) during the early part of the century; their roles are principally in entertainment - prostitution or working as Geisha (another type of prostitution). By the close of the century they are not exactly train drivers or politicians, but they are all doing something, and that was very worrying for the men.
Kuniyoshi, 108 Suikoden: Ryuchitaisai, 1827

Japanese culture was in crisis for most of the nineteenth century. Economic upheaval resulted in redundancy for the samurai class, who nevertheless were able to retain their privileges until the 1860’s. Migration from the countryside and the creation of a road network introduced an explosion in middle and merchant class citizens who were ambitious and anxious to create a place for themselves in the growing urban scene. Women’s roles as peasant wives or prostitutes were also under stress as changing values loosened traditional restrictions on both occupations and domestic activity.

Revolution in 1864 - 1868 finally finished the samurai class as a significant force in society, imposed newly imported western values of trade, probity and morality and released the pent up potential of the merchant middle class. Social and gender anxiety inevitably followed swiftly on these radical upheavals. The change is evident even in this small selection of prints. As previously mentioned, the males held onto their traditional self image of warriors and the descendants of the honourable and noble heroes of past histories. Compare for example, Kuniyoshi’s ideal warriors from the 108 Heroes  of the Popular Suikoden in the 1820’s (above right) with Toshikata’s lonely General standing in the bucolic landscape of the Japanese foothills (top of page) and we can gauge the same sense of defiance, fortitude and strength. How different though is the image from 1843 of the lovelorn Ono no Komachi, seated decorously on a bench (below left) from that of Kunichika's 1876 Okane from Ohmi, effortlessly carrying a wooden pail whilst stopping a galloping horse dead in its tracks with her foot (below right).

In so many ways, these prints chart Japanese society in its most crucial period of change almost better than any comparable documents. The century begins with images of men and women that reinforce the traditional, feudal roles of people in a society unchanged for hundreds of years. Women are the repository of beauty; and men are the guardians of the mother country - bound by codes of honour (the bushido) and by archaic and seemingly nonsensical laws and duties that demand of them absurd commitments to loyalty and tradition. This position is indeed glorified throughout the first half of the century and reinforced in that other great barometer of social change, the kabuki theatre. As the social climate changes in the 1830’s, there is a surge to nostalgia with both artistic and theatrical revivals of historical epics such as The Chushingura, the saga of the Soga Brothers or the numerous depictions of the Minamoto clan and their martial victories. These great prints served  as a corrective to the rapidly disintegrating fabric of the old shogunate. Resentment becomes apparent in the early 1840’s when, in a bid to hold onto power, the Shogunate introduced strict laws limiting the subject matter not only of kabuki dramas and their associated artwork, but also historic subjects that might be seen as reflexively critical of the current regime.

Hiroshige, 100 Poets Compared: Iga no Tsubone
Artists responded with the invention of new genres that enabled some critique of culture without seeming to break the letter of the law. Mitate, as they are called were a popular way around the restrictive laws (the Tenpo reforms); prints which, like cryptic crosswords, stand in for something entirely different to the thing being drawn. Mitate and other genre prints demonstrate at the least a spirit of popular dissent and importantly, they encouraged artists to look around for subject matter that would be acceptable to the censors. One area of rich potential for the kabuki theatre and subsequently for woodblock artists was the lives of the townspeople. Hence we start to see fewer historic plays from the canon of historic drama and increasing numbers of subjects drawn from the merchant class and the increasingly popular  early versions of newspapers. Plays and prints abound with grocers, noodle sellers, prostitutes, tea house employees and porters as their principal material. A new modernism creeps into representations of women - here are women washing their hair, in wooden pails or on the street, fishing, relaxing in contemporary interiors or else promenading unaccompanied by men. Women’s new found freedoms, especially after the revolutions of the 1860’s, led to a great deal of anxiety in men. Women were now seen as noble, brave, capable and bewitching as shown by nearly all the illustrations in the great collaborative series A Comparison of the Ogura One Hundred Poets of 1847. In this extraordinary set of prints by Hiroshige, Kunisada and Kuniyoshi, women are chosen from history and paired tenuously with great poems, the link being set as a puzzle to the reader. What distinguishes this series as opposed to say, a typical series by Eisen, is that the women have been chosen because of their strength, fortitude, loyalty and piety - exactly the attributes normally attached to male heroes. Here we have Iga no Tsubone, exorcising the ghost of a vengeful general, or Tamamo no Mae - a frightful witch who is in reality a fearsome nine-tailed fox - or the pious and loyal Hotoke Gozen, giving up the favours of a retired Emperor out of loyalty to her friend. These are named women… women with personalities and identities, paragons in some ways and something quite new in a previously patriarchal culture.
Eisen, The Courtesan Nagadaydu, 1830

Of course, it was not all the sisterhood in harmony with men towards the great leap forward. There are still plenty of examples of decorative women and brutal males. As the influence of the west became stronger in Japanese culture in the 1880’s so did the malign hand of western christianity, with its stuffy manners and probity, its constricted morality and misogyny. We start to see women being bound by Edwardian dress codes and, at the instigation of the Meiji Royal family, Japanese culture increasingly adopted the mores of Edwardian Britain or WASP America. By the end of the century, the peculiar hybrid of east - west culture had produced something like the confusion of identity that is still visible in Japan today… the outwardly unusual mix of the extreme and the conventional - a culture underground, as it were. I think though, that we can only marvel at the extraordinary confidence of the great, classical depictions of the floating world… those slender and exotic prostitutes of Utamaro, or the limitless freedom of Japanese shunga. Likewise, the often startling depictions of strong and determined women, carving out a life in the burgeoning pre-revolution of the mid-century is inspiring in its potential… the suggestion of a harmonious, modern culture, free of the crushing twin weights of capitalism and religion. Like all revolutions though, there is in these stirring prints only a hint of what might have been. In the end, trade, as usual, beats joy every time.

Friday, 18 April 2014

Kunisada and Kunichika - Two Men of the Stage

Kunichika, The Gang of Five Coming Home like Wild Ducks
What do most people know of kabuki? In the west, almost nothing. Modern kabuki occupies perhaps the same status as modern poetry in England: specialist and largely irrelevant. By looking at the woodblock prints from Japan in the nineteenth century it is possible to see that kabuki theatre was in fact the pre-eminent populist art form of a society on the verge of revolution - one that would change a backward looking feudal economy, not dissimilar to early modern England, into one of the most powerful and innovative economies in the world.

Kunichika, The Snow Bound Barrier of Love 1897
The driver for change was as usual, economics and a dissatisfied middle class. The expression of dissent was the theatre and the evidence for that is the extraordinary legacy of woodblock prints, principally those of two artists Utagawa Kunisada (1786-1865) and his pupil, Toyohara Kunichika (1835-1900). Their joint careers as theatre artists lasted from 1808: from Kunisada’s portrait of Nakamura Utaemon II as the monkey trainer Yojiro of 1808, to Kunichika’s late portraits of Ichikawa Danjuro IX in the last years of the 1890’s (see right). Within the body of work that they produced is a repository of the martial history of Japan, real and imagined; the principle folklore tradition of the people, their myths and legends as well as their local and national heroes; the embedded and implied history of dissent, including whole new genres of art that skillfully avoided censorship whilst at the same time showing a conspiratorial disdain shared by their vast audience; and an account of one of the most intensely popular forms of public entertainment in history, prior to the explosion of modern mass media with which it shares many parallels. Some guide is needed to negotiate the enormous and complicated body of work that was produced in this one hundred year period. But almost without exception, each of these great works of art can be appreciated for the exquisite draftsmanship, technical brilliance and astonishing creativity that they exhibit.

Kunisada, Actor Portraits Past & Present: Akoya 1863
Kunisada was a pupil of maybe the most influential woodblock artist of all time, Toyokuni I. Kunisada’s early work shows a huge debt to Toyokuni (Kunisada would later, and controversially, take Toyokuni’s name, calling himself Toyokuni III in later life). He was very successful as a theatre artist even as a pupil and young man and was instrumental in the wave of enthusiasm for kabuki that developed rapidly during the early years of the nineteenth century. Kabuki is light entertainment first and foremost. But as the history of rock and roll and some pop music in recent years in the west has shown, it was capable of also being the vehicle of popular dissent. Kabuki is loud, brash emotive, irreverent, immoral and chaotic… the same can be said for ukiyo-e prints of the theatre. Theatre prints are laden with exaggeration and with emotion and, like their subject matter, capable of sending very clear political and social messages to a wide audience. This message is not especially partisan as much as one of aspiration. The heroes of much kabuki are people striving for something better - in love, in social position, in fortunes… their misfortune was to live in a society which proscribed social mobility and existed upon punitive taxation and manifestly unfair hierarchy. The people found their aspirations satisfied through the theatre and through the fabulous and ingenious woodblock prints that were produced in sometimes vast numbers and at a rate of change that propelled the media from being a small business for collectors to one of mass appeal.

Kunisada, Soga Goro with a Radish 1820
The two artists in the current exhibition at the Toshidama Gallery chronicled nearly every aspect of the kabuki scene: portraits of actors, such as the three astonishing large head portraits; depictions of plays including the magnificent panoramas of triptychs whereby three sheets of prints are joined to make one large picture of the stage; mitate… where to avoid censorship the actor’s portrait is presented as landscape or historic scene; and memorials to great performances or the death of a popular actor. Both artists took full advantage of the explosion of technical innovation as it happened or in some cases leading the way. At the commencement of the century, woodblock prints were very restricted by paper quality (often coarse and very thin), the limited palette of mainly vegetable based ink colours and by the number of coloured blocks that it was possible economically to commit to each print. Comparing a typical print by Toyokuni I or indeed the early prints of Kunisada (right) with the very late portrait of Onoe Eizaburo as Akoya from the series, Actor Portraits Past and Present of 1863 (above left), it is hard to believe that they are either by the same hand or even in the same medium. The later prints of the mid-century have exploded graphically with a new confidence… they burst with the sheer exuberance of drawing and the pleasure of colour, surface and power. By the middle of the nineteenth century, partly as a result of the influence of the sophisticated Osaka artists, Edo printers were embellishing their designs with more and more luxurious techniques. Prints such as the Portrait of the Actor Ichikawa Ichizo from 1864 are almost leathery with the thickness of the ink, the burnished gums and dense sprinklings of mica that cover the paper. Reproductions alone do not convey the tactile and visual excesses of the surfaces of the pieces.

The relationship between the artists and the actors, the theatres and the publishers was intense. Actors were well aware of their enormous popularity - which was similar to Hollywood actors today. They were also aware that they relied upon the woodblock artists and publishers to publicise their performances and to help to build the cults that developed around them. I am reminded here of the photographer Mick Rock and his close relationship with performers such as David Bowie and Lou Reed in the 1970’s. Rock was closely in touch with David Bowie and his performances and was instrumental in sculpting the image of the performer and disseminating that image across a wide audience in just the way that Bowie wished to be seen. In one particularly striking image from 1972, Rock shoots David Bowie in the reflection of a mirror (above left)... how like the Kunisada portrait of Bando Hikozaemon as Kajiwara Heizo this is (above right) and how similar must be not only the intention of the piece but also the relationship between artist and subject.
Kunchika, 100 Roles of Ichikawa Danjuro 1894
The same can be said of Kunichika and Danjuro. Kunichika and Danjuro were not only colleagues, they were also friends although prone to dramatic fallings out. Kunichika produced vast numbers of Danjuro portraits, including his extraordinary and groundbreaking series One Hundred Roles of Ichikawa Danjuro from 1894… a compendium of the actor’s most popular roles (and a compendium of the Japanese theatre at the same time). The two men recognised the importance of each to the other. Danjuro was Kunichika’s principal subject and happily the greatest and most popular kabuki actor of the age. Kunichika was by far the most highly recognised theatre artist of his generation. They both recognised the rapid decline of kabuki and of woodblock printing as the century drew to a close. As a consequence they worked together in their own disciplines to reinvigorate their own discipline  - Danjuro, impresario as much as actor, wrote and staged new and more elaborate productions while Kunichika stretched the possibilities and the conventions of the woodblock print and moved it into areas of design that were cinematic and daring in their sparse and melodramatic composition.

Kunisada, Ichimura Uzaemon as Asagao-uri Take
Something that becomes very clear when looking through a large selection of these artists’ work is actually how innovative and radical they were able to be within the confines of an extraordinarily conservative art history that had changed remarkably little in centuries. The official art of the state was Chinese in origin and relied on very strict rules of aesthetics that led to a painterly dead end, potentially repetitious and unimaginative. Theatre prints were untied by convention and revelled in the rough and tumble of theatre life. In a world more akin to the stage door environment of fin-de-siècle Paris, artists and performers and patrons and fans lived by night, roamed the pleasure quarters and created a vital, living art form that was wholly in touch with the desires and the aspirations of the newly wealthy townspeople of Edo. I’d go so far as to say that there was nothing really cynical in the prints of these artists - no corporate sense of manipulation. These great prints are works by enthusiasts, in touch with the pulse of the then largest city in the world, and with the audience who would ultimately consume them. This is in that sense then, a wholly authentic artistic endeavour.

Many people rely on the old definition of ukiyo for an explanation of the characteristics of Ukiyo-e (woodblock prints)… Asai Ryoi described his world in 1661 as: Living only for the moment, turning our full attention to the pleasures of the moon, the snow, the cherry blossoms and the maple leaves; singing songs, drinking wine, diverting ourselves in just floating, floating; ... refusing to be disheartened, like a gourd floating along with the river current: this is what we call the floating world…

Kunichika, 36 Views of the Eastern Capital - Otoyo
This serves as well as any in some ways to describe this mystifying world of Kunichika and Kunisada… dream-like and mysterious, a world of the emotions… of desire and lust, of pride and solipsism. Leafing through the prints in the exhibition; at the two prints (mirrors of each other) of the great cat-witch transforming into a beautiful woman or being revealed by the guttering shades of an oil lamp; at the eager faces of the great onnagata who drift between actor and role like a child’s trick hologram… male to female and back again; at the warriors, all angered and contorted with rage and desire; at the commoners, driven by lust or pain or simple pleasure... I see the theatre as an arena for the soul of the townspeople, played out in often comical or exaggerated form. But nevertheless in these magnificent pieces of art, despite the layers of artifice… the make up and the conventions; the play acting and the confusing genders, I see a great drama of life as it was in Edo Japan, for real people and perhaps how it still is with us today despite (or in spite of) our many sophistications.

Friday, 14 March 2014

The Chushingura

Kunichika, Biographies of the Loyal Retainers
Maybe cultures choose the myths that suit their times or maybe it is the myth that inexorably shapes the culture which proceeds them. Either way there can be little doubt that myth and legend underpinned the culture of the late Edo period Japan in formative, disruptive and fundamental ways. Chief amongst the persistent stories of the nineteenth century was the much embroidered but intrinsically true tale of the 47 Loyal Retainers, later dramatised, embellished and gathered into a huge body of plays, stories, novels and kabuki dramas called the Kanadehon Chushingura (The Treasury of the Loyal Retainers).

The incident is straightforward, albeit hard for westerners to comprehend. For the Japanese of the late Edo, this event is the exact representation of dignity, courage, morality and, crucially, right and proper behaviour. In 1701 Lord Asano, a powerful and important ruler of the Ako clan, is at the shogun's palace making preparations for a formal event. Kira Kozukenosuke the official in charge of etiquette insults him and embarrasses him in front of others and Asano draws his sword, striking the official but not wounding him. The outcome is inevitable - it is an offence to draw  a sword in the palace and the penalty is death. Asano commits seppuku (ritual suicide), and the vast lands and estates of his clan are forfeit. His retainers - similar to knights in medieval Europe, and all samurai - are made Ronin, meaning leaderless samurai; and they too lose their positions and wealth. Asano's chamberlain, Oishio Yoshio (sometimes called Oishi Yuranosuke), himself a powerful man, vows revenge. In utmost secrecy he assembles 46 other Ronin who agree to revenge their former master (according to his final wish). It takes two years for the plot to mature - the Ronin must assemble arms, uniforms, equipment and provisions. They must work out a strategy which will enable them to storm the castle of the hated Lord Kira and all in the utmost secrecy. They attack the palace in 1703 and meet little resistance, Kira attempts an ignominious escape but is captured and beheaded. His head is wrapped in his nightshirt and the 47 Ronin process to Asano's tomb at Takanawa and lay the head upon the grave alongside a ceremonial dagger. Envoys are sent to various officials announcing their action and the Ronin hand themselves over to the government, awaiting their certain sentence of death. The Shogun and his advisers have some difficulty in deciding their fate since popular opinion is strongly behind the Ronin and there is also a great deal of sympathy from the other Daimyos. In the end, some of the Asano clan's land is returned and the Ronin are sentenced to death but given the honourable course of seppuku. All 47 are entombed with their master, and incense and offerings have been burned there continuously until the present day. They continue to be remembered as the ideal samurai, in film and television and as recently as 2013 in the movie 47 Ronin starring Keanu Reeves.

Kunisada, Chushingura Meimei Den
The actions of the Ronin seem strange and alien to us today but less so perhaps when seen in context. Japanese culture, owing to a rigidly enforced isolation, remained more or less medieval in structure and belief until the mid nineteenth century.  Ideals of sacrifice and devotion that were commonplace in the first century AD became embedded in every part of Japanese society. The practice of servants following their masters to the grave was commonplace, so much so that edicts in 647 AD and as late as 1607 strictly forbade it, though the custom persisted despite even official and martial disapproval. It wasn't until 1682 (twenty years before the Asano event) that the penal code was altered to put an end to the habit of a dozen or so retainers being buried alongside their Lord. It is hard to believe that as late as 1892 General Nogi and his wife committed suicide in order to follow Emperor Meiji to his grave.

It may feel a little patronising for us in the west to be mocking of these customs but the spirit, certainly, of the samurai is neatly summarised in Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade:
"Theirs not to make reply/ Theirs not to reason why/ Theirs but to do or die".
And in this commemorative year, the actions of millions of Europeans in the trenches of the First World War also share the same inevitable sense of dutiful immolation. But there is more at work here in samurai loyalty than first meets the eye. The traditions of Bushido, as it is sometimes known are not solely military, they are also religious. The social (feudal) structure of Japanese society has its roots in Buddhism, Confucianism and in the divinity of the Emperor. The phrase Yamato-Damashii, meaning "spirit of nation", was crucial to the archaic structure of Japanese culture and is the prototype of devotional loyalty that followed the collapse of Imperial strength and the rise of the military age under the Shogunate.

Kunisada, Stories of the Faithful Samurai
The other motivation in the actions of the ronin was vengeance. Japanese vengeance is different to mere revenge as we might see it in the west. Kataki-uchi is the phrase that describes vengeance upon those that wrong the parent or Lord. The idea is underpinned by Confucian ethics, introduced to Japan in the seventh century which commanded that a man could, "not live under the same sky as the slayer of his father". The great seventeenth century Shogun, Iyeyasu, acknowledged that "you and the injurer cannot live together,  under the same heaven. A person harbouring such vengeance must give notice in writing to the district court and carry out his design within the period stated in the notice". Thus vengeance was codified in law and remained so until the overhaul of the penal code in the nineteenth century. The actions of the ronin were thus inevitable and the outcomes a forgone conclusion. In the period 1609 - 1703 there were 33 'legal' vendettas carried out by samurai; and interestingly, 35 between 1804 - 1865, of which 19 were carried out by commoners - perhaps showing not only the changing face of Japanese society but the sympathy with which these acts were held.

Kuniyoshi, True Loyalty of the Faithful Samurai
So much for heroism and loyalty. The fact remains that the ronin did not abide by the law, for fear of being frustrated and despite the numerous hagiographies, the assault on Kira's compound was more or less unopposed and none of the Ronin were killed or injured. The first of the great ronin art is really that of Kuniyoshi's 1847 series Stories of True Loyalty of the Faithful Samurai - single sheet portraits of each protagonist. Whilst these portraits are often used to illustrate the "way of the samurai", Kuniyoshi does not represent any fighting; rather, each Ronin is pictured tackling nothing more dangerous than a curtain, a brazier, a small dog or a lantern. It is hard to resist the idea that Kuniyoshi is playing with something more complex and humane than mere hero worship. In these prints, the Ronin seem clumsy, diffident or polite - thoughtfully extinguishing fires with buckets of water and so on. These incongruous pictures of conflict are so very different from his series of prints of the Heroes of the Suikoden twenty years earlier. In these prints, the energy and muscularity of the subjects are barely contained by the margins of the paper and the grappling hooks, struggling horses and opponents, writhing serpents and so on are all vividly realised and very present in the picture.

Kuniyoshi, 108 Suikoden
Whilst the writers of Edo Japan were keen to make heroic epics out of the story of the Loyal Retainers, the artists were more equivocal. Print artists such as Kunisada and Kunichika were prolific in their depictions of the Asano rebels but only as a vehicle to represent the great kabuki acting stars of the day. Kuniyoshi was obliged by law to use the theatrical pseudonyms for the protagonists (eg Lord Asano becomes Enya Hangen and Kira Kozukenosuke becomes Moronao); however later in the nineteenth century, prohibition had come full circle so that confusingly, Kunisada presents us with portraits of kabuki actors in role but titled with the real name of the historical character.

The great narrative of the 47 Loyal Retainers occupies (and has done for centuries) a kind of atavistic longing in the people for a 'better' time. Just as today, cultures wish for a simpler, moral certainty by which to live, so did the failing culture of the late Edo. It found it in this story of honour and revenge, just as we do in westerns and other stories. The reality is inevitably more complex. The dramas of the chushingura can be seen as potentially critical of the establishment and certainly later as emblematic of a national spirit at odds with a failing and immoral government. Perhaps though the 47 Ronin are more significant as religious martyrs - confucian exemplars whose moral stance is essentially faithful to the founding tenets of the Japanese spirit. In the art of woodblock printing their significance is essentially diminished as vehicles for actor portraits, where the struggle for freedom and belief was less religious and more to do with the restless desire for enjoyment.
Kunisada, Chushingura Act XI - The Night Attack

Friday, 31 January 2014

Before and After Hirosada

Hirosada, Kataoka Gado as Hayana Kanpei
There is a clear division in the design and the feel of Osaka prints that occurs at around 1840. This is in part due to the hiatus caused by the notorious attempts by the failing Japanese administration to censor the arts - particularly the theatre - as part of a misguided package of moral and economic reforms. There were other, related factors that caused such a shift in the output and design of these remarkable prints, not least the extraordinary work of the woodblock artist Konishi Hirosada (ca 1810 - 1864).

To even the casual observer, there is a significant and unique difference that marks out the work of the Osaka printmakers from those of the metropolis of Edo (Tokyo). There is a style of drawing and characterisation that remained consistent among these two groups of artists who were both unique and skilled draughtsmen, and yet cohered to their own regional style. The physiognomy of the Osaka portrait is mannered to the point of near abstraction, something that is rarely discussed but has its roots in the particular style of the first Osaka theatre portraitists. Despite the constraints and uniformity of this formal style, it never quite contained the perception, compassion and brilliance of the best of these regional printmakers - the most notable being the extraordinary and desperately underrated Hirosada.

What then accounts for the distinctive style of the Osaka School? The influence is undoubtedly the work of the Edo artist Toyokuni I (1769-1825). Toyokuni founded the Utagawa School at the beginning of the nineteenth century which produced the three great Japanese artists of the century: Kuniyoshi, Kunisada and Hiroshige. His later work (of the 1810's) has suffered from the bad connoisseurship of the early twentieth century - the inappropriate use of classical taxonomy to critique Japanese art. This western approach to the art of Japan essentially presupposed that the archaic art of Edo (principally the 18th century) was equivalent to the archaic art of ancient Greece and, following that model, the art that followed (the majority of the nineteenth century) was decadent and of no value. Whilst some value was placed on Toyokuni's early works, his later work was judged hasty and commercial. These days, this approach is mainly discredited by serious historians; this has not however translated to the sale rooms and works from the eighteenth century still command a premium in excess of their true worth.
Toyokuni I, Nakamura Utaemon IV as The Nursemaid Komori
Hokuei, Nakamira Utaemon IV as The Monkey Handler

As far as Osaka is concerned, we are looking at Toyokuni's later theatrical prints which were 'exported' to the province and which quickly came to influence the early woodblock artists of the 1810's. By the 1820's, artists such as Hokucho and Hokuei had developed a style that owed a great deal to the Utagawa School - the oban format, the triptych of figures against theatrical backgrounds and the schematic drawing of often over-large figures of actors, remarkable for their economy and presence. Within this Edo style though their is an undoubted primitivism - one might say provincialism that informs the drawing style and the conception not only of the design and the composition but also the arrangement of space on the page.

Comparing the Hokuei and the Toyokuni illustrated above, the similarities are immediately clear. They share the oban format, a similar tonality and colour scheme and the same angularity in the drawing of the features of the actor. Not seen is Toyokuni's frequent fondness for black, and his innovations in putting more and more scenery and stage furniture into the backgrounds, especially of triptychs. But the principal difference comes not from artists but from actors: Edo was the home of the aggressive kabuki style, aragato (wild acting) performed by the Danjuro clan. This involved a great deal of heroism, fighting and display. The provincial city of Osaka preferred the wagoto style which was thoughtful, sensuous and self-effacing. The portraits of these wagoto style actors were therefore bound to demand a melancholy and static approach from the printmakers.

Kunisada, Okubi-e of Ichkawa Danjuro VI
The congress between Osaka and Edo continued with many (or most) of the great Osaka artists apprenticing themselves to Toyokuni or his successor Kunisada. Kunisada’s influence on what might be called the second wave of Osaka artists was huge (likewise, the influence of second wave Osaka printmakers on Kunisada’s late Okubi prints is equally important, as illustrated to the right) and it is not fanciful to see the Osaka artists of the 1840's as an extension of Kunisada's own practice. One thing to note is that there are almost no Osaka prints that are not yakusha-e (actor prints), hence artists such as Hiroshige and Kuniyoshi exerted very little or no influence in the region until much later in the century. The defining moment of change is typically assumed to be the devastating Tempo reforms of 1842. In fact the drift towards a stylistic upheaval which saw the universal adoption of the smaller chuban format, (also the rise of the deluxe, limited circulation print and the use of complex dye colours), and the boldness and originality of the mature drawing style, although typified by Hirosada, was in fact instigated by Sadamasu in 1841 (see below left). The Tempo reforms of 1842 were an austerity measure similar to that pursued currently by the British Government: an economic package designed to boost the economy and a moral crusade that was randomly associated with moralising self improvement. The effect was the closure of theatres, the outlawing of prints that depicted actors and the persecution of actors and sex workers. State censorship effectively closed the woodblock industry and strangled the artists’ livelihood. Morally improving prints were encouraged on themes such as filial piety, loyalty and devotion.

Sadamasu, Kataoka Ichizo as Mitsuhide Akechi
The effect was the creation of highly complex mitate - untitled prints of actors and performances masquerading as worthy subject matter. Prints were increasingly issued in limited, deluxe formats to small coteries of earnest enthusiasts, leading to the exquisite, jewel-like quality of these post-Tempo images. By 1850, the reforms had waned and artists were fairly free to print what they wanted, but the attributes of the former restraints lingered on. The great artist Hirosada had spent a great deal of time in Edo studying with Kunisada and returned to Osaka to work for a publishing house. His tentative designs of the 1830’s are unremarkable but his association with Sadamasu in 1841 (coinciding with the extraordinary and groundbreaking print of Mitsuhide left), led to a creative apotheosis that saw the first of his chuban head portraits following the experiment of his colleague. The Reforms followed six months later and it was five years before Hirosada openly began to publish actor prints once more. The following years are dominated by the mature Osaka actor portrait - deluxe pieces lavishly embellished with metallic inks and powders, rich pigments and thick papers. These are some of the best woodblocks to have been made either in or out of Japan. These dense surfaces are like miniature jewel boxes or cloisonné enamels - the rich and reflective colours bound by sharp, black key-lines and the portraiture contemplative, compelling and statuesque. These prints, made between 1847 and the late 1860’s are a strange hermetic world - dreamlike, serene and intensely moving. The academic, Roger S Keyes notes:

Hirosada’s prints are an  exploration of the depth and meaning of human relationships.  They are intimate and direct. Other Japanese artists had portrayed the timeless, fragile and unchanging aspects of human life. Hirosada celebrated the separate, unrepeatable, unique, human event. (Keyes, Hirosada, Osaka Printmaker, UAM/CSULB 1984 p18)

Hirosada, Mimasu Daigoro as the Playwright Namiki Shozo
Henry Rousseau, Portrait of the Artist
Hirosada’s mature work is the outcome of a collision between sophistication and ruralism; a rare occasion whereby the naive and the sophisticated knowingly combine to produce an art that is truly compelling; and there may be parallels here with a European artist such as Henri Rousseau, another regionalist who was keenly aware of the contemporary scene. Other artists in Osaka were to follow the stylistic changes that Sadamasu and Hirosada innovated. As the government grip on a restless population slackened, print production increased and some artists - Yoshitaki, for example - were immensely prolific. Others of astonishing skill such as Enjaku  and Yoshitoyo produced relatively few prints by comparison, although these are all outstanding in their own right. The quality of Osaka prints was to wane even as early as the late 1860’s. The revivals of the print scene that followed the 1864 Meiji Restoration in Edo did not happen in Osaka, and Yoshitaki is the last of the printmakers in the tradition of Hirosada. Certain of his prints - The Five Elements, for example - remain breathtaking in their complexity, technical brilliance and clever designs. Osaka woodblock prints have suffered the misfortune of being dismissed by certain critics and historians. They remain some of the very best art of the nineteenth century and some of the best portraiture anywhere. It is to be hoped that these remarkable and exquisite objects eventually get the recognition that they deserve.

Yoshitaki, The Five Elements