interested in ukiyo-e, and Bigelow bought thousands. In the 1920s when Frank Lloyd Wright came to Japan to design and build the Imperial Hotel, he also was smitten and raised large amounts of money among Boston art lovers to add to the already phenomenal museum collection.
By the time the Japanese realized that both Europeans and Americans had acquired ukiyo-e in enormous numbers and had taken them abroad, there were not so many left in Japan. In addition, the production of ukiyo-e had begun to decline since the demand in Japan had disappeared, basically because the society and mores that had been depicted in these prints were no longer in existence. Ironically, Westerners, particularly in Europe, were creating bold, new, colorful compositions in the Japanese style, while the Japanese were eagerly attempting to assimilate the interesting methods of Western-style painting and printmaking.
During the Meiji era (1868-1912) it was clear that the art of ukiyo-e was seriously on the wane. For a short while there was a burst of enthusiasm for works portraying the newly arrived foreigners in the ports of Yokohama and Nagasaki, and these enjoyed a certain popularity because of their "exoticism," but the genre itself fell into a decline.
Thereafter Japan fought two wars (with China and with Russia), and in the decade or so following 1894 ukiyo-e-style prints of victorious battle scenes were in demand. Along with the importation of Western arts, letters, and science during this period was the introduction of aniline dyes, so one can often distinguish these Meiji era prints by their garish red and purple tones.
In the early twentieth century two differently focused art movements arose at the same time. One produced shin-hanga (new prints) and the other sōsaku-hanga (creative prints). The only thing they basically had in common was the use of the woodblock technique.
Shin-hanga are connected with the publisher Watanabe Shozaburo (1885-1962), who attempted to breathe new life into the then moribund ukiyo-e. Finding sympathetic artists, he encouraged the ukiyo-e method of collaboration among artist, carver, printer, and publisher, as well as the traditional ukiyo-e imagery of idyllic landscapes and "beauties," stylized portraits of beautiful women.
The three best-known artists of the early twentieth century are Ito Shinsui (1898-1972), Kawase Hasui (1883-1957), and Hashiguchi Goyo (1880-1921). Their prints are softly sentimental and lovely, and they enjoyed great commercial success because they were produced expressly to meet the demand of foreigners who wanted an image of "traditional Japan." They also helped perpetuate the myth of Japan as a land of graceful kimonoed women, continuously falling cherry blossoms, and ruined castles with a moon hanging overhead.
The world of sōsaku-hanga, however, with the woodblock technique as its chief medium of work, diverged in several ways important enough to change the course of printmaking in Japan. Through travel and exposure to magazines and art books, Japanese artists gradually became inspired by the artistic revelations coming from Europe, namely, that an artist could design, carve, print, and distribute his work by himself; that prints could be made in small, numbered editions; and, most important of all, that print art was an art form in its own right and not looked down upon as a "reproduction technique."
The sōsaku-hanga artists began to gain confidence, enough to enter their works in overseas juried biennials. In 1951 at the First Sao Paulo Biennial, Japanese sculptures and paintings were passed over, and prizes were awarded to the printmakers Saito Kiyoshi and Komai Tetsuro. The Japanese art establishment was stunned. In 1955 when Munakata Shiko won the Grand Prix at the Third Sao Paulo Biennial, it became clear in Japan that prints would now have to be considered in a different light—not as mass-produced works by artisans but as creative art in numbered editions. This was the beginning of the new role for prints in the Japanese art world.
The artists who came to prominent attention over the next two decades, especially internationally, were products of the sōsaku-hanga movement. They will be discussed in some detail later in this book since they were the liberal, imaginative, and indomitable springboard pointing the way for future generations of printmakers.
General Terms
Some of the terminology used in the book probably needs clarification. For example, we speak of "original prints," which seems a contradiction in terms, but the phrase traditionally means work that has been designed and personally executed by the artist on the block or plate to be handprinted. This is different from a "reproduction," which has been manufactured by mechanical or photographic means. Using the word print in a sentence like "I bought a print of the Mona Lisa when I was in Paris" adds to the confusion. The traveler in Paris may indeed have bought a "print," but that is not the sort of print we are referring to in this book. The word print is loosely bandied about, but we are narrowing the definition to mean a work of fine art made in multiple copies, each of which is an original. There is no "original" from which others have been reproduced by an automatic copier or photomechanical process. The print is a distinct and independent art form.
Over the years there have been several international conferences to try to pin down the meaning of the expression "original print." The convention agreed upon is that at the very least the artist must have been the creator of the idea and the executor on the medium used, whether it be wood, metal, stone, or screen, from which the inked image is then transferred to paper. In addition, the prints should be individually numbered and signed by the artist.
In the early days of the creative-print movement in Japan, the artist wished to do everything himself—create the design, execute it on the block, and do the printing as well. But we must remember that at that time, in the early twentieth century, woodblock prints were the primary form of print art in this country, probably because one needed only a small studio and a few tools to carry out the various processes.
Nowadays, with a preponderance of silkscreen and lithographic prints, it is an accepted international practice to use a professional printer. This has come to be the case in Japan as well. The average artist's biggest stumbling block in this country is lack of space. It is difficult for an aspiring artist in Tokyo, for example, to be able to afford the astronomical price required to buy or even to rent a small studio in which to house a behemoth of a lithographic press—or even to afford the press itself.
The solution is to use an established atelier operated by skilled, professional printers who are completely in tune with the artists for whom they work. An artist often collaborates with only one printer, who understands his special requirements. The printer must have a rapport with the artist so that he can contribute the experience, knowledge, technical expertise, and especially the quality demanded by the artist. Shinoda Toko, for example, has used the same printer, Kimura Kihachi, for thirty years.
There are quite a few professional ateliers in Japan manned by hard-working, conscientious printers who strive for perfection. Their desire to produce work of impeccable quality is part of the Japanese artisan tradition of craftsmanship. Since there are numerous studios, the competition is keen, and artists can shop around until they find the exact one to suit their needs.
The advantages for an artist in having a good printer are many. The most important is that the artist is free to think, to create, to imagine a new work without having to go through the time-consuming process (or drudgery, some would call it) of printing what has already been invented. The printer, who is a professional with a skilled staff, can operate with speed and excellence, printing an entire edition at once and greatly simplifying the life of the art dealer and the public as well, both of whom are waiting in the wings for the new masterpiece to be released. This is the scenario for a great number of silkscreen and lithographic print artists in producing their works.
On the other hand, Japanese woodblock printmakers, for the most part, still prefer to do their own work right through to the completion of printing. One reason may be that they do not need so much room, since they ink each block by hand and print their works without a large press or a studio space of magnificent size. An equally important consideration might be that they actually enjoy the tactile
