Time to get going again!

I mentioned in the post a couple of days ago that I was kind of procrastinating with the next design, and so I was, but there's a limit to just how far I can carry that sort of thing. Yesterday I finally got started on some serious work on it. The impetus for getting moving was looking at the calendar for the next few days: some guests are due here Friday, I've got to head to Tokyo on Saturday for a friend's guitar concert, and I'll be over in Sadako's garden on Thursday helping her bring down some trees (Tree killing! Shades of last week's 'A Story A Week'!).

So if I don't get something down on paper soon, it'll be another 'week' before I get back to it ... Having a few 'days off' coming up though, does have one benefit for the work, in that if I do get something down on paper before I take that break, then it'll mean that I get a chance to see the design with a slightly fresh eye when I come back to it. As we've seen many times during this series, there are nearly always obvious improvements that come to light after the cutting is well under way.

So anyway, what's this one going to be all about?

It's a forest scene, and I have to say these have been far and away the most difficult for me, for a number of reasons (maybe I've talked about this before, I don't remember. And there is no way that I can find anything in this damned RoundTable!).

1) For both the river and the seacoast, the very breadth of view has meant an infinity of possible scenes - from immediate close-up, all the way up to wide panoramic views. The forest (at least this forest) offers no such diversity. No horizons; no panorama. Just trees, trees and more trees.

2) Mid-range trees and leaves are tough to do in woodblock. Just look through your Hasui book to see that this is so. Distant mountain slopes covered in trees? Completely no problem. A few leaves closeup? No problem. But the in-between range - where individual elements are still visible, but far too numerous to be sensibly carved - resists easy interpretation. Many (most) of the 20th century sosaku people who created prints requiring such mid-range greenery did so with the use of goma-zuri (sesame seed printing). They didn't attempt to carve the details, but used 'silhouetted' shapes printed with a mottled pattern that suggested it. Typical example of the genre is Ido Masao. No problem with that, but it's not my taste at all.

3) To create a believable ground surface is also difficult. (This is not specific to forest scenes, but to all woodblock prints depicting natural scenes.) If you don't believe this, take a look through your copy of the Hiroshi Yoshida complete works. The guy was a master, right? Sure he was, but if you flip through that book not letting him divert your attention with the other elements of the images, and just look at the grounds, you'll see what I mean. There are some real 'howlers' in there. So far in this series of mine, I've tried as best I can to avoid including ground in the prints, but of course it is impossible, and - just like Mr. Yoshida on a bad day - I have not passed the test all that well.

But now that I've pointed out to you in advance what's going to be wrong with this print :-) let's move on to think about the design. The previous two forest prints - Forest in Autumn, and Forest in Spring - both took basically the same stance: a 'full-range' view, covering the entire area from right in front of your own feet, to right back as far as you can see. It's time to do something a bit different.

First, let me show you a couple of images that I find interesting. (Nothing to do with forests ...) Here's a seascape by John Platt:

The interesting point here is the total separation into two 'planes' - the normally printed foreground scene, and the 'unsaturated' backdrop. I don't think he was particularly intending to make a 'misty' effect here; just he found an interesting way to visually separate the two worlds.

Next up isn't a woodblock print, but a watercolour book illustration by Yoshio Okada. This is from his set of illustrations to the Genji Monogatari:

It depicts the wooden wheels of one of those bullock carts that the nobility used to travel from place to place in and around the capital. But the cart isn't the 'topic' of this design. What is being 'illustrated' is the meeting of the three people (click the image to see them).

I was given a copy of this book by the Yuyudo Publishers on my first visit to Japan back in 1981. (We had purchased some of their Okada Genji prints, and this was a bit of extra 'service' on their part.) Years later, when I had the chance to meet Mr. Okada, I remembered many of these illustrations, and took a shot in the dark, "You really like going to movies, don't you!"

Bingo!

Now he thought that was pretty cool, but actually, the technique - a closeup of something 'supportive', with the 'main event' relegated to a distant perspective - predates the movies. It was actually common even back in the 1850's, when Hiroshige was doing his 'Hundred Scenes of Edo'.

Alright. So if I'm thinking about something like this for my summer forest scene, what elements will we have in it? Well, there are ... you know ... trees.

What other elements would one expect to find in a woodland in Ome in the summer? And which of these things should be 'up front' in your face, and which ones far in the distance? I've got something down on paper now, so I'm not asking for your 'help', but as usual, it would be fun to see what suggestions other people might have for this!

The thread continues in [Forest in Summer - 2] ...

Posted by Dave Bull at 2:31 PM | Comments (5)

This is what you get when you put a little digital recorder in your pocket, clip a mic to your lapel, and head off into the nearby woods for a morning walk. (Some 'tech notes' are in the first comment, below ...)

* * *

So here we are, back in the RoundTable, with what may turn out to be ... another slightly overlong post! I did this the other day - started to post a short note, and ended up having it run and run ...

So, do I actually have so much free time these days that I can spend so much time on this sort of thing? I thought David was supposed to be so 'busy.' Of course David is busy, but it's that time when one print is finished, it's out for packing and shipping, the waiting desk work is done, the bookkeeping is done. Most of the email - not all of it for sure - is caught up on. The next job of course is - designing the next print!

For some of the prints in this series, I've known what I was going to do with it, quite some time in advance. But for some of the others, I haven't had a clue, and this is one of those. The next print - Forest in Summer - I don't have the slightest idea what to do.

So, instead of buckling down to it this morning, time for a bit of procrastination ... Let's see what comes out ...

When I set this RoundTable up some years ago, I chose that name for a specific reason, rather than name it 'Dave's Blog', or the 'Woodblock Blog', or some such thing. Because I had thought that what I would like to encourage was a kind of literal 'roundtable', where a group of like-minded people would chat together about the topics that were of interest. Not one guy at the head of a long table, putting things out and getting responses, but more of an environment where everybody put things into the mix.

But because of the way that the 'net works - people drop by and browse the pages, perhaps leave a comment if they feel so inclined, and then click away - there is actually nothing RoundTablish about it at all. Dave talks, and people sometimes add comments to that.

It's too bad. It's easy enough for me to try and encourage more participation, but perhaps it just can't be helped. This is just the way that the blog format works.

Anyway, we've got some time this morning, thanks to the procrastination, so let's put something down ...

* * *

I saw this TV program last night. As I have mentioned before, I have no TV, but one of my collectors sent me a DVD dub of a program on traditional printmaking that was broadcast recently on NH ... on a major national network here, thinking that I would be interested in watching it. I had actually already heard about this program, because it has received quite wide media coverage; it's been in the papers, people have been sending me emails about it, even my neighbours have asked, "Did you see that special program about the woodblocks?"

So yes, I was interested in seeing it, and set aside the time last night. But I tell you, by the time the ninety minutes were up, I was standing on my chair ... Cheering? No ... screaming!

It was about some woodblocks. It must be a few years ago, somebody in one of the distant rural parts of Japan, somebody from what must have been a wealthy family around a hundred years ago, unearthed from their storeroom a pile of woodblocks. They didn't know what they were, and actually, as we learned in the program, started splitting them up and using them as fuel for their wood stove. One day, one of the guys who was feeding the stove looked a bit closely at the piece of wood, and seeing how intricately carved the surface was, thought that it might be a good idea to perhaps check with somebody to see if this stuff could be useful to anybody.

Well, of course you know what happened; once word got out that these looked like old printing blocks from the late Edo period, the museum people descended in droves, and the blocks are now securely protected in a museum where they are being thoroughly studied and investigated.

It turns out that these are indeed blocks from the late Edo / early Meiji period. By investigating the designs carved onto them, they can be matched up with known prints from that time, many of which were designed by some of the big names from those periods, people like Hiroshige and Kuniyoshi. Now that alone would make these blocks 'treasures', but what really puts this whole thing over the top is the fact that these blocks show absolutely no signs of being re-printed in the intervening years.

The reason this is such a bit deal is that anytime old blocks surface here and there, as they occasionally do, they are invariably used for printing. People want to see the design, so somebody rubs pigments on and tries printing them. I even do this myself with blocks from a flea market; try taking an impression from them, to get an idea of what the print looked like. So whenever we do run across old blocks, we never really can tell just how old the pigment residue is. It could be ten years old, it could be a hundred; who knows.

These blocks though, are documented to have been untouched since the 'old days'. This is a real big deal for researchers who are trying to pin down just what materials were used to make pigments in the old days; what kinds of minerals, what kinds of plants, etc. etc. So these blocks are a fabulous treasure for them - a literal 'time machine' directly back into the old workshops.

They have been subjecting these blocks to all kinds of scientific analysis - X-ray diffraction, or spectrographic analysis, or whatever else they think is useful. And they are really getting results, finding that this was made with lead, this was made with such-and-such, and so on. This is a wonderful resource for them.

Now what they did next, either as part of the research, or to try and make the TV program more interesting, was to arrange for a contemporary printmaker to make a reproduction of one of these same designs (carving a fresh set of blocks, because of course nobody is now allowed to mess with these old ones), with the idea that for the printing, they would use these exact same materials for the pigments.

Remember, that all the old prints we now see in our museums and collections are hugely faded. Some of the pigments were 'fugitive', and lost their colour richness over time, while others were prone to oxidization, becoming blackened as the years go by. So a fresh reproduction like this would provide the world with a way to see exactly what one of the old prints looked like when it was first made, and when seen side-by-side together with one of the remaining copies of that design from a museum collection, would provide an exact 'measure' of just how, and in what way, the fading had taken place.

Great idea! And I really should have been standing on my chair cheering by the end of the program!

But instead, what happened next had me leaning forward to the screen, in shock at what I was seeing. They showed an outline of the process by which this craftsman had made his reproduction - tracing an original to get the outlines, then pasting that down on an block, carving it, then later moving on to the printing stage, etc. etc.

* * *

Before we can talk about what I saw, I have to speak about myself for a minute.

When interviewers came to me - this is going back many years - they would ask me, "What is the most difficult part of the process?" They kind of knew what I was going to say, and I too, stepped into their expectations, and usually replied something like, "Yes, it's the hairlines - these delicate ukiyo-e hairlines - this is the most difficult part!" Then I would describe it in the way that was expected of me:

"I save the hairlines for the last. I get myself in 'tip-top' condition; all the rest of the work is done, and I'm well 'warmed up'. I sharpen the knife very carefully of course. I then sit before the block. Take deep breaths. Then one by one, carefully - ever so carefully - I carve the hairs."

Now this is horse-radish ... absolute horse-radish.

Don't misunderstand; I wasn't lying to them, this actually was the way I myself was thinking at the time. But eventually, over years of repetitious work, I came to understand that this was completely the wrong approach to the job. Whether it is a juicy fat line in the image, or the most delicate of wispy lines, it makes no difference at all in the way you approach your work. You sharpen the tool in the way that will give the best result for the job at hand, then you sit down, pick up the tool, and cut the line. That's it, and that's all. No drama, no deep breaths, no fuss, no nothing. Just carve what you see.

If you approach the work full of tension - whether real or imagined - that tension will clearly be expressed in the finished work. Carving hair is no different than carving any other part of the block. Of course, there are techniques involved; you hold the knife a certain way, make the cuts in a certain sequence, etc. etc., but in 'mood' it is no different than any other part of the job.

But in this program, they just poured it on. I have no idea if it was the craftsman's idea, or something that the producers came up with, but they really made the episode into a mini-drama in its own right. He posed with the block in place on the desk in front of him ... gazed at what he was about to undertake ... dabbed sweat from his forehead ... he even held his breath as he started to cut. Drama, drama drama.

And it was a mess.

He started to carve; one hair ... two hairs ... And by then I'm yelling at the screen, "Stop! Stop! You're totally screwing it up!" The hairs were crooked, the way the knife was sharpened was totally unsuitable for the job, and it seems that even the piece of wood was not properly selected for this. It was a mess.

And yes, to my relief, he did stop. He laid down his knife, and said, "I can't continue. Let's stop."

When they asked him what was up, he gave the impression of casting around for something to say. He settled on the light. It was a cloudy grey day, and he said that the light wasn't good enough. (He actually had a nice bright light shining directly on his bench, but that didn't seem to be worth mentioning ...)

Now I can very much guess what was really going on, because I myself have been in exactly this same situation any number of times. It's that damn 'foolish pride' that always keeps getting in the way of things ... if you let it. Let me explain.

I remember making a visit to Ito-san the carver many years ago, in the company of a TV crew. They filmed a number of scenes where Ito-san explained some aspect or other of traditional carving technique to me. (As an aside, this was a wonderful opportunity for me, as I never had chances like this in 'real life' for learning from somebody like him.) As part of the program, they of course also filmed some shots of Ito-san carving alone at his bench. During these segments, I sat back out of the way, and was quietly amused to see that when the cameras were 'rolling', he never moved his block on the bench, but always waited until the camera had paused. He would use those momentary 'opportunities' to rotate the block into a more suitable angle for whatever he intended to carve next.

While the cameras were there, he also did no carving at all with the use of a lens. His eyes were actually very good, especially when one considers his advanced age at the time, but he did sometimes use a lens, and it was stored in plain view off to the side of his desk. Anyway, the point is that his 'public front' was actually a bit different from the way he did things day-to-day.

Please don't think I'm putting him down for this, or insulting him. He was a far better carver than I will ever be, and I respected him hugely. It's simply human nature to want to put one's best foot forward when being observed, especially when the cameras are running for posterity!

And 'back in the day', I did exactly the same things. I tried to avoid rotating the block while the camera was running, and I didn't let them see my lens (exactly the same type that Ito-san had). But as the years have gone by, I have felt a little bit disappointed in myself for the 'phonyness', however slight, and now no longer do those things. In fact, a couple of years back, when NHK was here to do another program, the lens stayed out in full view all the time, and they even took a number of shots looking down through it onto the block.

I am now 57 years old. Each of us ages in different ways, but one thing quite common to many people is the need for visual assistance as we get older. There is no way that I could now carve such hairlines without the use of that lens. I simply cannot do it. (This has perhaps has some influence in my decision to 'be honest' about such things, and to use the lens openly.)

The craftsman in the program is - as it happens - just my age; we were born in the same year. So, as I said a minute ago, I think I understand what happened that day while the filming was going on. He didn't want to be seen using the lens (or for all I know, perhaps the producer asked him to remove it), so tried without it. But he found that it just wasn't possible, so called a halt. Perhaps he was expecting to be able to continue privately after they left that day ...

As it happens, it seems that wasn't possible, because the program continued with the hair carving in the next scene, filmed on a sunny day. He had no choice but to proceed with it. And I'm sorry to have to report that it didn't get any better. When the camera zoomed in on the finished job, I had to bury my face in my hands, in sympathy with the carver. It was a complete mess: thin hairs, fat hairs ... long hairs, short hairs ... there were even hairs broken at the base. There is no way that anybody could publish anything printed from this block.

I'm shaking my head, talking to the guy on the screen, "Look, just send those media people out of there. They've got what they need now. Once they are out of the way, cut a new block, working in peace and quiet without the cameras!"

And that's exactly what happened. As they sat there on camera inspecting the finished block, he made a declaration that it was unacceptable, and that he would do it again. Dave here watching the program starts cheering loudly, "Yes, yes! That's the only way forward now!" The interviewer expressed surprise, but the carver was unwavering; it had to be done again. They of course presented this in the program as something wonderful - a craftsman so determined that the job had to be done perfectly, that he was willing to start right back at the beginning and do the weeks of work again.

We saw no more block filming. I presume he was left in peace to do the work, and when next we saw the results - in a shot of the finished block - the hair was much better, not great by any means, but better.

It may seem like I have been unfairly critical of the craftsman, but I know from experience how difficult things become once TV crews get into your workshop. He perhaps had not much control over what was going on there at all. I suppose the whole reproduction job was commissioned by the museum people in cooperation with the media, so the producer may have really been calling the shots all the way along.

So anyway ... this program has gone out into the world. It has been a very well viewed program, and has created lots of 'buzz' about our traditional printmaking world. And it's probably going to become a kind of standard 'reference', with these bright garishly coloured reproductions now setting a new standard about what is 'normal' for traditional prints. And of course this depiction of the carving, which completely distorts the 'cool and competent' professional approach of an experienced carver - let alone the results! - will be held up as an example of 'good' work.

Then you start to think about this; most of the people who will see this program - at least 99.999% of them - will of course accept without question what they saw. That carving? Well, it just looks like normal carving. The carver wiping sweat off his brow, deep in stress? Well, that's just the way carvers work. There aren't more than a couple of dozen people in this whole country who understand what they really saw. So I should just let this all go; it just doesn't matter. But part of me feels so frustrated that this sort of thing goes down into the future, and gets completely accepted as 'reality'. After all, if we had a chance to see such a thing somehow brought to us from the Meiji-era, we would of course accept it without question. "Ah, so that's how they did it back then!" Years from now, people will study this program, and say the same thing, "Ah, so that's how it was done back in the old days ... back in Heisei."

Part of me thus wants to stand up and yell, "No, no! Look, that's not how it is! It's like ... this!" And then show ...

And then show ...

* * *

But there's this 'creature' here in the room here with me; like a noisy little dog, 'Ego'. He's barking at me non-stop, "Grrr ... Ruff! Ruff! Dave, Dave! Grrrr .... Show 'em how it's really done! Ruff, ruff! Show 'em some of your blocks!"

And I'm sitting here trying to fend him off. "Ego, down boy! Down! ... Heel!" But Ego is barking, barking ... running around the room barking as he goes ... "Show your stuff! Show your stuff! Ruff, ruff," and comes climbing up my leg ...

I just yell at him, "Ego, get down off me!" Ego goes running off, and curls up on his cushion in one corner, but his legs are twitching, his whiskers are twitching ... his ears just won't stop twitching ...

Seems there's no way he's going to fall asleep just now.

So, instead of talking more about some other carver's work, let's just maybe try and placate little Ego somewhat here, before he chews my trouser leg off ...

I mentioned in the RoundTable post a couple of days ago, about getting an order for a set of the 'Beauties of Four Seasons' series, and mentioned in that same post the Utamaro print - the one that I had put in the freezer, when the printing work had to be interrupted. I wrote about taking them out and drying them off, and of course as I did so, this was another chance for me to look closely at them.

So this provided the impetus for me to dig in the storeroom and look for the set of blocks for it. I pulled them out, unwrapped then, and had a good look. Not sure what I can ... or should ... say next. Just here are a few photographs (clickable for enlargements).

The stars really lined up for me when I was making this one. I had a really, really good piece of wood. It actually made me a bit nervous, it was such a nice piece. I was thinking along the lines of, "Maybe I should put this piece aside; save it for when I have more skill. It's not such a good idea to give a nice block like this to a relatively inexperienced carver like myself." But actually, I already have some blocks in the basement, that I said that same thing about many many years ago.

I haven't thought of them in years, but there are a half-dozen 'special' blocks in my storeroom that have been 'waiting' for me to get 'good enough' since ... let's count carefully ... 1981. 1981! I bought them from block planer Shimano's san's father, who was still alive then. I had them shipped to Canada, where I was then living, and they came back to Japan when my goods were shipped over here in the mid 1990's sometime.

"One day. I'll use them one day."

So, given that background, it seemed like I could 'safely' use that good piece of wood for this Utamaro reproduction, so I went ahead with it. Whether inspired by the nice wood, or driven by fear of failure ... at this point I can't particularly say, but things went very well indeed, with results that you see in these photos. And in the finished print.

In that post the other day I used the phrase 'the best work I have ever done', which is something quite clear and measureable, but I also added '... and probably will ever do'. I was thinking of course, specifically of the 'fine line' aspect of the work. These days I am making originals, which by their nature, have no such delicate tracery. Over the past couple of years of making them, I have clearly felt a 'falling off' in the carving skills. (It was specifically to try and slow this slide, that I selected a delicate ukiyo-e type print for my new year card last year ...).

But another important point about that Utamaro block is that I did the way it should be done. I didn't sit there before the block in awe. I didn't hold my breath. I didn't make any fuss ... I simply prepared the block and tools, then sat down at the bench, and cut the lines. Not flippantly or carelessly, just ... what can I say ... with quiet confidence.

It's not really considered so acceptable to speak too highly of our own work - here in Japan particularly - but damn it, that block is magnificent. If you passed me such a block for inspection, I would be stunned into awe-struck silence just looking at it. It hardly seems conceivable that I actually did produce this object. Over the period of a couple of days that summer, I turned a blank slab of cherry wood into an astonishing work of art. I don't mean the finished print as a work of art, I mean the carved wood itself. The fact that it was then used to create some beautiful woodblock prints is kind of a peripheral bonus!

And - I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb - there's still more to it. That print required two almost identical hair blocks. In most ukiyo-e prints of this type, the hair is printed from two blocks - one in light grey (which has the individual hairs), and one in deep black (which makes up the bulk of the 'mass' of hair). But the men who created the original version of this print back in the 1790's worked out an interesting variation on this. They carved individual hairs at the edges of the dark black block also, lining them up one by one with the hairs cut on the delicate block.

This made the transition from deep black down to delicate invisibility much more effective. For the carver of course, it simply doubles the challenge. Actually, 'doubles' isn't quite the right word for it. A normal 'set' of hairlines on this kind of print is carved 'freehand'. The original designer didn't even attempt to draw them one-by-one, but simply indicated the area in which hairs were to be carved. So the carver normally has quite a bit of latitude, and can move along the wood, slicing them into place freely, without worrying particularly about where each one falls.

But in the case of this print, that freedom has been taken away. Because the two sets have to match up exactly, or the effect will be spoiled, the size and position of each hair must be followed perfectly. So after cutting the first set ... I had to cut another set, to match it. You have to carve with 'freedom' and with precision - two characteristics that simply do not mix.

As I said, it all came out pretty well (that photo just above, is my print).

Perhaps little Ego can now stop barking, and should be happy. Hopefully he'll go to sleep now and leave us alone for a while!

So I'm not sure where we've arrived, I've rambled along so much with all this. I know that none of these things should bother me; whether people think that program demonstrated masterful work or not, is kind of irrelevant. You skip ahead a hundred years or so, and what I would like to think is that by then, people just see the work, all they can see are the finished pieces of paper. And on that basis - TV programs aside - what can we say ... it sort of sounds overly dramatic ... but, the 'truth will out'! What's good will be recognized, and what's not will be set aside. I would like to think that's true.

But I suspect it isn't.

If the difference between 'good' and 'bad' isn't actually demonstrated, or taught: "Can you see this? Do you understand what you are seeing?", will the knowledge of the difference be lost? Does it matter? Or does my concern over these things all come down to my relationship with that little creature - the one now stirring again in his bed, with his ears twitching ... ready to begin barking again at any moment - is that what it all comes down to?

I'm not sure; really I'm not sure.

* * *

As I mentioned back near the beginning of today's ramble, I would like to have this RoundTable live up to its name a bit more, so I would very much like to hear views and opinions on this (admittedly vague) topic. And I'm not just 'fishing for compliments' here, for praise for my carving. I think that what I'm trying to get a handle on, is the question of whether or not it is important for the producers of work to try and train the consumers.

Or should we who make things be rather, completely 'disinterested', kind of in the legal sense of that word, as in 'not influenced by considerations of personal advantage'? Just put things out into the world, and whatever happens, will happen. Don't try to influence the way that things are received.

Is quality driven by the producers, or by the consumers?

Posted by Dave Bull at 2:42 PM | Comments (13)

A bit of a 'story' today ...

The River in Spring print is now all behind me. Ichikawa-san has picked up the pile of 'parts' - the signed and sealed prints, invoices, mailing labels, empty packages, etc. - and taken them back home. For the past few weeks she has been working on sewing the books ...

... and she will now put it all together and mail them out.

So for me, it's time to get started on the next one. But I don't usually jump right in the very next day; there is nearly always a backlog of miscellaneous work waiting to be done before more printmaking can begin, and so it was this time ... unanswered mail, a bit of housecleaning, even some garden work over at Sadako's place yesterday.

There was also another 'chore' to take care of (some chore!). A few days ago, a very nice order for a number of back issue sets came in from one of the collectors over in the US, and I had to get this ready for shipping. I don't keep back number sets all 'packed', but store all the parts separately (prints in drawers, etc.). Assembling them 'on demand' for each order helps ensure that the sets arrive at their destination in nice fresh condition, and not dusty from long storage on the shelves. Three of the sets in the order were easily assembled, but one - the Beauties of Four Seasons - will take longer, as I currently have none of the folders in stock, but have to cut and glue up some more.

And there is where the story comes in, because as I went to the drawer to pull out the four prints for this set, I found that after taking out the four, I have now 'hit bottom'; there are no more prints in stock for one of the prints in this set - the 20th century design for winter - and very few for the Utamaro design for summer.

So has this series been such a best-seller that they are now all gone? No. In fact, the actual situation is just the reverse; despite being the best work I have ever done (and probably will ever do), this set has never sold very well, and the reason that the drawer is now empty is because I have yet to complete the originally scheduled printing of 200 copies. I've been postponing it for years, but I guess it's now time to look in my freezer for some more copies of the Utamaro print ...

Our story begins back in the summer of 2004; the Beauties of Four Seasons series is rolling along as planned. The spring print has been completed and shipped, and the summer print is nearly done. Carving finished up a while ago, and the first batch of around 100 sheets has been finished.

But rather than start directly on the printing of the second batch of 100, I put that work aside for a time. I had something very special planned for the Autumn print - a reproduction of a Meiji era kuchi-e - and I was not completely sure that I would actually be able to carve it, at least not to the standard I felt was required.

There was also another reason for starting early. As part of my interest and research into the origins of the Meiji kuchi-e prints, I had developed a theory to explain how it was that they were created in such vast numbers. I believe that they were made using 'duplicated' keyblocks. In order to test this theory, I intended to do the same thing for my own kuchi-e reproduction - have the key block duplicated (cloned, if you will) after I completed the carving. This extra step would of course take time, so I began work on that block at this point, instead of continuing the Utamaro printing.

There were two other factors influencing the decision: I had a guest staying with me for a few weeks just then - a young man from California who wanted to sit in the workshop and 'drink in' the ambience while practicing his own carving and printing skills. I would usually not agree to such a request, but Marco was already a very accomplished printmaker in his own right, so I felt that rather than be a 'drag' on my own time and resources, his presence would instead be an interesting stimulation.

And that's pretty much how it turned out. It was good fun having him here, and I think he learned a lot too.

But. There is no question that having him here was one hell of a distraction, and my schedule suffered a bit for it. Anyway, the keyblock got done, and I sent it off for duplication.

I then got started on the colour block carving for the autumn print. As an aside, I can mention that this part of the process - which involves a whole lot of hammering with a large mallet - was kind of painful for Marco.

It's kind of like being a passenger in a car during a rough ride. The driver himself doesn't mind the tossing and bumping, because he has the wheel and 'feels' the bumps in advance. But a passenger is just at the mercy of whatever comes at him, and it is much more difficult.

So it was with Marco; my banging started to drive him crazy, and even though he tried cranking up his iPod, it just got to the point where he would go for a walk or something whenever my work required that I use the large mallet. There was no conflict between us over this; he knew that this was just 'part of the job', and that of course I had no choice but to keep working.

After I guess around a week or so, I'm not sure exactly, the colour blocks were done. The key block hadn't yet come back from the processing, so rather than waste time, I moistened some paper and got busy on the second batch of 100 sheets of the Utamaro print.

I didn't get very far. I did the jizumi (the outline block) and one colour, and then there was a delivery. The key block - and the duplicate copy - had been returned from the workshop in the US to which I had sent it. Would my theory on how these prints were made be proved by this experiment or not? Marco sat by while I eagerly opened the package, and then asked me how it was ...

Well, as they say, "I have good news. And I have bad news."

The good news was that the duplication process worked perfectly. Using a technology that was available to publishers in Meiji-era Japan, the keyblock had been duplicated perfectly - right down to a microscopic level of detail. How those prints were made in such huge quantities was now clear. A single key block was carved, and then duplicated a number of times. Multiple sets of colour blocks were then easily run up, and the sets then distributed among a number of different printing workshops. Within just a couple of weeks, it would have easily been possible to create the 10,000 copies or so that were needed for the magazine run.

But anyway, more on that stuff later, if I get time for it one day. There was also some bad news ...

The people who made the duplication for me had overdone things a little with the press that they used to take the 'casting impression'. They had really cranked it up - applying many tons of pressure. If I had been using a 'real' cherry block, the way they did in the old days, there would have been no problem. But it is almost impossible to buy good blocks these days, so we carvers 'make do' with thin laminations of cherry bonded to a plywood core.

This core - cheap 'luan' plywood - had buckled in places under the huge pressure, and the top surface of my original block (and thus that of the duplicate also) had been crushed here and there. The carved lines were all OK in basic appearance, but the top surface was nowhere near level, and the block would be impossible to print. For all intents and purposes, it had been destroyed.

Marco asked, "Well, what now?" The answer was clear; I certainly wasn't about to abandon the entire series, so the only solution was to grab another blank block, and get started on the carving again. I wrapped the Utamaro paper carefully, cleared space in my freezer, and said to it "See you later ... you take a little nap!"

I began carving.

I forgot to mention the other 'distraction' that was happening just at this time. NHK had called somewhere during this period with a request to make a short (15-minute) documentary program for their education channel, and after hearing their plans, I had agreed to have them go ahead. Sometimes, when TV crews are here, it's simple. They call up, I say yes, they show up the next day, film for a while, and we're done. This one was different; the young producer really wanted to dig into the work properly. I certainly had no complaint with this, but boy oh boy did it start to eat up a lot of time. We had days of interviews first, before any filming began, and then once the cameras arrived, they wanted to take and re-take each scene ... It was a lot of work.

And what made it worse was that the producer decided to make one of the main points of the program the part where I carved the hairlines of this kuchi-e. I can understand that, because that part was somewhat 'dramatic', but it certainly doesn't make for a relaxed carving experience. For most TV programs I use a 'demonstration block' that I keep handy just for this purpose. It doesn't matter if they keep asking me to "Just hold it there for a minute, please ... OK, now keep moving ... OK, stop please!" But this time there was no option for that, as the kuchi-e carving itself was part of the show.

They did quite a good job of making the program, but boy was I glad to see it finished. (You can view it here if you wish.)

By the time all this excitement was done, and the replacement block was ready, we were well into autumn, and there was no question of returning to the Utamaro printing. I pressed ahead with the printing work on the kuchi-e design, and finished up all 200 copies. And then once that was done, I moved ahead with work on the winter print ... Marco too, returned to the US, and things got back to 'normal' ...

Move ahead a few weeks, and by the time the preparation, carving, proofing, etc. had been done on the winter print, I was again getting pressed for time. The problem now was the preparation for the next series. I had already decided to create the Hanga Treasure Chest, but this needed a huge amount of preparatory work. I spent a lot of time designing the concept, and especially the case. (Sadako and I actually flew down to Hong Kong to find a company who could build these for us.) And I had to get the first print in the set ready and finished in time for the exhibition coming up in early January.

So what with one thing and another, the second batch of 100 copies of the winter print in the 'Beauties' series just never got scheduled. Work on the Treasure Chest - a new print prepared, carved, printed (200 copies!), and shipped every two weeks right through the year - just ate my life completely. That was then followed by the scroll project ... and then the My Solitudes project ...

So here we are. After shipping this week's order, my drawer is now empty. So this afternoon I 'took stock' of the situation. First step was to retrieve the Utamaro prints from their long sleep (nearly five years!) in the freezer.

How are they? Perfect! As I sit here writing this, they have thawed out completely, and I have re-stacked them between sheets of slightly dampened newsprint so that they can 'level out' their moisture. They are wonderfully soft and supple, just perfect for printing!

But thinking about the situation carefully, I don't think that I can take on that work just now. If I get involved in those two reprints - which would involve weeks and weeks of work - I would fall just too far behind in the current series. So I'll dry these sheets off this evening, and file them carefully in their drawer to wait their turn.

I'm thinking that the best time to tackle this job will be when the Solitudes series is just wrapping up, early next year. Doing the reprints of these two reproduction type prints then would be a good break for me, before I get started on whatever it is that I will be doing for the next project ...

But if you had told me back in the summer of 2004, that it would be nearly five years before those prints would come out of their long deep (and very cold!) nap, I would have thought you were crazy!

Posted by Dave Bull at 9:50 PM | Comments (0)

How would you like to drop by my workroom for a visit? Do you live too far away? No fear ... with the 'Studio Soundscape' recording that was made this afternoon (with my new Zoom portable digital recorder), you can sit by my side as I work on one of the prints, and 'listen in' to what is going on.

The Soundscape is linked from a new page in the 'Diversions' section of the Woodblock.com website. In order to make the recording a bit more understandable, I have created a photo 'essay' to show and explain just what it is that you hear during the 30 minute session, which was recorded while I sat at my bench working on a print from my 'My Solitudes' series - with the windows wide open ...

The recommended way to listen to the Soundscape is by downloading it to your computer and then playing it in your favourite music player with headphones. This will give you the best stereo effect, and will put you 'right there' at the printing bench. But the audio can of course also be played directly in your browser too.

I should mention that there is a very special 'bonus' included in this Soundscape. No sooner had I turned the recorder on, than I had a visit - an extended visit - from the local kingfisher. He flew back and forth all during the time I was printing. It was almost as though he knew that I was recording!

I hope you will find this to be worth a listen!

 

Also, about that Zoom recorder. I'm having such fun with it! I've kind of lusted after a DAT recorder for many years (hopelessly, of course), but it looks as though solid-state digital recording is going to put that technology out to pasture.

This tiny machine is incredibly easy to use, and does - to my ears - a fantastic job of recording; you can hear not only every movement I make, but every little ripple from the river, and all the wonderful bird sounds too. I'm really looking forward to exploring what it is capable of, and I think we'll have more Soundscapes coming soon.

[Update: I have now tried using the Zoom to record the audio for my A Story A Week series, and it has made quite a difference in the results. You can compare: the audio for story #176 was done with a Sony mic plugged into the computer, and story #177 with the Zoom unit.]

Posted by Dave Bull at 1:20 AM | Comments (2)

Continued from [River in Spring - 9] | Starting point of the thread is [River in Spring - 1]

So, going by the comments in the previous thread, it seems as though people think the extra 'reflection' block is a good idea, and yes, that was my feeling too of course, so this morning I did the rest of the batch. The paper is now drying under the pressing boards.

But I have to say that I smiled when reading a few of the comments ...

(Please understand that what I'm about to say is not 'shooting' at anybody, or critical of the comments ... This is just for fun ...)

Three or four of the commenters used phrases that praised me for doing this 'extra' work, or 'taking the trouble' to make the change (carving another block, re-wetting all the paper, doing the printing, then drying the paper again).

But I have to say that I think this attitude reflects a kind of misconception about my work. When I was thinking about whether or not to use that reflection block, the only factor under consideration was the result in the finished print. There was no thought at all that this would be 'extra work'. When making a print, eight blocks is not better than nine blocks. Taking 27 days (or whatever it has been), is not better than 29 days. Carving a new block is not a 'chore' ... for a printmaker!

And the 200 or so copies of this print that I am going to make are going to be around for a very long time, remember. What's a few extra minutes per sheet, in the long run ...

As I said, I'm not trying to reject your praise; indeed, I'm happy for it. But I do have to wonder what kind of society we have built, if we let ourselves carry the assumption - without really thinking about it - that 'doing more work' is somehow a negative thing. What would be the purpose of increased 'efficiency' - maximize my time lying on the beach, and minimize my time at the workbench? Who wants that?

:-)

Posted by Dave Bull at 2:50 PM | Comments (5)

Continued from [River in Spring - 8] | Starting point of the thread is [River in Spring - 1]

It was nice to read the comments on the previous post about the finished print. I don't know about the other 5.99 billion people on the planet, but anyway, seems a few people think this print is worthwhile.

But ...

The day after the printing wrapped up was - as usual - a catch-up office day, spent answering back-logged emails, doing laundry, etc. etc. At lunchtime, I threw some stuff in a bag, and went down to the stream behind my house. I walked through the shallow water over to a place nearby where I know there is a comfortable spot to sit and relax, and had a pleasant lunch break.

The stream widens into a little pool there, and it's kind of a miniature version of the camping spot on the Tama River where the design for this print originated. Just for fun, I idly tossed some pebbles into the pool while I was sitting there eating my muffins - to try and make a 're-creation' of the print design.

And I noticed something interesting!

Whether or not you can see 'sky' in a reflection makes a big different in its appearance. (We all know this, but I hadn't been paying attention.) If you position yourself so that the reflected image doesn't include any open sky, and if the ripples are gentle, then the water stays transparent, and you can see the 'image' clearly.

But if there is open sky visible, or the ripples are large enough to have the correct angle to include reflected sky, then each ripple has a bright clear 'highlight' along its length.

A few weeks back, when I had been working out this design, I created a ripple pattern of the simple type - I distorted the reflected image in a 'ripply' way, sliding parts of it left and right in turn to create the effect. But I didn't include any 'highlights', partly because my reflection didn't include open sky, and partly (mostly!) because I just didn't think of it.

But after watching the ripples in this little pool at lunchtime, I came home in the afternoon with the seed of an idea - what if this new print had made some kind of attempt to include the bright/dark highlights on each of the circular ripples. What would it look like?

Well, why not try it? I certainly can't re-build the whole thing from the ground up at this point; after all, the first half of the edition is already printed and waiting to be packed into the book chapters. And I can't take colour 'away' from the paper to leave bright highlights. But the way to make parts of a print look lighter is to make the surrounding areas darker, and that is something that can be altered 'after the fact'.

So I cut another block, and did some test printing just now - re-wetting a copy from the finished batch, and printing on top of it. Here is a 'Before and After':

This is interesting! So now I have a decision to make. Just let this go, and file the idea for future use, or - re-wet the batch, and do them all this way. As usual, having a choice to make always makes things more complicated. If I had never shown this new image, most people would have accepted the previous version as being 'finished', without doubting it.

But now that there is a choice, we can 'take sides' ... preferring one over the other. The problem for me, of course, is that I now have to make a decision, and I have to make it right now!

So, without any visual distraction, here it is again (click for an enlargement):

What do you think?

The thread continues in [River in Spring - 10] ...

Posted by Dave Bull at 10:51 AM | Comments (11)