Floating Along...

I'm floating on over to a new site...

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 18:01:00 +0000

Not long ago, I began adding pages about 18th/19th century Japan to my web site. I think it would now be a good idea for my web site and blog to be in the same place, to make locating information easier, so 'Floating Along' is now moving over to a new combined site. No new posts will be added to this blog, but it will remain here for anyone who wants to come back and visit for old time's sake.

The new blog is --> here. It would be great if those of you who currently follow this blog via the blogger widget would follow the new blog. Networked Blogs followers need do nothing... I have shifted everything over to the new site already.

Blogger's been very good to me, but it's time to organise my base of operations (as I prepare for world domination).

The Complete Woodblock Prints of Kitagawa Utamaro - A Descriptive Catalogue

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 19:02:00 +0000

My third book has just been released; all 612 pages of it. 'The Complete Woodblock Prints of Kitagawa Utamaro: A Descriptive Catalogue' is a big doorstop of a book (very useful if you want to whack someone over the head), and the first of its kind on this specific subject.

The catalogue started out as a very personal project. When I first began studying Utamaro's prints in 1986, I kept a notebook where I recorded every one I saw. When I declared to Jack Hillier, in 1987, that I wanted to catalogue every single one of Utamaro's prints (which I knew numbered around 2,000), he did not bat an eyelid at the thought of so ambitious (it really was!) a project; he merely suggested that I allow twenty years and then handed me his own personal handwritten notes. The suggested time scale was spot on, and the notes were invaluable.

My one notebook became two, then three, and eventually six. A little while later, I progressed onto typed notes which were then bound into separate volumes when enough papers had accumulated. As information continued to be added each time a new print was studied, and the contents weren't alphabetised or arranged in any methodical order, looking up specific designs was a time consuming task and sometimes proved completely impossible. My notes were disorganised and getting more so the further along my research progressed. That's when I moved onto huge ring-binders and began adding retyped notes in alphabetical order. Over the next fifteen or so years, I accumulated twelve volumes of extremely in-depth notes and could finally find most prints if I put my mind to it, though the process was still a complicated one. In an attempt to make my research more readily available (to myself), I trimmed those notes down to seven volumes, with additional boxes of loose notes and photos (see photo below). My new system allowed me to find individual prints relatively quickly. The down side was that I had to put my back into it to pick up just one of the volumes, and I certainly couldn't take one of them with me, let alone all seven, when I went mooching through a museum or private collection. I needed a catalogue of Utamaro's prints that contained all of the vital information for identifying specific designs when out and about, not necessarily every factoid on the subject ever known to mankind. I needed a catalogue that was entirely portable. There was no such work, so I had to create my own, and it occurred to me that other admirers of Utamaro's work - museum staff, dealers, auctioneers, collectors, etc. - might find a use for it too. That's when work on the catalogue that has just been released began.

There's a biographical introduction, and then the individual catalogue entries are arranged into ten separate sections (single sheets, multi-sheets, series, etc.), with indices added at the back to allow a reader to look up a print by publisher, subject, or title (or by location in Shibui's 'Ukiyo-e Zuten' - my copy of this book has been used so much that it looks like it's been ravaged by wild beasts). The cataloguing of Utamaro's works was an ambitious (insanely so?) project; the largest I've undertaken to date, and I imagine the largest I will ever take on. It was also an extremely fulfilling project. I got to rummage through numerous collections - to see so many wonderful prints that just thinking about it makes my head buzz with glee.

There's a very odd feeling that comes with the release of such a work. Two decades of my life keep on flashing before my eyes. I've built the ship, tonight I'll smash a bottle of champagne over its bow to celebrate (ok, it will actually be a pizza, and there'll be no slinging it about), and then it will sail out to sea (the ship, not the pizza) and up the Amazon river. This must be what it was like for my mother when I first declared 'Mom, I'm leaving home'. I wonder if she wanted to snatch me up and lock me in a cupboard. I am reminded by my husband, who sits beside me insisting I acknowledge this, that the catalogue is an 'important' work. I wouldn't usually say such a thing about my own book (as I am as modest as I am brainy and beautiful, ha ha!), but there's no escaping the fact, and this produces a somewhat strange sensation for me. The other thing that's distinctly strange about all this is using my own book to look prints up... I must refer to myself, who knows more on the subject than I do. Most odd.

Anyway, farewell, dear friend... think of me from time to time, when you're gathering dust in the British Library, or propping up a table leg. Into the wild I release thee.

Seven reasons for divorce

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 00:46:00 +0000

The 'Treasure Box of Greater Learning for Women' was a short treatise, first published in Japan in 1716, and generally accepted as being the work of Kaibara Ekiken (1630-1714). It contained guidelines concerning the proper instruction of women and included a list of behaviours for which a man would be justified in divorcing his wife. I thought I'd share them here. Let's see how many of us would still be married today if these rules had continued to be followed!

1. A woman could be divorced if she showed disobedience to her father-in-law or mother-in-law.

Well, I've fallen at the first hurdle. Imagine having to submit to the wishes of your mother-in-law in all things... to the point where, even if the reason for a dispute were miniscule, she could insist that her son divorce you. I'd have rolled up my futon and hit the road about five minutes after saying 'I do'. Ok, I admit it, I wouldn't have lasted that long.

2. A woman could be divorced if she did not bear a child; the reason being that women were sought in marriage to give men posterity. A man who had a child by a concubine, however, would not have had reason to divorce a wife of virtuous heart.

And the second hurdle has brought me down too. No children. No concubines either, to save me from being shown the door. All was not lost though, if your husband happened to have an affair and got some other filly pregnant, you could adopt her baby and bring it up as your own to avoid being divorced... what fun. And if he did have an affair, consider the next reason for divorce before smiting him with a frying pan.

3. A woman could be divorced if she were jealous.

This print, on the right, is from a series by Utamaro called 'Variegations of Blooms According to their Speech' (Sakiwake kotoba no hana), published around 1802-3. The woman portrayed is a merchant's wife, and the text above her records her words as she reprimands her husband; the implication being that he has been seeing another woman. The purpose of the series was to highlight the traits amongst women that should be avoided; jealousy being one. In addition to complaining about the infidelity, however, the woman is complaining about her husband's parents. Consider the first reason for divorce listed here... this little lady's on very shaky ground!

4. A woman could be divorced for being lewd.

Ah well, in this I am safe, as I am always the model of propriety. I hear my husband laughing but cannot imagine why.

5. A woman could be divorced for talking too much.

Remembering that those judging what 'too much' was were men, if this rule had been adhered to, surely there would have been no women who stayed married long enough to become mothers-in-law who could then insist their daughters-in-law be tossed out onto the street for disobedience!

6. A woman could be divorced for being a kleptomaniac.

At last, one that has no affect upon my own marital status. I have receipts to prove this is so.

7. A woman suffering from leprosy or any 'like foul disease' could be divorced.

I love you sweetie, you've given me three wonderful children and you're great with my parents, but you're ill... toodle-pip.

Would now be a good time to mention that one of the things young women were persuaded against doing, as it took time away from doing the household chores, was reading? Liking small animals too much was also to be avoided. Oh, who needs a husband anyway!

A journey back in time

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 23:01:00 +0000

A number of Ukiyo-e series depict men and women going about their daily business throughout the twelve hours of the day. During the Edo period (1603 - 1868), the Japanese clock was divided into twelve units of time, or ‘hours’, with each one named after one of the zodiacal symbols of the lunar calendar, and with the day being divided up into six daytime hours and six night-time hours. Generally speaking, there has been a tendency for writers on the subject of Japanese art to divide the day into twelve equal segments, in the same way that our day is currently divided into twenty-four segments that are each 60 minutes long. However, as the first six 'hours' of the traditional Japanese clock were counted from dawn and the second six from sunset, the daylight hours were of a different duration to the night-time hours. In addition to this, as the time elapsing between dawn and sunset would alter depending upon the time of the year, with the summer days consisting of more daylight time and the winter days having much less, the hours would change in length from one month to the next.

Take a look at the clock face below that replicates a Meiji era timepiece. It shows not only the traditional twelve hour Japanese system of timekeeping, but also the modern twenty-four hour one that was introduced to Japan in 1872. The inner rings show the modern twenty-four hour clock that we are used to, but with the numbers written in Japanese of course. The left hand side shows the AM hours and the right-hand side shows the PM hours. The thicker of the two small hands counts the minutes, and there are the standard sixty of those. The thinner of the small hands counts the seconds, and again there are the usual sixty. The larger of the three hands tells us which hour it is. As it is in between the numbers five and six, the time must be six o'clock. And as it is pointing to the left-hand side of the clock's face, it is six o'clock in the morning. Following so far? I hope so, as this is where it gets complicated.

The outer two rings of the clock face show the traditional Japanese system. The inner ring of the two tells us the number of chimes we might have expected to hear from a shrine bell to mark the time. The outer of the two rings displays the sign of the zodiac which represented that particular hour. The hours were:

Ne no koku - hour of the rat
Ushi no koku - hour of the ox
Tora no koku - hour of the tiger
U no koku - hour of the hare
Tatsu no koku - hour of the dragon
Mi no koku - hour of the snake
Uma no koku - hour of the horse
Hitsuji no koku - hour of the sheep
Saru no koku - hour of the monkey
Tori no koku - hour of the cock
Inu no koku - hour of the dog
I no koku - hour of the boar

Notice that the segments at the bottom of the clock's face, representing the night-time hours, are smaller than the ones at the top of the face to accommodate the varying length of the 'hours'?

The larger hand, pointing to six o'clock in the morning, is also pointing at the character 'tatsu' (for 'tatsu no koku', or the 'hour of the dragon'), so 'tatsu no koku' was six o'clock in the morning. Or was it? As I said before, the amount of daylight would vary throughout the year. As the first six hours of the traditional Japanese clock were counted from dawn and the second six from sunset, and the time we would expect dawn and sunset to arrive would alter on a monthly basis, the clock's rings had to be replaced on the seventh of each month to reflect those changes. Each clock would have come complete with its own set of twelve replacement rings.

So, when we see an Ukiyo-e print, such as this one below from Utamaro's famous series 'Seirô jûni toki tsuzuki' (Twelve Hours of the Green Houses), we may know that the hour being represented is 'tori no koku' (the 'hour of the cock'), as it's written within the bell at the top of the title cartouche on the right, but unless we know the time of year (and make allowances for the amount of daylight time) we cannot of course, know the exact time of day.

Bidding on Benzaiten at Bonhams

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 10:03:00 +0000

Yesterday, my husband and I drove up to Oxford, the city famous for its spires... and academics who rig examination results for wealthy diplomats and then murder those who find out about it (yes, I do watch too much 'Inspector Morse'). The purpose of the visit was to add another Utamaro print to my collection, courtesy of Bonhams. The lot, advertised as 'after Utamaro' but a genuine Utamaro from around 1792-3 all the same, came home with me, along with a copy of Noguchi Yone's 'Hiroshige' and a couple of Indian silk paintings.

The print shows Benzaiten, the goddess of knowledge, music, poetry and art - one of the Shichifukujin (Seven Gods of Good Fortune: the seven being Benzaiten, Daikoku, Ebisu, Hotei, Jurôjin, Fukurokuju and Bishamon). As I'm an artist and writer, she is my favourite member of the group. She is shown playing a shamisen, alongside a man who, seated with fan in hand, is scrutinising the music book that has been placed upon the box before him. I love his facial expression... the furrowed brow and look of extreme concentration mixed with mild confusion. He looks like me when I'm filling in a crossword puzzle.

In search of Utamaro... in Brussels

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 21:45:00 +0000

I spent most of today at the Musées royaux d'art et d'histoire in Brussels, looking at more than five hundred Japanese woodblock prints by Kitagawa Utamaro. The museum houses approximately 6,550 Ukiyo-e prints and an additional one thousand book illustrations by various artists, including some remarkable Harunobu designs that have retained their glorious colours. I would have liked to see every single one of them, but I was on a mission to see the Utamaros, and I think that viewing more than seven and a half thousand prints would have taken a little longer than a day!

One of the things I’ve noticed, during my museum visits, is that a number of them house very similar groups of prints, when it comes to Utamaro at least. The collection in the Musées royaux d'art et d'histoire is very different, comprising numerous images otherwise ignored and very rarely, if ever, reproduced in books. I now have a very soft spot for the collection, as it reflects my personal taste in Utamaro’s prints, focusing on images of women and children and the more comical and characterful designs.

The prints are not on display, but if you’re in Brussels and have plenty of time, it’s well worth asking (in advance, of course) if you can view them. In fact, even if you’re not in Brussels, it’s worth making the effort to get there!

Recently, my husband bought this sheet (above) for me, from an untitled pentaptych, published by Murataya Jirobei around 1798. I was pleased to see the whole five-sheet composition today, depicting a procession of men, women and children beneath parasols on their way to a flower-viewing picnic.

There are collections of Japanese prints in museums all over the world, sometimes in the most unlikely of locations too. Reproductions in books are all very well, but if you're serious about studying woodblock prints you need to see them 'in the flesh'. If you make the effort, you never know what treasures you might unearth.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat...

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 00:49:00 +0000

With summer here and the days warming up to the extent that I want to rush out and jump in a lake to cool down, my thoughts have turned to 18th century boating parties on the Sumida River in Edo (now Tokyo). A multitude of prints were produced depicting men, women and children enjoying sunny summer days travelling up and down the Sumida River in pleasure barges, drinking sake, listening to musicians play the shamisen, and even enjoying a meal.

The small boats in the left-hand sheet of the above triptych, by Eishôsai Chôki, are called chokibune. These small ferry boats travelled along the river, transporting people and goods at speed. The medium-size boat in the foreground on the right is a yanebune, which would have provided leisurely cruises along the river. The large boat in the background, with lanterns strung up along its roof, is a yakatabune, in which passengers could have dinner and enjoy some musical entertainment.

The above triptych, by Kitagawa Utamaro, shows young women and children strolling along the bank of the Sumida River on a summer evening. In the background we see Ryôgoku Bridge and the numerous small ferries and pleasure barges making their way along the river. During the warm months, there were firework displays along the river in the evening, and we can see the spiralling crimson light of fireworks being set off from the large barge in the centre sheet of the above design.

The above print by Andô Hiroshige shows Fireworks at Ryôgoku, from the series One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. A yakatabune is making its way along the river with its hanging lanterns alight, and numerous barges and small ferries are floating along in the water, illuminated by the multitude of sparkling lights in the night sky.

The above design is also by Hiroshige, from the series Famous Places in Edo, and shows fireworks going off above the Sumida River, with sightseers pausing on the bridge in the foreground on the left to watch the fronds of salmon pink light reaching out across the night sky like the tentacles of a giant octopus.

Extraordinary prices paid for Japanese prints

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 18:40:00 +0000

One of the things I love about buying old books is the possibility that someone might have left a little something extra inside them for you... a bus ticket, a newspaper cutting, or some other little gem. I bought a second set of the original Henri Vever collection sale catalogues that were compiled by Jack Hillier, complete with their green dust jackets, a little while back and this incomplete cutting, dating from 27th March, 1974, was stuck inside the third volume:

Extraordinary prices paid for Japanese prints
By Geraldine Norman
Sale Room Correspondent

The third and final sale at Sotheby's devoted to the famous Henri Vever collection of Japanese prints produced extraordinary prices yesterday. The sale, which had been expected to make £136,235 totalled £330,680; the collection, sold in three parts, has realised £1,838,695.

Two separate Japanese dealers had chartered aircraft to bring collectors to the sale, one from Tokyo and one from Kyoto. Much of the Japanese national collection was acquired from Vever in the 1920s; his name thus stands high in Japan. Vever himself was a French jeweller, artist and collector of various items. He died in 1943.
Yesterday's sale essentially contained the left-overs of the collection, some fine prints but mostly in indifferent condition. A Harunobu print of a girl parachuting into the branches of a flowering cherry made the top price at £8,600 (estimate £400 to £500). Only one other impression of the print is recorded. She is apparently testing whether Buddha wishes her to marry; if she reaches the ground alive, he approves.

The print referred to (illustrated above) is an egoyomi, or calendar print, issued for 1765. The Japanese year was divided up into twelve long and short months, with the particular months designated as long or short ones changing each and every year, without any logical pattern. Egoyomi served as a way of letting the general public know which months would be long and which would be short, with the information often concealed within intricate designs. In this case, the long months are printed within the seashells on the young woman's kimono, and are 2, 3, 5, 6, 8 and 10.

Impressions of Ukiyo-e

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 15:26:00 +0000

For anyone coming to the subject and looking for a modern interpretation of the history of Ukiyo-e, this book is going to be an incredible disappointment. The information is totally outdated.

I have an interest in the development of the study of Japanese woodblock prints, and I enjoy reading books written in the 19th and early 20th century about the subject, so for me the fact that this book is based on writings that are a hundred years old was not a problem in itself... I find older works interesting. Unfortunately, this one is not simply a modern reprint of Dora Amsden's 'Impressions of Ukiyo-Ye', which was published in 1905. It is a joining of that book to the work of Woldemar von Seidlitz, without any indication within the book as to which parts belong to von Seidlitz and which belong to Amsden. I have the original Amsden book and on comparing the two volumes found that those parts that belong to Amsden have been edited in the new book, so the text isn't identical to the original. I can't fathom the point in taking an old work, which is so outdated that its antiquarian charm is the only thing it has going for it, and altering even that! In addition, the illustrations of artists' signatures included in Amsden's book are excluded from this one, as is the section entitled 'Hints to Collectors'.

The publisher seems to have taken two out-of-copyright books and melded them together without any regard for whether or not the finished result will be of any use to students of the subject. There is no indication to the newcomer, who is not familiar with the work of Amsden or von Seidlitz, that this book is not an original work or that it is a melding of two different works. In fact, the author biographies state:

'Woldemar von Seidlitz is a German art historian and a writer. His study of Japanese art is a work of reference in his field and continues the work of art historians before him'
'Dora Amsden is also an art historian specialised in the image of the woman in Japanese prints'

The implication here is that both writers are still living. Von Sedilitz died in 1922. Given that Amsden's book was published in 1905, how likely is it that she is still living?

The packaging of the book seems to be designed to mislead.

How to spot a prostitute

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Mon, 18 May 2009 10:18:00 +0000

I've been asked a fair few times recently if I can explain how to tell the difference between an ordinary Japanese wife or teahouse girl and a Yoshiwara courtesan in Japanese prints... so here goes. One of the first things that most people learn, from reading about Japanese prints, is that Yoshiwara women wore their obi tied at the front, and that does give us our first clue. Were you to rely upon that alone, however, you'd conclude that the woman shown standing in this print by Utamaro on the right (from the series Fûzoku ukiyo hakkei, 'Eight Views of Customs of the Floating World') is a courtesan... and you'd be wrong. She is in fact a widow. Compare the decoration, or rather the lack of it, on her robes in comparison with these ladies below.

This print, by Chôkôsai Eishô, depicts Hanaôgi, Segawa, and Miyahito, who were all courtesans of the Ôgiya brothel. Look at the bold and colourful patterns on their multi-layered robes... no modest merchant's wife or geisha would have dressed in such a flamboyant manner. High-ranking courtesans wore the most expensive and lavish brocade, whereas a respectable woman, whether married or not, would have been required to own a more subdued wardrobe.

And let's not forget the entourage. Many of the full-length images of courtesans include at least one attendant, as these women were rarely without their kamuro (child apprentice) at their side. Take a look at the image below by Chôbunsai Eishi, depicting Hanaôgi walking along with her young kamuro, Yoshino and Tatsuta; one walking before her and the other following behind. Look at the way the little kamuro have their hair dressed.

The clothes of both the courtesan herself and her attendants and the ornate style in which the kamuro's hair is dressed, not to mention the positioning of the figures in a processional manner, set them apart from the ordinary women and children depicted in scenes set outside of the Yoshiwara, such as the one below by Katsukawa Shunchô, which is one sheet from a pentaptych (five-sheet print) depicting calligraphy students chatting away as they walk along on a visit to a shrine.

Look at the modest clothes worn by the women in Shunchô's print, their simple hairstyles, and the relaxed manner in which they walk along engrossed in conversation with the other members of the group.

So now you may be wondering how you're supposed to tell the difference if you're looking at a bust portrait, so you don't have much to work with where clothes are concerned, and there are no kamuro in sight. Well, there's always the hair. A young teahouse waitress, such as the renowned beauty Ohisa of the Takashimaya, would have worn her hair with a modest amount of adornment, and never piled up in the elaborate styles worn by women of the Yoshiwara. Compare this portrait of her by Utamaro, below, with the image that follows it, of the courtesan Hanaôgi by the artist Ichirakutei Eisui... and look at all those hair pins in Hanaôgi's hair.

Bijin leaping off the page

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 13:51:00 +0000

I'm taking a break from the two dimensional world of Japanese prints today and posting about the three dimensional, sharing my love for Japanese figural ceramics. It all started about three and a half years ago, when I moved from dealing in Japanese woodblock prints to selling Chinese ceramics. A large lot in an American auction caught my eye, because of a pair of Chinese porcelain figures, and without paying any attention to what else was in it I placed my absentee bid. When my shipment arrived from the States, the first thing to be unwrapped was a glorious Kutani figure... a figural candle holder with a beautiful orange kimono. I fell in love with her and have been collecting Japanese figures ever since (I actually gave up selling ceramics in 2006).

For me, these bijin are a three dimensional representation of those we see in Japanese prints... a fair few of mine look as though they jumped directly off the page, such as a figure of a dancer with tall hat that is the spitting image of one depicted by Utamaro in one of his Niwaka series. Anyway, the main reason for deciding to post about these figures today was the arrival of the latest addition to my collection (see photo above). She has an old repair to the neck, but other than that she's in great condition for a lady who's been around since the 18th century.

Another favourite lady from my collection... the first Satsuma figure to join us, bought from Paris a year or so ago. The painting of her hairline is so delicate, and that of the decoration on her obi is just exquisite. She's holding a hagoita (battledore) that's decorated with a bust portrait of a woman. Aside from a little wear to the enamel at the bottom of her dress, she's perfect.

The most difficult part about collecting Japanese figures (apart from actually finding them in the first place) is finding ones that haven't had their heads of hands knocked off. Aside from the Imari figure above and a pair of beautiful Kutani ladies that I bought a couple of years back, every figure in my collection has avoided having her head taken off.

The lady to the right here, holding a folding fan to her mouth and with long sleeves swaying in the wind, was one of my first acquisitions. I think she's rather dynamic and looks as though she's been caught in the moment whilst performing a dance... I half expect her to begin dancing again at any moment. She's a later figure than the Satsuma one above, which dates from the nineteenth century, and dates from around 1910-20.

One of the things which aids in distinguishing between

nineteenth to early twentieth century Kutani figures and ones which were produced later is the type of gilding used. With pre-1930 figures, the gold paint has a soft sheen to it, but with post-1930 figures the gold is very shiny indeed, very reflective and much like the gilding we find on modern ceramics. All of the figures shown here are pre-1930.

Most of the figures that come up for sale are around the nine to twelve inch mark, but you can get ones which are quite large. The largest in my collection is the beauty below... she is also my favourite. She stands nineteen inches tall and is in absolutely perfect condition. Astonishingly, even her delicate fingers have remained intact. The painting of her obi is remarkable, as is the modelling and painting of her facial features, as you will be able to see from the close-up below.

Her black kimono is decorated with cranes, some paddling in a stream amid long grasses and some in flight amongst the clouds.
The last photograph I'm including here is not of a female figure... it's an incredibly cute tiger that I couldn't resist. After collecting only female figures, I diversified and began looking for animals... predominantly rats of course. And if anyone out there has a Satsuma or Kutani rat that they'd like to sell, please do get in touch (my email address is at the left of this page, beneath 'Contact Me').

As I mentioned above, it's not all that easy to find these figures to begin with. Finding them without damage is even more difficult. The odd bit of enamel wear is pretty standard and makes little difference to the beauty of a piece, but serious damage, such as a bad repair to a detached head, can ruin one completely. The impact on price is quite dramatic also, with a figure that might cost around £200 in good condition being worth little more than £20 if damaged.

The only book on the market at present that deals with these figures is 'Figural Japanese Export Ceramics' by Nancy Schiffer. The text is full of errors and the price guidelines aren't even close to realistic, so in that respect the book is completely unreliable, but the photographs will give you a good idea of the sort of figures that were produced.

'Revealing Yoshiwara' illustrated talk

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 19:00:00 +0000

On June 3rd, I'll be giving a talk at the Museum of East Asian Art, in Bath, between 5:30 and 7:30pm. I'll be talking about the women who worked in the Yoshiwara, from the highest ranking courtesans to the lowest ranking prostitutes of the moatside brothels, the day to day operations of the quarter and its various festivals and celebrations, and the men who frequented the area in search of a good time. I'll be illustrating the talk with designs by Utamaro, Hiroshige, Koryusai and other Ukiyo-e artists. Copies of my book, Utamaro Revealed, will be on sale at the museum shop, and I'll be available for signing them too. For more information please contact the museum on 01225 464640, see my web site news page, or email me at gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com

(Image: Dawn in the Yoshiwara (Kakuchû shinonome) from the series One Hundred Famous Views of Edo (Meisho Edo hyakkei), by Utagawa Hiroshige).

Kuchi-e... novel images of Meiji Japan

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 16:40:00 +0000

In addition to Ukiyo-e broadsheets and books, and Shin-hanga broadsheets, I also collect kuchi-e. Kuchi-e (lit. 'mouth-pictures') were frontispieces, inserted into the fronts of Meiji era novels and literary magazines (although independent kuchi-e prints were also produced). Generally produced as fold-outs (hence the folds), these prints were produced using sophisticated printing techniques, such as gauffrage, the use of metallic pigments, bokashi shading, and highly detailed carving. Kuchi-e are often exceptionally well preserved, due to being contained within books or magazines, and the fact that until relatively recently they were almost entirely overlooked by print collectors. Personally, I think the designs are exquisite and the subtle colouring is thoroughly enchanting, so the lack of enthusiasm for them amongst other collectors is somewhat confusing for me. There was a sudden rush of interest with the publication of Merritt and Yamada's 'Woodblock Kuchi-e Prints: Reflections of Meiji Culture,' but that seems to have dwindled.

My first kuchi-e print was the one shown above, produced by Takeuchi Keishû for 'Pledge at the Pond,' written by Emi Suiin and published in the literary magazine 'Bungei kurabu' in 1901. 'Pledge at the Pond' tells the story of a young man called Yoshisaburô and his yearning for Someko, a woman who is engaged to another man and who does not return his affections. Yoshisaburô has a dream about Someko, and in it they are in a boat, talking of love... she throws her engagement ring into the water and promises to return to him the following summer. In this design we see Someko in the boat, as Yoshisaburô imagined her, holding the fabric of her sleeve between her teeth, to keep it out of the water, as she dips her hand into the pond.

This print (right) is another from my collection; a print where my passion for kuchi-e and that for rats coincide. The design, again by Takeuchi Keishû, is an independent kuchi-e. A young woman is busy reading a letter by lamplight, while perched on top of the stand for an oil lamp there is a figure of a rat, the zodiacal symbol for 1912.

As these prints have been overlooked for the most part by Japanese woodblock print collectors, they are often available at very affordable prices. The design of Someko on the pond, despite its outstanding quality, was a mere £49 when I bought it. Some prints go for as little as £25, if you know where to look.

Ephemera... exploring the world of old paper

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 14:59:00 +0000

If you'd like to find out more about how I started out in Japanese prints, and about my collection, there's an interview with little old me over at the blog 'Ephemera, exploring the world of old paper' (a very nice blog indeed). Click here to read the interview.

Christie’s Asian Art Week

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 14:34:00 +0000

Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849) 'Cooling off on a summer evening'

'Cooling off on a summer evening' - detail

Christie's Japanese And Korean Art Sale will take place on March 17th, in New York, and will be comprised of 174 lots, 43 of which are Japanese paintings. The highlight of this selection of works is Katsushika Hokusai's 'Cooling off on a summer evening,' a large painting (ink, colour and gold on silk) - measuring 20 13/16 x 45 3/16in (52.9 x 114.7cm) - most likely carried out as a special commission for one of the artist's most wealthy clients. Painted around 1810, when Hokusai was at the height of his powers, it depicts two young women enjoying a summer evening, seated on a bench outside a teahouse, watching a young serving girl who is busy trying to catch fish with a bamboo basket in the nearby Sumida River. The painting is expected to fetch in the region of $800,000 - $1,000,000.

A hanging scroll (ink on paper, shown above right) by Kitagawa Utamaro, depicting a young woman, seen from the rear, standing beside a small boy and looking down at him as he sits at her feet, holding a rattle above his head, is expected to fetch in the region of $30,000 - $40,000. The young woman's hair, sweeping up from her neck and piled high upon her head, reminds me of a favourite Utamaro print of mine (and a very well-known and popular design) of a young woman, shown from the rear, applying white powder to her neck while she observes her reflection in a hand mirror (shown left).

Kitagawa Utamaro (1760-1849) 'Beauty and child' - detail

Also on sale are a set of nine erotic paintings by Katsukawa Shunshô, along with a preface by the haikai poet Baba Zongi (1703-1782), written in 1780, from a sequence of twelve paintings (ink, color, silver and gold on silk, originally mounted together in a large-format handscroll). The first four paintings, which are not explicitly erotic in nature (see image below), were completed prior to the preface being written, with the remaining eight of the original series, which are explicitly erotic, being added around five or six years later, during the early 1780s. Shunshô's paintings rank amongst the most significant of all paintings produced in Japan, regardless of school or period, and this set have an estimated value of $500,000 - $700,000.

Katsukawa Shunsho (d. 1792) One of nine erotic scenes from 'Secret Games in the Spring Palace'

(All images courtesy of Christie's, except the woodblock print of the woman powdering her neck)

The glittering world of the Japanese courtesan?

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 17:08:00 +0000

Postcard depicting a Japanese courtesan, postmarked 1903.

The two woodblock prints shown here, both by Utamaro, are from the series Seirô yûkun awase kagami (A Mirror of Courtesans of the Green Houses), published by Yamadaya Sanshirô around 1797. The print to the right depicts Kasugano and Utahama of the Tamaya brothel, whilst the one below depicts the famous courtesan Hanaôgi alongside Takigawa from the Ôgiya brothel. The highest ranking courtesans of the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter were celebrities, highly accomplished and renowned for their beauty. They were poets, calligraphers and musicians, having undergone years of training to achieve their high rank within the quarter. These women wore the finest brocades, adorned their hair with hairpins made from gold and silver, and attracted the attentions of some of the wealthiest men in the city.

When looking at images of glamourous courtesans in all their finery, it is easy to see only the yards of luxurious dresses and perfectly coiffured hairstyles, and to forget that they were real-life women, sold into prostitution at a young age, in debt up to their ears due to a system of abuse which sought to keep them enslaved until their late twenties at least, and imprisoned within the Yoshiwara quarter, unable to come and go as they wished.

Women who were required to exhibit themselves within the latticed cages (called harimise, see images below) at the fronts of the brothels, were forced to sit in a manner which made them attractive to male passers-by, so they could not relax regardless of the length of time spent on display. They were expected to keep bathroom visits to a minimum, were scolded if they became too jovial, and when in the company of a client were not allowed to eat regardless of how hungry they might be. Their entire existence revolved around maintaining a front which made them attractive and desirable, regardless of their own personal feelings regarding their state of being.

This does not change the fact that the works of artists who sought to capture the beauty of these women are wonderful designs, worthy of praise for their artistic merit. But the suffering of the subject should not be glossed over in order to make the viewer more comfortable when viewing such prints.

Courtesans on display in the harimise, from Utamaro's illustrated album Seirô ehon nenjû gyôji (Annals of the Green Houses), published in 1804.

Postcard showing courtesans on display in the Yoshiwara, circa 1910. Putting women on display was prohibited from 1916.

Tufted toothpicks - Fusayôji

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 16:40:00 +0000

Once again on the subject of teeth. This print, which just happens to be one of my favourites, from Utamaro's series 'Customs of Beauties around the Clock' (Fûzoku bijin tokei), shows a young woman (the subtitle says 'a kept woman'), at about ten o'clock in the morning, brushing her teeth whilst her female servant holds a basin of water before her. In her hand the young woman is holding a bag of toothpowder, and over her shoulder a hand towel is draped. The thin length of wood which she is holding in her mouth is a tufted toothpick.

During the Edo period (1603-1868), a tufted toothpick (fusayôji) served as a toothbrush. The use of toothpicks originated with the Buddhist monks who travelled to Japan from India, via China, who were required to chew 'shiki' ('toothwood') each morning. Chewing on one end of these wooden sticks created a tufted section which was then used to clean the teeth.

Fusayôji were made from willow ('yô' means 'willow tree', and 'ji' means 'branch'). The end was beaten to create the required tufted brush. Those for men were made from the trunk of the willow tree, whilst those for women were made from the branches of the tree and were softer, to prevent the accidental scraping away of the meticulously applied ohaguro. Fusayôji were usually around 12cm long, with a 2cm tufted end, and the non-tufted end was tapered to provide a tool for tongue-scraping. One widely held superstitious belief, which was taken very seriously at the time, was that terrible consequences would befall anyone who did not break the fusayôji in half before throwing it away.

Toothpaste was made by mixing a polishing powder called Boshusuna (sand from Boshu) with a scented toothpowder and water. A polishing salt was added to the mixture, and possibly camphor also, and the paste was then put onto a wet fusayôji and used to clean the teeth.

Beautiful blackened smiles - Ohaguro

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 15:25:00 +0000

I am fascinated by all things dental (yes, I know that's a little unusual). Keeping that in mind, it shouldn't come as any surprise that I keep an eye out for Japanese prints which depict some aspect of the dental hygiene or beautification process.

This print is one from an untitled group of designs by Utamaro, published around 1795. It shows a young woman seated on the ground, holding a black lacquered hand mirror and applying lip rouge with the aid of a brush. She is set against a vibrant yellow background and her form is rendered by a series of dramatically sweeping lines. The composition is wonderfully uncluttered - there is nothing in the design which does not belong to the beautification process. If you look at the image below, which provides a close-up of her face, you will see that she has black teeth, and the image below that one provides a close-up of the paraphernalia she has been using to apply the dye needed to provide that black lacquered coating.

Ohaguro, or teeth blackening, was a common practise amongst married women, with the dye being applied for the first time just before a young bride entered her husband's home. It was also practised within the Yoshiwara, where a young kamuro (apprentice) who was about to come of age and accept her first customer would collect the ingredients from seven friends and dye her teeth for the first time, just as the soon-to-be bride would collect the ingredients from friends and family before her wedding.

The large round container, half of which is visible on the right-hand side of the composition, is called a mimidarai, and sitting on top of that container is a thin tray, or watashigane. On top of the tray is the kanewan, the bowl in which the dye is mixed. On the ground to the left of the mimidarai, the brush which has been used to apply the dye to the young woman's teeth is resting atop a porcelain bowl, and to the left of the bowl is a small box of fushi powder.

Fushi powder was made from the gallnuts of the Japanese sumac tree, and the combination of this powder and kanemizu, which was made by fermenting iron filings in an acidic mixture of tea, vinegar and rice wine, produced a black dye which could be applied to the teeth. Once dry, it provided a rich black lacquer coating. Unfortunately, it faded quickly and the process had to be repeated regularly to maintain a beautiful set of blackened teeth, so no respectable woman who cared about her appearance would go more than three days without applying the dye again.

The process was labour intensive and the dye was foul-smelling. In order to provide a key, so that the surface of the teeth would hold the dye well, the rind of a pomegranate, or something similar, would be rubbed across the teeth prior to reapplying the dye. The practise gradually died out amongst married women after it was banned by the Japanese government on February 5, 1870.

(Utamaro print of a woman applying lip rouge, courtesy of New York Public Library)

Reconstruction of a Yoshiwara Oiran Procession

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 22:18:00 +0000

Utamaro Revealed at the Museum of East Asian Art, Bath

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 17:27:00 +0000

Aside from saying that I had an absolutely wonderful time at the Museum of East Asian Art in Bath, on Wednesday, I want to take this opportunity to thank the museum staff and everyone who came along to the talk for making it such an enjoyable evening. I even had the opportunity to do my 'figure of eight walk' (the special steps used by a Yoshiwara courtesan when processing in the pleasure quarter). I have a mission in life... perhaps this is an obsession too (most things surrounding Japanese prints are with me)... to introduce people to this wonderful art form, and to inspire not just an appreciation for the images, but also a desire to know more about the subject matter depicted. Japanese prints are so much more than pretty pictures... they are absolutely fascinating (ok, I am biased).

I don't usually post reviews or endorsements here on this blog, but I had such a good time, and it was such an excellent evening... and, to be honest, I am just so thoroughly thrilled with the feedback I've received, that I am going to post the feedback I received from the museum here:

Gina Collia-Suzuki gave a mesmerising talk at the Museum of East Asian Art regarding Utamaro's depictions of real-life Japanese men and women, focusing on his series of ill-fated lovers. Spell-binding the audience, her presentation was original and gave a fresh, entertaining and at times amusing perspective on the material at hand. Thanks to Gina’s dry wit and compelling commentary a good time was had by all. In the days since the talk compliments have been received by the Museum from audience members, who are eager for another talk, which we hope Gina will be good enough to grace us with in the future!
Many thanks Gina!
Linsi Parker-Turner. Events and Publicity Officer, Museum of East Asian Art.

Utamaro Revealed in Bath

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 14:27:00 +0000

Just a quick reminder that I'll be at the Museum of East Asian Art in Bath next Wednesday (21st), between 5:30 and 7:30, talking about Utamaro's depictions of ill-fated lovers... more details here on my news page.

Also, I'll be at Waterstone's in Bath, between 11am and 1pm on January 24th, signing copies of Utamaro Revealed. The details are:

Waterstone's Bookseller's,
4-5 Milsom Street,
Bath.
Tel: 01225 448 515

If I'm not here, it's because I'm over there...

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 20:55:00 +0000

I'm guest contributor over at Venetian Red today, talking about Utamaro's portrait of Koharu and Jihei from Jitsu kurabe iro no minakami (An Array of Passionate Lovers)... so do pop over and take a look. There's a lot of good stuff over there... if you love art you'll love Venetian Red.

In Memoriam

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 19:12:00 +0000

Jack Hillier
A gentleman and a scholar
August 28th 1912 - January 5th 1995

Utamaro Revealed book review

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 22:47:00 +0000

'Utamaro Revealed' received a wonderful review on Amazon today. I love writing and I love Utamaro's art, and I'd have happily gone on scribbling away regardless of whether or not the book was published, as it was, and continues to be, a labour of love. Lock me in an attic with a bundle of Utamaro prints and a laptop and you won't hear a word out of me for years. To receive such a lovely review is just the cherry on top of the cake though... to know that someone really enjoyed the book and then took the time to express that enjoyment. You can read the review here on my web site or here on Amazon.

The Old Man Mad About Drawing

gina@ginacolliasuzuki.com (Gina Collia-Suzuki) — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 14:10:00 +0000

I've just finished reading 'The Old Man Mad About Drawing: A Tale of Hokusai' by Francois Place, and I have to say that it is one of the most charming books I've read in a long while. It is a book for young readers, but it is such a lovely volume that I think adults will also find it enchanting... I certainly did. It tells the story of Tojiro, a nine year old orphan who sells rice cakes in nineteenth century Edo, and his relationship with one of his customers, a grumpy old artist... Hokusai. Hokusai takes a shine to the boy, who he affectionately refers to as 'Sparrow,' and soon takes him on as his assistant. The artist teaches him to read, introduces him to the process of woodblock printing, and little Sparrow learns all about Hokusai's earlier works. The relationship between artist and pupil is most endearing and there is a great deal of humour and warmth in the text. On each and every page there is an illustration... either a reproduction of one of Hokusai's designs (when it is relevant to the text), or one of Place's fantastic sketches of Hokusai and his little apprentice or of nineteenth century Edo and its colourful inhabitants. If you want to introduce a young reader, or an adult beginner for that matter, to Japanese prints then this is the book to do it with. I have no little star icons lined up in a row of five here, but if I did all five would be glowing gold.