4. Sasajima Kihei (1906-93). Title unlisted but known to be one of a series on the Buddhist deity Fudo, 39/100,1963, woodblock, 30.5x22.8 cm. Signed K. Sasajima, sealed in kanji Sasa.
Hiratsuka, like Munakata, has been the subject of attention even in English-language materials, so there is not much need to discuss his role at length except to say that it has been an immense one. Since 1962, however, he has worked at his own pace and produces the occasional print of American scenery as the spirit moves him. During our early collecting period, when we had read the few books available, it was obvious that a collection of any significance would have to include his work.
Plate 5
Like all artists of genius, Hiratsuka makes his prints look effortless, but anyone who has ever tried to convey line, mass, tension, and emotion with only black and white will know the difficulties to be faced. Uchi Kongō Hyokunji (a temple name) demonstrates the artist's mastery as well as his devotion to Buddhism. The strong, assured lines make the weighty temple building appear to be a massiveness rooted in the earth, full of power and might. As the artist is the son of a shrine carpenter and the grandson of an architect, it is not surprising that he is especially skilled at reaching so unerringly to the heart of these imposing old structures.
Hashimoto Oldie was another near centenarian who passed away during the writing of this book. He studied seriously to be an artist during a regular four-year liberal arts college course, unlike so many of the early generation who were largely self-taught. He became an art teacher to earn his living, dabbling occasionally in printmaking for his own enjoyment. After retirement he still had several decades of print productivity. Gardens, castles, and other admired historic spots in Japan were his passion, possibly a result of his long friendship with Hiratsuka, who also loved old Japan. Hashimoto had taken one of Hiratsuka's printmaking courses in the early days and they became lifelong friends. To both of these artists we owe a debt for their recordings of historical and traditional Japanese scenes, which spurred us on to learn more about the history of the country.
Plate 6
Hashimoto's Osaka Castle, with its somewhat exaggerated scale of height of the moat walls and its clearly delineated stones, conveys the majesty of the stronghold and the esteem the artist felt for this remnant of the colorful samurai past. It is a quiet but masterful print.
Plate 7
Mabuchi Toru (who often spelled his given name Thoru), another of Hiratsuka's students, was also influenced toward things Japanese by his mentor. However, although he used the woodblock medium, his subjects were presented in a form resembling mosaic and pointillist imagery, inspired by his longtime interest in the art of Byzantium and of the French painter Seurat. His work From the Earth depicts five haniwa that somehow look rather decorative because of the Byzantine coloring and rhythmic design.
5. Hiratsuka Un'ichi (b. 1895). Titled on the reverse in Japanese Uchi Kongō Hyokunji (Inner Precinct of Hyokun Temple), unnumbered, undated, woodblock, 52.5x44 cm. Signed Un-ichi Hiratsuka, sealed on the image in kanji Un, printed in the right margin in kanji Hiratsuka Un'ichi.
6. Hashimoto Okiie (1899-1993). Titled in Japanese Taka-ishigaki to Tenshu (Osaka-jō) (High Stone Wall and Castle Stronghold [Osaka Castle]), 10/30, 1956, woodblock, 39.3x54.2 cm. Signed Okiie Hashimoto, sealed on the image Hashi, in the right margin in kanji Hashimoto Okiie saku (made by Hashimoto Okiie).
7. Mabuchi Toru (1920-94). Titled in Japanese Shutsu-do (From the Earth), 11 /50, 1961, woodblock, 56x41 cm. Signed on the image Toru Mabuchi, sealed on the image in kanji Toru.
As was the case with many who set out to collect the sōsaku-hanga prints, the works we were particularly fond of were all woodblocks. At that time those prints were the ones that held the most appeal probably because of subject matter. We did not even think particularly about their being woodblock prints; the themes were unfamiliar and captivating and that was their charm for us and for others. Perhaps that charm was a product of our initial response to the wonders of geisha, stylized gardens, Buddhist statues and temples, Shinto shrines, castles, and haniwa. All represented the eternal charisma of Japan, and these pioneer artists strongly felt an awareness of their roots in their chosen subject matter, even though they were leaning toward Western perspective and Modes of creating in executing their works.
About this time we parted, though only briefly, from the conventional woodblock and entered the inviting worlds of Mori Yoshitoshi's kappazuri (stencil prints), of Fukazawa Shiro's silk-screen prints, and of Ouchi Makoto's etchings. These artists also used traditional subjects like the Kabuki theater, legendary figures, folklore, or street markets, but the media employed were different and the subject matter was not quite so realistic. We embarked on an imaginative, thought-provoking journey not only because of the artists' creativity but also because we began to be aware of the different effects that could be achieved on paper with different printing methods. The subtle changes from realism to fanciful ideas and stories from the complicated repertoire of the Kabuki theater also intrigued us. Kabuki provided an inexhaustible source of inspiration for all three artists, and the addition of their prints contributed a new dimension to our collection.
After we met Mori Yoshitoshi, our collection grew by leaps and bounds. Mori seemed like a Japanese grandfather to us, and his passing at age 94 affected us deeply. Our various homes are filled with his works, which we number in the hundreds, and we never look at one of his masterpieces without recalling fondly the warmth and humor that he brought to every encounter. He was our Meiji-era connection and our oldest Japanese friend. During our long acquaintance he was responsible for much of the fun in our lives and enough earthy conversation to fill several books. Just as we became aware that our collection consisted only of woodblock prints he appeared on the scene as a stencil printmaker. Stencils had been used in Japan from time immemorial to produce designs for printing on textiles and Mori, in fact, had worked at this occupation for many years. He was more than 50 years old when he decided to carry this technique over to making works on paper.
Our friend Henry Steiner, a graphic designer whom we met in Hong Kong during our diplomatic posting there, had been much earlier enraptured by Mori's prints and suggested that we call on him in Tokyo when we were transferred, even providing a letter of introduction. We made the visit, unprepared for such a delight. But the greatest of all treats was to go to the Kabuki with Mori. This charming little man, whose entire life was bound up with the down-to-earth mores of Tokyo's shita-machi (the old downtown area), where his family had lived for generations, enjoyed with gusto the complex plots of the plays, appreciated the subtleties of the acting, and while not missing a beat of the story would sketch furiously all of the actors' dramatic poses (which he already knew by heart), while still finding time to clue us in on what was happening on stage. Later at his home and atelier, Mori would cut his stencils with breathtaking speed, defying not only the various laws of nature but also of common sense, since the very sharp tools that he used with such rapidity could easily have sliced off a finger.
Plate 8
His prints sometimes seem to border on caricature, conveying his innate spirit of fun. Kuruma-hiki, San Kyōdai (Three Brothers, Carriage Pullers [from the Kabuki play of that name]) is just the sort of humorous scene Mori loved. No amount of devilment was too much