Japanese Popular Print Culture – 1670s-1700 Appendix 1

Just to give you some idea of how important a book illustrator Hishikawa Moronobu was, please enjoy the following inventory. And also, please note that quite a few are signed ‘Japanese painter,’ Yamato eshi (大和繪師) – added after the references. Of special interest is the wording ‘ezukushi‘ in the books’ titles, a sure indication that the work was conceived as ‘a collection of pictures,’ not a set of illustrations to a text of some kind. I may well be tempted to add a few more references at some later moment.

Books illustrated by Hishikawa Moronobu[1]

Ehon, that is picture books dating to the 1670s, number a total of 6, Enpon, that is works of erotic content, numbering 12:

Buke hyakunin isshu (武家百人一首) 1 vol., 1672 [M 1; 1295]

Wakoku bijin asobi (倭国美人あそび) 1 vol., 1673 [S 213]

Ise Genji shokushi (伊勢源氏色紙) 1 vol., 1674 [S 80]

Wakashu asobi kyara no en (若衆遊伽羅之緑) 1 vol., 1675 [S 213]

Kyara makura (伽羅枕) 1 vol., 1676 [S 130]

Genji kyasha makura (源氏きやしや枕) 1 vol., 1676 [S 130]

Edo suzume (江戸雀) 12 vols., 1677 [M –; 1296]

Koi no shina makura (戀の品枕) 1 vol., 1677 [S 134]

Komurasaki (小むらさき) 1 vol., 1677 [S 134]

Hyakunin isshu zōsanshō (百人一首像讃抄) 3 vols., I/1678 [M 2; 1297]

Yoshiwara koi no michibiki (吉原戀の道引) 1 vol., 1678 [M 3; 1298]

Kokon yakusha monogatari (古今役者物かたり) 1 vol., 1678 [M 4; 1299]

Ehon zassho makura (繪本雜書枕) 1 vol., 1678 [S 93]

Koi no iki utsushi (戀の息うつし) 1 vol., 1678 [S 134]

Wagō dōjin (和合同塵) 1 vol., 1678 [S 213]

Ise monogatari kashiragakishō (伊勢物語頭書抄) 3 vols., 1679 [M –; 1300]

Hana no katarai (枕華の語ひ) 12 ōban, 1679 [S 182]

Koi no mutsugoto shijūhatte (戀のむつごと四十八手) 1 vol., 1679 [S 135]

In the 1680s, we see a total of 34 ehon or picture books, and 19 enpon or erotic works:

Ningen bureikō (人間不礼考) 1 vol., 1680 [M 5; 1301; S 176] 大和繪師

Ogurayama hyakunin isshu (小倉山百人一首) 1 vol., 1680 [M 6; 1302]

Yamato shinō ezukushi (大和侍農) 1 vol., V/1680 [M 7; 1303] 大和繪師

Yamato ezukushi (大和繪つくし) 1 vol., V/1680 [M 8; 1304] 大和繪師

Yamato mushae (大和武者繪) 1 vol., 1680 [M 9; 1305] 大和繪師

Tsukinami no asobi (月次のあそび) 1 vol., VII/1680 [M 10; 1306] 日本繪師

Nenjū gyōji no zu (年中行事之図) 1 vol., 1680 [M –; 1308]

Kōshoku itoyanagi (好色糸柳) 2 vols., 1680 [S 135]

Yamato yorozu ezukushi (大和万繪つくし) 1 vol., VII/1681 [M 11; 1309]

Ukiyo hyakunin onnae (浮世百人女繪) 1 vol., Q/1681 [M 12; 1310]

Sasage no emakura (さゝげの繪枕) 1 vol., 1681 [S 148]

Toko no okimono (床の置物) 1 vol., 1681 [S 171]

Iwaki ezukushi (岩木繪つくし) 1 vol., I/1682 [M 13; 1311] 大和繪師

Ukiyo zoku ezukushi (浮世続繪尽) 1 vol., I/1682 [M 14; 1312] 大和繪師

Onna kasen shinshō (女歌仙新抄) 1 vol., I/1682 [M 15; 1313]

Saigyō waka shugyō (西行和歌修行) 3 vols., I/1682 [M 16; 1314] 大和繪師

Byōbu kakemono ezukushi (屏風掛物繪尽) 1 vol., I/1701 [M 17; 1315]

Chiyo no tomozuru (千代の友つる) 1 vol., I/1682 [M 18; 1316]

[Tōfū hana no omokage (当風花のおもかけ) 1 vol., 16XX [M –; 1342]]

Konokorokusa (このころくさ) 2 vols., Q/1682 [M 19; 1317]

Tōeizan meisho (東叡山名所) 1 vol., II/1682 [M 20; 1318]

Kosode no sugatami (小袖のすがたみ) 1 vol., III/1682 [M 21; 1319]

Wakoku meisho kagami (和国名所鑑) 1 vol., IV/1682 [M 22; 1320]

Uchiwa ezukushi (団扇繪づくし) 1 vol., V/1682 [M 23; 1321] 大和繪師

Yamato no ōyose (大和のおほよせ) 1 vol., VII/1682 [M 24; 1322]

Ukiyo koikusa (浮世戀くさ) 1 vol., 1682 [S 88]

Makurae taizen (まくら繪大ぜん) 3 vols., 1682 [S 302]

Kaboku no makura (花木のまくら) 1 vol., 1682 [S 127]

Bijin ezukushi (美人繪ずくし) 3 vols., V/1683 [M 25; 1323] 大和繪師

Kachō ezukushi (花鳥繪ずくし) 1 vol., V/1683 [M 26; 1324]

Koi no minakami (戀のみなかみ) 1 vol., 1683 [M 27; 1325]

Osana najimi (於佐名那志美) 2 vols., 1683 [S 120]

Koi no tanoshimi (戀の楽) 2 vols., 1683 [S 134]

Koi no hana murasaki (戀の花むらさき) 2 vols., 1683 [S 134]

Tōsei sōryū hinagata (当世早流雛形) 1 vol., I/1684 [M 28; 1326]

Tōsei hina ezukushi (当風品繪ずくし) 1 vol., 1684 [M –; 1327]

Hana no kokakure (花の小かくれ) 1 vol., 1684 [S 182]

Fūryū setchōzu (風流絶暢図) 1 vol., early 1680s [S 196]

Chikuyō shijitsu (竹夭氏日) 1 vol., early 1680s [S 167]

Narihira honcho no shinobi (業平本朝のしのび) 2 vols., early 1680s [S 172]

Kokon bushidō ezukushi (古今武士道繪ずくし) 1 vol., I/1685 [M 29; 1328] 大和繪師

Sanza nasake no kayoiji (山三情の通路) 1 vol., I/1685 [M 30; 1329] 大和繪師

Wakoku shoshoku ezukushi (和国諸職繪つくし) 4 vols., II/1685 [M 31; 1330]

Genji Yamato ekagami (源氏大和繪鏡) 2 vols., IV/1685 [M 32; 1331] 大和繪師

Imayō makura byōbu (今様吉原枕) 1 vol., 1685 [S 80]

Imayō Yoshiwara makura (今様枕屏風) 1 vol., 1685 [S 80]

Yamatoe kongen (大和繪根元) 4 vols., I/1686 [M 33; 1332] 大和畫工

Kōshoku sewa ezukushi (好色世話繪ずくし) 2 vols., 1686 [M –; 1333]

Shinpan – Kōshoku hana no sakazuki (新枕―好色花の盃) 2 vols., 1687 [S 137]

Makura ezukushi (枕繪ずくし) 3 vols., 1687 [S 202]

Nasake no uwamori (情のうわもり) 3 vols., 1687 [S 172]

Igyō senninzukushi (異形仙人つくし) 3 vols., I/1689 [M 34; 1335] 大和繪師

Miyagino (みやぎの) 3 vols., late 1680s [M –; 1334]

And, finally, in the 1690s, we can identify 7 ehon, or picture books, and only 2 enpon, or works of erotic content:

Musha sakura (武者さくら) 1 vol., 1690 [M 35; 1336]

Tōkaidō bunken ezu (東海道分間繪図) 5 vols., 1690 [M ; 1337]

Yokei tsukuri niwa no zu (余景作り庭の図) 1 vol., V/1691 [M 36; 1307] 日本畫師

Wake no kongen (わけのこんげん) 1 vol., 1691 [S 213]

Kedamono ehonzukushi (獣繪本つくし) 1 vol., 1694 [M 37; 1338]

Wakoku hyakujo (和国百女) 1 vol., I/1695 [M 38; 1339]

Sugatae hyakunin isshu (姿繪百人一首) 3 vols., 1695 [M –; 1340]

Shinkan – Goreikō (新刊ー好色五れいかう) 2 vols., 1695 [S 136]

Aruhito no tazune (或人の尋) 2 vols., 1698 [M –; 1341]


[1] The M numbering refers to Matsudaira Susumu, Moronobu Sukenobu ehon shoshi (Nihon shoshigaku taikei, 57). Musashimura: Seishōdō Shoten, 1988; S numbers refer to Shirakura Yoshihiko, Eiri shunga ehon mokuroku. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2007. Just numbers refer to ‘Ehon, etehon, gafu mokuroku,’ in Ōta Masako (Ed.), Edo no shuppan bunka kara hajimatta imeiji kakumei. Kanazawa: Kanazawa Geijutsugaku Kenkyūkai, 2007.   

Japanese Popular Print Culture – A Critical Review – 1670s-1700 (Part 2)

From 1689 – as the earliest confirmed date – Moronobu also started designing single prints. Even though we  are now used to take for granted that there is something like Japanese prints, either single printed images, or diptychs and triptychs, or so, or prints belonging to a titled series of prints, this must have been some risky enterprise to begin with. We should not forget that this was very different in the late 17th century when there was no ‘print-buying’ audience at all. For sure, there are many many images of a religious nature, mostly sold at temples, and maybe popular images of Shōki, the demon queller, that one would paste at the entrance of one’s house to keep the demons out, or images of the Treasure Ship, Takarabune, that one would put under one’s pillow on New Year’s eve, so you might have an auspicious dream of Mount Fuji, a falcon, and eggplants. Also, there were many broadsheets, kawaraban, reporting anything mezurashii, unusual, news, in short, of scandals, killings, earthquakes even, anyway news that the bakufu wanted to keep out of the ‘press,’ explicitly forbidden in the city of Edo as early as 1673, so we may conclude that they did exist. But making a print of a group of dancing actors in 1689 and trying to sell it, with no clearly defined market that would be willing to buy such an image, was no doubt quite some risky investment. Alas, we don’t know who this daring publisher was. But maybe, he was inspired by the success of the sale of the individual plates of the Appearance of the Yoshiwara (Yoshiwara no tei よしわらの躰), that was probably published originally in the format of a set of plates in a wrapper, or maybe as a scroll, or bound up in some way, that were offered for sale as twelve single plates in the late 1680s by the publishing firm of Yamagataya Ichirōemon of Tōri Aburachō, Edo.

An additional problem with many so-called ‘prints’ by Moronobu, is that it is often difficult to tell whether these were, indeed, issued in the format of single prints to begin with, or whether we are actually looking at a plate that was detached from some album. In later times, we would be assisted by a signature and the mark of some publisher – that would normally be absent in the case of bookplates. But in the early days, the absence of some signature doesn’t really mean anything. It was simply quite exceptional to add a signature, be it on lacquer works of all kinds, on pottery, or even on paintings, both those sold by the local painters, eshi, and the ones made by established painters receiving commissions to make works that would be mounted as folding screens. Essentially, all of these ‘works of art’ – as we now see them – were made by craftsmen, the notion of works of art being something to start dreaming of more than two centuries later. Apart from the presence of a signature and a publisher’s mark, it would be best to look for vertical formats that would not be plates detached from some album – and there go all 28 ‘prints’ listed in Higuchi, all being horizontal sheets.

Hishikawa Moronobu: A woman reading to a man, late 1680s. Possibly a single print, maybe an album plate. Anyway, typical of Moronobu’s style. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

As for Moronobu designing single prints, there might be two in the 1670s, twenty-three in the 1780s, and three in the 1790s, indeed, provided they were actually designed and issued as single prints. As for his contemporary Sugimura Jihei, we know of one actor print datable to 1678, four single prints for the 1680s, and three prints that we cannot date.[1] Then, there are ten more designs datable to the 1680 that might also be attributed to Jihei, and six more that are more difficult to date. Although Torii Kiyonobu started illustrating books as early as 1687, his earliest single prints seem to date from 1696. This at least is a vertical composition with a publisher’s mark, making him possibly the first to design single prints if we want to be on the safe side.[2] He would continue to design such single prints of actors of the popular kabuki theatre in role, dating from the 1700s and 1710s, to be discussed into more detail in the next section.

There remain still many questions to be answered related to the first couple of decades of popular printing. For example, are the publishers of single prints the same as the publishers of picture books (I hope to come back to that later)? And what is there really beyond the picture books with plates by Moronobu, Sugimura Jihei, Moroshige, Kiyonobu, and Tomonobu? And also, we shouldn’t forget that paintings may have been much more important than these picture books, at least we know quite some names rather from paintings than from picture books or single prints. And don’t forget, if you don’t work/produce, you have nothing to eat, this is not a vocation, it is work so you can live. Also, we must realize that these picture books were probably aimed at a real well-to-do part of the Edo population – and this was probably not very different in Kyoto with the books illustrated by Yoshida Hanbei.

What is really interesting – and I’ll come back to this again later on – Moronobu signed quite a number of his books Yamato eshi, that is Japanese painter (1680s) and also Nihon eshi, also Japanese painter (1690s), probably so as to make it clear that he considered himself working in a Japanese style of painting, not the Chinese-influenced Kanō manner of painting. Also Sugimura Jihei uses the Yamato eshi as a prefix to his signature (1680s). Interestingly, Yoshida Hanbei uses Rakuyō eshi, Kyoto painter (1686).

Just looking back at the Genroku period, it must be said that the Chronology of Edo in Musashi Province (Bukō nenpyō [武江年表], I-105), mentions Hishikawa Kichibei (橘町菱川吉兵衛) [i.e. Hishikawa Moronobu (菱川師宣)] of Tachibanachō, the same (i.e. Hishikawa 菱川) Kichiemon (同吉左衛門) [died 15/II/1662], Furuyama Tarōbei (古山太郎兵衛) [i.e. Hishikawa Moroshige 菱川師重], Ishikawa Izaemon (石川伊左衛門) [aka Ishikawa Tomonobu?), Sugimura Jihei (杉村治兵衛), Ishikawa Tomonobu (石川流宣), Torii Kiyonobu (鳥居清信, lived 1664-1729), and Hishikawa Sakunojō (菱川作之丞) [i.e. Moronaga 師長]. Moreover, it also makes mention of Miyagawa Chōshun (宮川長春) coming up around the Genroku-Hōei periods (1688-1710; lived 1683-1753).


[1] This is a print of Tamagawa Sennojō as Izutsu and Suzuki Sanshirō as Narihira, after a performance in the Ichimura Theatre (KN 1:132). See Higuchi 1.

[2] The print portrays the actor Sodezaki Karyū as Tokoyo no mae, in the play Shitennō yome kagami, performed at the Morita Theatre in XI/1696 (KN 1:203), published by Shichirobei.

Japanese Popular Print Culture – A Critical Review – 1670s-1700 (Part 1)

In relation to Japanese prints, the three most misconstrued terms are the Primitives, the Decadents, and Ukiyoe. The Primitives refers to all print designers who happened to work prior to full-colour printing, first practiced from 1765 and becoming the standard from 1772; the Decadents refers to all print designers working in the nineteenth century, with the two exceptions of Hokusai and Hiroshige; and the third, Ukiyoe, has recently become a more and more common term to denominate all Japanese prints of whatever period and of whatever subject. The use of the words Primitives and Decadents is probably over by now, at least, that is what I hope. Anyway, even the Japanese have begun to recognize Kuniyoshi and Kunisada, maybe not really as designers of merit, but at least as designers of prints who deserve to be taken seriously. Although, in the case of Kuniyoshi, it is hard to say whether he is deservedly appreciated as one of the greatest talents of the nineteenth century, or just as a designer of prints of ghosts and torture scenes, or maybe as a supplier of designs for body tattoos, or for his prints of cats, or for his humour. These, at least, are the most common subjects for recent Japanese publications on Japanese prints, and I guess that publishers just hope that these may appeal to a younger audience. But maybe the most popular subject in present-day Japan may well be erotic prints and bookplates. And, indeed, for many Japanese, ukiyoe was always sort of synonymous with shunga, as became clear from the understanding nods in my conversations with taxi drivers and cooks when I sat at the counter in restaurants.

Although I will not contest the existence of something like a Floating World, the Ukiyo, probably best defined, or re-defined if you like, by Asai Ryōi (d. 1691) in his Ukiyo monogatari (浮世物語, 1666) as follows:

“/…/ living only for the moment, savouring the moon, the snow, the cherry blossoms, and the maple leaves, singing songs, drinking sake, and diverting oneself just in floating, unconcerned by the prospect of imminent poverty, buoyant and carefree, like a gourd carried along with the river current: this is what we call ukiyo,”

the earliest work that can tentatively be associated with Asai’s definition of this ‘floating world,’ ukiyo, is probably the so-called Hikone screen, an anonymous picture of a man talking to a courtesan and a party with three musicians making music, and two people playing sugoroku, dating to c.1624-44. Also Iwasa Matabei (岩佐又兵衛 1578-1650) is often mentioned as the founder of something like an ukiyoe tradition, even though we cannot really identify any painting by him that would meet the criteria. But almost by nature, screen paintings would not work to spread some notion or launch some new direction in imagery or handling of a theme.

Anyway, something that seems to be foreboding what this floating world might be, probably has its origin in Kyoto, with illustrated jōruri ballad books dating from as early as 1625, and becoming more common from the 1630s. Even before the official establishment of the Kyoto entertainment centre of the Shimabara, in 1640, there is already a lively tradition of courtesans’ critiques, pretty shamelessly discussing the qualities of various courtesans. From the 1650s, we also find simple kanazōshi novels with illustrations in Kyoto. We shouldn’t probably forget that Kyoto had been built and developed as a city from 794, and that Edo was, for sure, a rapidly growing city, but it would probably only be from about the last decade of the seventeenth century, the Genroku period (1688-1704) to be more precise, that we can see something like the beginnings of a typical Edo popular culture.

The earliest illustrated works published in Edo seem to date from 1657, when the city recovers from the devastating Meireki Fire of I/1657. From the late 1650s, we also find jōruri ballad books and simple kanazōshi novels published in Edo, and in 1660 even two critiques of courtesans, the Mirror of the Yoshiwara (Yoshiwara kagami 吉原かがみ) and the Yoshiwara Pillow (Yoshiwara makura 吉原枕). Indeed, from the 1660s, there is a small group of people publishing such popular works that discuss the qualities of courtesans and of actors of the kabuki theatre, or provide the texts of jōruri ballads and of simple novels, among them Urokogataya, Yamamoto, Yamagataya, and Masuya.

Hishikawa Moronobu: Double-page illustration from Pictures of Beautiful Women (Bijin ezukushi), 1683. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Rogers Fund, 1918 (JIB67a–c)

Looking for something that could be seen as a harbinger of something that might look like that floating world, we would probably have to focus on book illustrations or picture books to begin with, which brings us, indeed, to Hishikawa Moronobu (菱川師宣 1618-1694, act. 1659-94), who illustrates and designs eighteen books in the 1670s, another 53 in the 1680s, and still about nine in the 1690s. Please note that 33 of these 80 publications are works of an erotic nature, enpon, a part of his artistic oeuvre totally ignored (especially in Japan) until recently. This makes him, indeed, the number one illustrator of books, both novels and picture books, ehon, as well as erotic works, in the 1670s, in the 1680s, and, erotic works excepted, in the 1690s. He is soon, from 1680, joined by Yoshida Hanbei (吉田半兵衛 act. 1680-93, in the Kansai) – whom we can identify with seventeen books, all but six being erotic works – and from 1681, by Sugimura Jihei (杉村治兵衛 act. 1681-97) – for whom we can also identify fourteen books, and again, all but two erotic works.

The last designer to join these three early masters is Torii Kiyonobu (鳥居清信 1664-1729, act. 1687-1728), who actually moved from Osaka to Edo with his father in 1687, who had been working there painting the large billboards displayed outside the theatres, focusing on some of the dramatic moments in the play that was currently being staged. We can identify twelve illustrated books by him, four of which are popular novels, three are picture books dating from the 1690s, and five (only, I would almost add) are erotic works, mostly dating from the 1700s.

Foreword to Japanese Popular Print Culture – A Critical Review

Some time ago, I was reading a general history of Japanese prints that was at times interesting as it contained both information that I was not familiar with, and viewpoints that had never occurred to me. And yet, I was sometimes also really appalled by the oversimplification of the phenomenon of Japanese prints. And so, I began to take notes that might come in handy when I, sometime somewhere in the future, would find the time to sit down and pen down the ideas that I have developed over time and what I have come to consider as important.

In general, I can say that I am more and more convinced that it is due time to

◊ Pay attention to the often close interrelation between Edo and the Kansai, that is the cities of Osaka and Kyoto;

◊ Consider single-prints as just one format that cannot be seen separate from both illustrated novels of various kinds, collections of kyōka poetry (kyōkabon), and picture books (ehon);

◊ Also take into consideration books of erotic content (enpon) that were, until recently, totally ignored in Japanese discussions of Edo-period printing, resulting in a highly corrupted art history (but also in Western literature on Japanese prints, there isn’t yet a rewritten Utamaro monograph, taking into account that close to one third of his picture books is of erotic content);

◊ Avoid terms such as ukiyoe, bijinga, yakushae, and quite some other Meiji/Taishō constructs as well;

◊ Otherwise, I will try to base my discussion of Edo-period printing culture as much as possible on factual information, that is facts and figures.

I have always considered Binyon & Sexton the best discussion of the theme. It is clearly arranged by the Japanese periods, nengō, which sometimes makes sense, but at times, it is also totally arbitrary. But I immediately admit that my own subdivision, into periods of ten years, is equally arbitrary. Anyway, I’ll try to make it work by treating the decades more loosely when a certain phenomenon or new developments make such necessary or desirable. Sometimes, I will also break up a discussion of, let’s say the 1760s, into two, three or four, or more parts.

Coming back to the Binyon & Sexton handbook, this is really a quite impressive accomplishment, considering that Laurence Binyon (1869-1943) was primarily a poet, working at various departments of the British Museum, publishing many works on English arts, as well as on Asian, Japanese, and Persian arts. His four-volume catalogue of the museum’s English drawings came out in the years 1898-1907. From 1913, he was appointed Keeper of the Sub-Department of Oriental Prints and Drawings and only three years later he published the museum’s Catalogue of Japanese & Chinese Woodcuts (1916), which must have been at the base of the Binyon & Sexton handbook. Actually, this Japanese Colour Prints of 1923 came out in between his Court Painters of the Grand Moguls (1921), Drawings and Engravings of William Blake (1922), and Arthur: A Tragedy (1923). Of J.J. O’Brien Sexton we know only very little. We found him to be John Joseph O’Brien Sexton who lived 1866-1941. Otherwise, he is known from some series of articles in both the Studio and the Burlington Magazine in the 1910s.

Part One, Japanese Popular Print Culture – A Critical Review – 1670s, will be published this coming weekend.

Recognition, at last

The bad news may be that the exhibition of Japanese paintings that I curated for the Museo d’Arte Orientale, at Torino, scheduled to open next March 26, was postponed by one year. And we just hope that we can enjoy the opening at the Museo delle Culture at Lugano, next July. However, word already spread, as I came to realize yesterday when I received a very nice letter from a certain Mr. Bruno Filipponio, from near Salerno. He very kindly asked me ‘un immenso favore,’  understanding that this might cost me some problems, yet, he hoped I could and would honour his request, and send him a copy of my ‘Kakemono (mostra al M/A.O. di Torino) catalogo.’

Tani Buncho, 1763-1841, Self-portrait painting, possibly as a message to someone who commissioned a painting from him, that he was working on it, don’t worry, 1832.

And then, this gentleman is even so kind as to offer me something in return, and not just anything, no nothing less than ‘un caro ricordo di famiglia,’ or some treasured family heirloom, guess what, a copy of BOLLETTINO DELLA SOCIETA ITALIANA DI GEOGRAFIA (stampato fine 1900) – how could he know that I had been looking for this rare bulletin for many many years?

Indeed, Mr. Filipponio knows how to get things done. His letter, apparently typed quite some time ago on some old Olivetti typewriter, was then Xeroxed, so he just had to fill out the title of the catalogue of my exhibition that he would appreciate to get from me, typed using the red ribbon of his typewriter, and to sign his letter in blue ballpoint. I could almost picture some old man craving for the latest on Japanese painting, being ‘bitterly disillusioned’ as he asserts, ‘if I couldn’t honour his request.’ Yet, he did address his letter to ‘Leiden University, Olanda,’ so he would seem to have access to the internet.

Interestingly, he can also be found there himself. And not only as the torch bearer for the 1960 Rome Olympic Games! He is best known for actions like this, asking for books that are still being in print, not even out, but apparently announced somewhere, with a special interest in obscure titles dealing with philology, with Caravaggio, with art deco glass, the restauration of a church in Cuneo, or the cathedral of Parma, and in Japanese paintings from five centuries, in my case. In return, he offers ‘treasured family heirlooms,’ such as Pironti’s Osservazioni e chiose su vernacolo e dialetto, or Terra, trattato popolare di geografia universale.

He apparently already started sending these letters as early as in 1963, and though I was kindly advised to get the letter framed and hang it in my room, as he only seems to approach authors of international reputation, I must say that I was a bit sad to be considered worthy of being approached by him so late in my career.

If you would like to read more, or maybe join the Filipponio fan club (just for writers, I am afraid), check the internet for Bruno Filipponio, or the blog of one of my colleagues.

Could This Be the Poor Man’s Inrō?

A friend of mine who always comes with a present handed me this flask gourd saying “I think you can appreciate this.” “I sure can,” I said and thanked him. It obviously belongs to the larger category of objects known as sagemono (提物), items one wants to have at hand but preferably with one’s hands free, and thus suspended from the sash, the obi. As it is pretty small, measuring not even eleven centimetres from top to bottom, it can hardly have served as a water bottle of some kind. Maybe something stronger? Like sake or shochu? That too would seem quite unlikely. 

What we cannot fail to notice is that the bottom part of the gourd is somewhat discoloured, possibly as a result of what it used to contain. It was obviously carried hanging from one’s obi using a wooden netsuke carved in the shape of a peanut. A search on the internet learns that peanut cultivation started in Japan from 1875, notably in Kanagawa and Chiba Prefectures, but this set of a flask gourd and a peanut netsuke would date from much earlier. Indeed, a search for the Japanese word for peanuts, rakkasei (落花生), tells us that these were first introduced into Japan in 1706, often going by the name of Nankinmame (南京豆) or ‘Nanking nuts.’ The Dutch East India Company? 

The peanut-shaped netsuke is fastened to the gourd by a silken cord that is led through a hole in the wooden plug of the flask gourd, and then wound around the narrow middle of the gourd. From the netsuke to the wooden plug, the cord measures almost eleven centimetres, absolutely no problem for the standard width of the 82 millimetres wide obi – if I may believe the one obihisami netsuke I have at hand. Still, all of this didn’t really help me getting a better understanding of the original function of the gourd. 

Until just two weeks ago, with some guests joining us for dinner who suggested that this could well be a container for some kind of medicine, something like a kusuri-ire if that could be what such a thing was called. As for its size, this would certainly be possible, and one can also well imagine that someone who is aware of his possible problems of health would like to always have some cure at hand. Trying to get some of the remaining contents out just yielded a very small bit of dust, probably not enough to find out more, or … maybe?

Anyway, it is very well imaginable that not anybody who had to be prepared to have to take his medicine regularly would also be able to afford some nice medicine cases of the inrō type, often lacquered, and generally offering space for three or four different kinds of medicine. But during much of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, these were also a most direct luxury item well-suited to show off. It is not for nothing that some writer in the early nineteenth century remarks that ‘nowadays, almost anybody carries an inrō, often not containing any medicine at all.’ 

The internet also tells – but never believe the internet is what I repeatedly told my students – that the ‘amino acid L-arginine in peanuts is helpful for improving sexual function in men.’ Is that maybe some allusion that the flask gourd is suggesting when you turn it 90 degrees to the right?

Kansei 9 Wasn’t 1797 All of the Time – Not for Kuniyoshi at Least

We are now sufficiently conditioned to automatically add one year whenever we find in older literature that Kunisada died in 1864. Indeed, he died on the 15th day of the Twelfth month of Genji 1 (1864), which corresponds with January 12th 1865 in our Gregorian calendar. Consequently, his dates are 1786-1865. We probably also know by now that Katsukawa Shunshō died in 1793, on January 19th, the date corresponding with the 8th day of the Twelfth month of Kansei 4 (1792) in the Japanese lunar calendar.

When I was recently working on my forthcoming monograph on Kuniyoshi, and worked out what would be the equivalent of the 15th day of the 11th Month of Kansei 9 (1797), the date of his birth, the outcome was January 1st, 1798. As I then checked how many times I myself had simply not gone to the trouble to check this in past publications, I was shocked, especially as I had already in 1988 worked out the correct date, but apparently forgot since.

However, in counting Kuniyoshi’s age, we will have to stick to the circumstance that he was born in Kansei 9 (1797) and then considered to be one year old, turning 2 just a month and a half later at the New Year of Kansei 10 (1798). Consequently, the drawing of Shōki that he would make ‘at the age of twelve’ was made in 1808, whereas we would only consider him twelve in the year 1809.

Kuniyoshi: Shoki, c.1847, not the picture he drew age 12

Then I decided to make a note in the margin of my copy of Roberts’ Dictionary of Japanese Artists so I will never make this mistake again, especially when I am again too lazy to check this properly, and I can advise everybody to do the same. And now that you start doing this, you may also want to add the correct dates for:

Kita Busei 喜多武清 (1776-1857) as he died on 1856-XII-20, or our January 15th, 1857; Akatsuki Kanenari 暁鐘成 (1793-1861) as he died on 1860-XII-19, or our January 29th, 1861; Ichikawa Kansai 市川甘齋 (died 1836), that is 1835-XII, our 1836-I or II; Torii Kiyomine 鳥居清峯, later Kiyomitsu II 二代鳥居清満 (1788-1869) as he died 1868-XI-21, or our January 3rd, 1869; Torii Kiyomitsu III 三代鳥居清満 (1833-1892) as he was born 1832-XII-14, or our February 3rd, 1833; Utagawa Kunisada 歌川國貞, see above; Utagawa Kuniteru II 二代歌川國輝, later Kunitsuna II 二代歌川國綱 (1830-1875) as he died 1874-XII-15, or January 16th, 1875; Utagawa Kuniyoshi 歌川國芳, see above; Izumi Morikazu 泉守一 (1766-1816) as he died 1815-XII-5, or January 3rd, 1816; Tsukioka Settei 月岡雪鼎 (1710-1787), as he died 1786-XII-4, or January 22nd, 1787; Yanagawa Shigenobu 柳川重信 (1787-!833) as he died 1832-XI intercalary month-28, or our January 18th, 1833;  Katsukawa Shunshō 勝川春章 (1726-1793) as he died 1792-XII-8, or January 19th, 1793; Kō Sūgetsu 高崇月 (1755-1831) as he died 1830-XI-20, or January 3rd, 1831; Kō Sūkei 高崇卿 (1760s-1844) as he died 1843-XII-21, or February 9th, 1844, at the age of 80+ — until here for the moment.

This discrepancy between the lunar calendar of Japan and our Gregorian calendar also explains why there are so many memorial prints, shinie, for the two kabuki actors Bandō Mitsugorō III 三世坂東三津五郎 (1775-1831) and Segawa Kikunojō V 五世瀬川菊之丞 (1802-1832) together. In the case of Mitsugorō we are talking of 1831-XII-27, actually January 29th, 1832, and Kikunojō died 1832-I-7, or February 8th, 1832, indeed, only some ten days later.

But then, we must realise that there are so many artists where we have no information on which day they died. We can only guess that some eight percent of all of them died somewhere in the eleventh or twelfth months, which would make it to the next year in our calendar. And that is just one reason why it is much more interesting to reconstruct exact dates for their periods of activity. 

Siebold’s Netsuke and the Otoman Zodiac Set

 Many years ago I gave a talk about the earliest Dutch collections of netsuke, as part of the comprehensive collection of Bunsei-Period Japanese artefacts held at the National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden. At that time, I had not really asked myself the question how and where Blomhoff (1779-1853, Opperhoofd at Deshima 1817-23), Fisscher (1800-1848, various positions at Deshima 1820-29) and Siebold (1796-1866, physician at Deshima 1823-29) made their collections of netsuke in the 1820s.

Recently, however, I came to realise that Blomhoff (10 netsuke) and Fisscher (40 netsuke) most likely assembled their groups of netsuke during the court journey of 1822, adding a few items made of porcelain that could easily be procured from shops at Nagasaki. As for Siebold, his group of 49 netsuke – omitting here a few items that came with tobacco pouches or inro – was most likely brought together at some curio shop, maybe in Nagasaki, maybe in Osaka, and offered to him as an ensemble. In a notebook used to keep track of all his acquisitions, Siebold records “A box of artworks in ivory, antler and various animal teeth, wood and porcelain” (Ein Kistchen mit Kunstarbeiten von Elfenbein, Horn und verschiedenen Thierzahne, Holz und Porzelein).

For Siebold, the interest was most likely as a group of objects that would go into the Sections IV-A and IV-B in the systematic catalogue of his ethnographic collection, Products from the Animal World, sub a: For arts and crafts, and Products from the World of Plants. Indeed, they are nine ivory netsuke, three made of deer antler, two in boar’s tusk, one in pot whale, nineteen in wood, and seven in porcelain.

A most interesting aspect of these three collections is the considerable group of unused netsuke, bought as new items in the shops, so we can finally see what a netsuke without its nice ‘patina’ looks like. At the same time, these can also help us get some idea how much use and handling these would need to get such a nice ‘patina.’ This goes for at least 30 netsuke in the case of Fisscher and for 36 in Siebold’s collection of netsuke. As for the items in the Siebold collection that were actually used, these are seven of the nine netsuke in ivory, three of these with signatures (an ox signed by Shūzan, a dog with a boar’s leg by Mitsu, and a Chōki by Shū/Hide), two out of three in stag antler, and four out of nineteen in wood — none of the porcelain ones.

Shoki the Demon Queller, one of Siebold’s ivory netsuke

Then there is also another group of ivory carvings – not netsuke – representing the complete set of twelve animals of the zodiac, carved in ivory by Otomitsu or Otoman.* This was apparently a special commission from Siebold, probably made just before he was placed under house arrest at Deshima as a consequence of the Siebold Incident when he was found in the possession of some maps of the northern outskirts of Japan after the storm of September 17/18th, 1828.

Otomitsu: ivory carving representing Rat on Daikoku’s bag
Otomitsu signature and date of X/1828 on the ivory carving of a Rat, as the first of the Twelve Animals of the Zodiac

It seems that Otomitsu started work on this set in December 1828 (Bunsei 11, Tenth Month, in the Japanese calendar), at least that is the dating on the figure of the Rat, the most likely subject to start with, being the first of the Twelve Zodiacal Animals. Almost a year later, the set was completed and on October 30th, 1829, Siebold got the invoice  for “Carvings by an artist from Chikuzen (present-day Fukuoka) representing the Zodiac – Koban 32,5” (Schneidewerken van een kunstenaar uit Tsikuzen verbeeldende den dierenkring – Kobang 32,5).

For Otomitsu, one koban would buy him his daily portion of rice for one year,  or alternatively 43 litres of sake, or 750 pieces of sushi, so probably quite a decent price for him and his family and assistants to live on during the time involved in making this set – he would also have to buy the necessary ivory. As for Siebold, the ‘32,5 Kobang’ would be the equivalent of DFl 390, slightly more than half a month’s salary for Siebold. As for the earlier mentioned ‘box of artworks,’ the price he paid was 250 Kobang, or something like DFl 3.000,00 at the time, not really a good buy, I would say.

*At present, the museum has only six of this set left, the other half was stolen, so you know when you see an Otomitsu/Otoman carving of a Tiger, a Dragon, a Goat, a Monkey, a Dog, or a Boar.

My Edo Period Bone Folder
🇯🇵私物礼賛

Out of interest in the materials used in netsuke carving, I bought a piece of stag antler many years ago at one of these antique/curio markets that regularly take place in Japanese cities. It is actually probably the smaller of the two beams (unlike European deer, Japanese deer have two) that starts from the pedicle, the larger beam cut off, until its fork where it splits into two, and it measures 29 cm.

It has served me most as something good to have at hand on my desk to keep a book open at some page when I work on my computer. Moreover, it always feels very good in my hand with its very smooth surface. And so, years passed using the piece of antler regularly, without ever wondering why exactly it felt so nice.

When I finally sat down and pondered why, and held the piece of antler in my hands, my thumb quite naturally falling in place with one of those smooth areas, I realised that my grip corresponded with all smooth areas, except one. That was the end tip of the antler that was actually smoothest of all. And only then did it come to my mind: this is simply a very useful tool that is part of the book producing process of the Edo Period, a bone folder, probably what is called a hera in Japanese.

My Japanese bone folder (top) and its European counterpart (bottom) on some folded sheets from a book written by Kyokutei Bakin and illustrated by Utamaro
My Japanese bone folder clearly showing the well-used tip

As the printed sheets of books – printed on one side only – came from the printer’s, they would be handed to a folders’ studio where a number of (mostly) women would make a living folding the printed sheets in half, text side out. These folded sheets would then be handed to the binders’ studio where they would be bound up to books in the then prevailing pouch binding or fukurotoji style.

From the Nihon shosetsu nenpyō, we know that some forty to sixty new titles of fiction alone came out each year in the 1790s. And from Kyokutei Bakin’s memories, Kinsei mono no hon, we know that these would often be issued in editions of 8,000 to 12,000 copies, sometimes even more when they were expected to be best-selling novels. No doubt, my bone folder has leaved through many more Edo period books than I myself. Maybe I should consider bequeathing it to the Edo-Tokyo Museum when I cannot use it myself to hold my books open anymore?

🇯🇵江戸期鹿角のヘラ

The Ultimate Utamaro Exhibition
🇯🇵至上の歌麿展

Today, I found Sebastian Izzard’s latest Asian Art Catalogue 15 in the post. Its cover features a detail of a print by Kitagawa Utamaro. Titled Pensive Love (Mono omou koi), or Wistful Love as it is called in the catalogue #23, it has a bust-portrait of some Japanese woman resting her head upon her right arm and staring to the ceiling (?). She is wearing a grey kimono with a repeated pattern of plovers, chidori, surrounded by numerous dots, over a kimono with a crossed pattern in yellow on a black ground, and an under kimono with a tie-dyed starfish pattern in purple. Otherwise, we can notice that her hairdo is fixed by just one wooden comb and one simple wooden hairpin, and finished with one metal (?) hairpin featuring a decoration of a stylised paulownia flower, kiri, and a purple ribbon. Moreover, her eyebrows are shaven, suggesting she is a married woman, or possibly some courtesan employed in the Yoshiwara licensed quarters of Edo, present-day Tokyo. Read more