Designer: Kitagawa Utamaro | Carver: David Bull | Printer: Yasue Tsushima

Paper size: 20.5cm by 15cm | Enlargement | Shipping Code: [M] ? | Currency: $ / £ / €

Price: $ 80.00£ 60.50€ 69.00

Description: This print is from the first of three illustrated

volumes combining kyoka poetry and scenes from nature that Utamaro

produced in the period from 1788 to 1790. Insects are the theme of

the first book, sea-shells are featured in the second, and bird life

in the third. These books are exceedingly rare, and of course a small

and delicate book is a difficult thing to exhibit properly, so some

of his finest work thus remains hidden from view and unknown to the

general public.

The background of this print is embellished with scattered sunago

(crushed gold leaf), and ummo (powdered mica) is used on

the wings of the dragonfly. It really makes a beautiful effect; when

I saw the first proof print I almost expected him to fly off the

page, he looked so realistic! I have mixed feelings about using too

much of this sort of 'glittery' stuff; it can tend to make the print

look 'cheap' I think. But many of the old surimono prints used

powdered metals such as gold, silver, brass, or copper, and it seems

that it is simply a matter of discretion - not too much, but just the

right touch in the right place ...

Each insect in the original book is paired with a poem, and the

one on this print is by Akera Kanko, a poet with a strong connection

with Utamaro; his poems are also included in the two other nature

books. Entitled 'Red Dragonfly' (Aka Tombo) it is a love

poem that seems to be drawing a comparison between the 'lovesick'

writer, who, like the dragonfly without a voice, is unable to express

his love. The original purchasers of the books in this series back in

the mid-Edo era were of course connoisseurs of such poetry, and would

see the words and images as being of equal importance. For us though,

living in a different culture, one in which most of the subtle

nuances and references in the poetry have faded away with the passing

of time, the poem becomes simply a visual object, part of the overall

image itself.