paste in the places not to be dyed. After the colors are all printed, the "key" stencil is placed over the print and the entire print is covered with the resist paste. The "key" is then removed, and when the paste has completely dried the uncovered "key" lines are printed with India ink. After the ink dries, the resist paste is washed off and the work is complete. One can see why the stencil has to be very strong to withstand all of these processes.
Intaglio (from the Italian meaning cut into or engrave) is a generic term for a variety of etching techniques. Pits or grooves are created on a copper, zinc, aluminum, or steel plate in two ways, either with a sharp tool or by the action of a strong acid solution. Greasy ink is then worked into these depressions and the surface of the plate is wiped clean. Using a press resembling a giant wringer, the artist places his dampened paper on the plate and runs it through the press. The intense pressure forces the paper into the incisions and the image is thus transferred. Intaglio prints are easy to identify because the printing pressure is so great that the plate leaves the image depressed and raises the margins surrounding it.
Basic intaglio processes executed with sharp tools are engraving, drypoint, and mezzotint. In engraving, the artist uses a wedge-shaped or pointed steel instrument called a burin to work directly on the plate, scraping the metal away. The result is a hard, crisp line. In drypoint, a steel needle displaces the metal on the plate, not only incising a line but leaving a burred edge. Both incision and burr hold ink, so the resulting printed line is soft and feathery. Mezzotint is similar to drypoint except that a rough burr is raised all over the plate with a heavy, serrated tool called a rocker, so that the plate will print totally black. Tones are then developed with a burnishing tool. (Hamanishi Katsunori, one of Japan's outstanding young mezzotint artists, says that creating this burred background with a rocker is boring and tedious and he does it while watching TV.)
The most common intaglio processes using acid are etching and aquatint. In an etching, scrapings in the plate are produced by drawing with a needle through an acid-resistant wax base and then immersing the plate in an acid bath that "bites" into the lines. Darker lines are produced by lengthening the immersion time and strengthening the acid. In aquatint, the plate is dusted with rosin particles, which are then melted to adhere them to the plate. The acid in the bath bites around the particles to create a tonal effect. This process is often combined with other intaglio techniques.
Printmaking seems well suited to the Japanese temperament, which prizes excellent and precise workmanship. In oil paintings or watercolors, one can sometimes discern the occasional blurring of a line, a little smudge here or there, and find it unique or charming. But there are no allowances made for any vagaries in the execution of a print. There can be no element of chance when the knife cuts into the wood, no tentativeness in the engraving of a plate. The line is final; there is no going back. Everything is clearly calculated to produce an exact and certain result.
Print artists are always intrigued by the many avenues available to achieve their desired expression. Moreover, it is impressive to see the broad range of imagery, techniques, and combinations that emerges from each new generation of artists. The creative use of these varieties adds to the delight of the collector.
On top of that, we can add that Japanese printmakers in particular have long been noted for their respect and feeling for their materials, for their artistic sensitivity, their single-minded devotion to their work, their eye for composition and color, and their heritage of printing. Japan has changed a great deal, overwhelmingly in just the past two decades, but artistic ideals have remained consistently high.
This bustling country provides an atmosphere rich in contrasts, having jumped from a long, feudal, isolated past into the mainstream of the international economic and political world in just 135 years. The contemporary Japanese artist has a virtual panorama of images to draw on, from quaint temple gardens to the glitzy neon of the Ginza. And now that so many artists are traveling and studying in foreign countries, they are culling additional inspiration from both East and West for a visually exciting and stimulating amalgam of original work.
The art of the print is alive and well in the hands of the Japanese printmaker, who at present, as never before, is enjoying a confident and prominent position on the international art scene. The outpouring of vigorous and exuberant new work is a delight.
The prints illustrated here provide ample visual proof that Japan's new cultural ambassadors have the same appeal and vitality as their ukiyo-e predecessors and are a testimony to a continuing tradition of virtuosity and elegance. They are the nation's cultural voice in the international art forum, the couriers of a continuing contribution to the world of print art.
Then
Our collection began with a woodblock print by Saito Kiyoshi called Clay Image, 1950 (presently on loan to the University of Maryland at College Park and thus not illustrated here). It depicts four haniwa (ancient Japanese clay tomb figures), two of them in full face and two in profile, executed in black, white, gray, and terracotta. I saw the print at an exhibition in New York in the fall of 1967 and knew that I had to have it. How can one explain this kind of elemental appeal that a work of art can exert? The faces of the figures were obviously from a primitive culture much like those that had produced the African or pre-Columbian artifacts that had such an enriching influence on many Western artists, including Picasso. Like them, these Japanese figures command a universal fascination because of their simplicity and vitality.
The print in New York was not for sale. "Maybe you could find a copy of it in Japan," said the clerk unfeelingly. Little did she know that a trip to Tokyo was on my schedule, a stopover for embassy consultation en route to my posting at the U.S. Consulate General in Hong Kong. Now after all these years of living in Japan I recall that day still. Imagine having only a thirty-six-hour stopover for official business and spending much of one's free time tramping the pavements looking for a print, with hardly a word of Japanese at one's command. I did not get the print at that time, but I got something even more valuable—Saito Kiyoshi himself—and we still have him as a dear friend after all these years.
I eventually located the Murakami Gallery, which specialized in Saito's work. A lengthy description of the composition was duly given to Mr. Murakami, who racked his brain and with patience and kindness showed me all of the Saito woodblocks he had on hand. They numbered into the hundreds, and though I leafed back and forth for almost three hours, the sought-after print did not appear. Much time had elapsed, and the still polite Mr. Murakami explained that he did not exactly know the print I was looking for and, in fact, seemed to doubt its existence, even though he was Saito's son-in-law and knew the master's works very well.
Since my heart was set on that print only, I thanked him for his time, bought nothing, and dejectedly turned to leave, actually bumping into an older gentleman in the doorway. "Wait!" shouted Mr. Murakami. "It's Saito-sensei." The thrill of meeting this famous man who had made such an impressive body of woodblock prints was a memorable experience. We have often wished in retrospect that we had been able to buy one of every work of his available that day.
Yet again, the story of the elusive print was told, with Mr. Murakami translating into Japanese for Saito. I did not speak Japanese at that time, and even today when interpreting between our clients and artists I clearly remember the frustration of not being able to communicate. Saito immediately recalled the print from my description. He said that he thought he had a copy in his studio, and if so it was mine. Lunch was then brought in and a long friendship was launched.
Several weeks later, Mary, on her way to join me in Hong Kong with two small children in tow, went through the "search and find" process—so much of the "charm" of getting around in Tokyo— located the gallery, got the print, paid the bill, and our collection was officially on its way.
We have long enjoyed the pleasure of Saito's friendship. During our time in Hong Kong, reading in the newspaper that he was to stop there on his way back from a sketching trip to India,
