The Sekino print mentioned above, Kichiemon, Kabuki Actor, appeared in 1947. In those days immediately following the war, the creative-print movement itself was in its infancy, paper was scarce, editions were hardly ever pulled in their entirety, and records were sketchy. I despaired of ever finding and owning a copy of this print.
Then one day we were invited to a major retrospective of Sekino's work at the Central Museum Gallery on the Ginza. We all know that hope springs eternal, especially to collectors, and so it was with high spirits that we looked forward to the show. Mary, our gallery manager, Nagao Eiji, and I, converging from different quarters at the agreed hour, planned to meet at the Central Museum Gallery at five o'clock. Eiji and I, having finished our respective appointments early, used the time to drop in at the Yoseido Gallery, for us at that time the main source of sōsaku-hanga prints. I inquired in passing, not really expecting an answer, about Sekino's works. The gallery staff had, of course, also been invited to the retrospective and knew of the interest that such an event would engender. "Why, yes," they said, "we do have something that you might be interested in." Out came the portrait of Kichiemon. I still savor the moment.
But there was a catch to this story. The price they quoted was enough to stop even the most dedicated and well-heeled collector in his tracks. The gallery kindly agreed to hold the print overnight. Even they knew that the price required a bit of further consideration and that the print certainly was at the acme of saleability with the retrospective show occurring just down the street.
At five o'clock Eiji and I met Mary at the opening, got in line, congratulated the artist, listened to the speeches, and drank the toast. Then while others dug into the lavish buffet that usually accompanies such openings, our little threesome scurried around the show, scanning every piece and especially checking the tags. Considering the status and reputation of the artist, prices were not too high, though certainly not inexpensive. Kichiemon's portrait was not there. I felt it, of course, poignantly beckoning from the "hold drawer" at the Yoseido Gallery, so I knew it was safe at least overnight. We almost decided on several other works to buy, but before that were able to speak with Sekino and ask about the prints in the show. Smoothly (or so I thought) I inquired about his portrait of Kichiemon. "Oh, I think that was one of my very best works," said Sekino. "Of course, it's gone now, but if you ever find one you should have it at any price."
2. Saito Kiyoshi (b. 1907). Maiko, Kyoto (S), 2/150, 1961, woodblock, 75.5x44.5 cm. Signed on the image Kiyoshi Saito, sealed in kanji Kiyoshi.
3. Sekino Jun'ichiro (1914-88). Titled in Japanese Keio Ka Hya-en (Keio Flower Garden). (The Japanese should be Keio Hyakka-en but Sekino was known to transpose characters as well as edition numbers. He normally made editions of 128 but some prints are marked 182.) 24/128, 1986, woodblock, 32.9x45.1 cm. Signed Jun Sekino, sealed in kanji Jun.
That did it. We quickly excused ourselves, and there are probably people even today who recall Mary being lifted up under each arm by Eiji and me and trundled with alacrity down the Ginza back to Yoseido to retrieve Kichiemon before they closed for the night or changed their minds by morning. Mary regretted having to leave so many beautiful prints back at the retrospective. However, one look at Kichiemon was enough. She gulped at the price, we paid it, and took it home. It is still one of the most expensive prints we have ever bought.
Sekino died in 1988, but the role he played as a teacher and influencer of many artists, including Iwami Reika and Miyashita Tokio, is amply evident in many of the prints in this book.
Since we have had the privilege of living throughout Japan, in Tokyo, Yokohama, Sapporo, Kyoto, and for the past twenty years back in Tokyo again, our collection embodies a certain breadth that our repeated geographic relocation provided. At the start we did not know very much about Japanese history, customs, and culture, but as we continued collecting prints we were able to use our curiosity about them as a tool to learn more. Although many artists live in Tokyo, our postings in other cities put us in close personal touch with those artists who might have been otherwise unavailable or inaccessible to the novice.
It was obvious at the beginning that we would have to learn more about the two major religions of Japan, Shinto and Buddhism, particularly because temples, shrines, and pagodas are everywhere. Sasajima Kihei's Buddhist prints and Hiratsuka Un'ichi's renderings of temple and shrine precincts helped one appreciate not only the architectural accomplishments of Japan's coexisting ancient religions but their influence on a multitude of art forms.
Sasajima passed away last year, and although I was sad to hear the news since we have many of his prints that we count among our favorites, I cannot honestly say that their creator was someone whose company I particularly enjoyed.
Sasajima was a loner. Born in Mashiko, a rural locale known for its mingei (folk art) pottery, he came to Tokyo as a school teacher and was first introduced to prints when he happened to take an art class for teachers that was taught by the great Hiratsuka, one of the fathers of the sōsaku-hanga print movement. In addition, his hometown friend, a Living Cultural Treasure for pottery, Hamada Shoji, introduced him to Munakata Shiko, another Living Cultural Treasure for prints, and so Sasajima was in good hands with the best teachers and excellent connections. But somehow he never quite fit in, being on really friendly terms with only very few people, such as Saito Kiyoshi, whose warmth embraced everyone.
Knowing of his difficult personality perhaps I should not have been so optimistic when I went to ask him to allow us to sell his work in our fledgling gallery. An unsophisticated man from the countryside, Sasajima made no bones about not intending to take up with a yet unknown gallery (ours) and refused completely, abruptly, and finally.
I attributed his refusal to a major operation he had just had, my bad timing, and his overall poor health. Later I realized that Sasajima was definitely from the old school with a strong feeling for prior loyalties and may have felt that in his weakened condition he might be able to fulfill his commitments only to those galleries with which he already had a connection and obligation.
Our feelings for this artist's works are ones of admiration. His vigorous black-and-white woodblocks of raging mountain brooks, rugged forests, and other facets of the strength of nature are powerful and dynamic. However, that first face-to-face encounter made a disagreeable impression, and I have always remembered Sasajima's tongue as being as sharp and direct as his carving tools.
Plate 4
The uncompromising effect of black and white is this artist's forte. The untitled print of a Buddhist deity shown here was but one of a myriad of nearly similar compositions that he devoted his time to in his later years. The artist's desire to be a good craftsman is germane to his way of thinking about woodblock prints, and his starkly powerful works reflect this. The multifaced, multiarmed Buddha expresses another aspect of this artist—the importance of his religion. He hoped during his life to accumulate merit, as is the Buddhist belief, by producing thousands of these images, each one a prayer.
Hiratsuka Un'ichi, now aged 99, has lived in Washington, D.C., with his daughter since 1962, so it is hard to believe how much he had already accomplished in the print world in Japan before then. He is acknowledged as one of the stalwarts and