Washi ..

This is a typical winter’s work day for a papermaker in the Echizen region in eastern Fukui Prefecture, one of Japan’s top washi-producing hubs for around 1,500 years and counting. Papermaking is deceptively difficult: 

A single sheet can be as thin as 0.02 millimeters — less than the width of most human hair. Handmade paper has an ineffable warmth and expressiveness missing from its machine-made brethren, thanks to little “imperfections” like deckled edges that betray the hand of a human maker. According to Yasuhiro, every artisan at Ryozo has their own idiosyncrasies when it comes to making paper, and he can tell exactly who among his staff made which sheet by touch and sight.

Ukiyo-e art brings Chinese literary heroes to life

Few art forms are as quintessentially Japanese as the woodblock print. Yet its roots are not purely indigenous, and its development in the last decades of the 17th century owes much to China. “The diversity of themes, the use of vivid colors to enhance expressivity, to say nothing of the technology itself — all these elements bear the hallmark to some extent of Chinese culture,” says Michi Akagi, curator of the Ota Memorial Museum of Art’s “China in Ukiyoe,” a new show that runs through Jan. 29.

Chinese artisans started experimenting with woodblock color printing as early as the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279). It was, however, a rudimentary and laborious process: Each hue normally required the carving of a separate block, so the first prints were two-toned and rather bland. Later on, Japanese craftsmen adopted the same technique — one color, one block — but they developed their own approach — the “kento” registration mark — to ensure that each color would align exactly with the others without gaps in between. 

As the technology matured and the market for books and ukiyo-e expanded, Japanese publishers grew bolder. They began releasing designs that spread over several sheets and employed numerous colors, up to 20 in some cases. Another technique with Chinese roots is embossing, otherwise known as gauffrage, which adds a three-dimensional texture to prints.

Step Two: Add dry tea into "pre-heated" tea-pot

Step one: Bring water to the boil ... jizaikagi (自在鉤 .. adjustable pothook

 

Printing ..Emil Orlik, ‘Nihon no surishi (A Japanese printer)’, 1901.

Traditional Wood-Block printing .. note the Downward angle of the printing work-surface ... this greatly reduces the stress and fatigue that will develop printing on a flat surface. The downward angle will vary based on the Printers preference.

Traditional Japanese dress: Current with details and styles over the ages

 

The British Museum; Selling 200 Digital Pieces by Hokusai

The British Museum Rides the Wave of NFTs, Selling 200 Digital Pieces by Hokusai

The engravings sold by the French startup LaCollection.io include two copies of ‘The Great Wave off Kanagawa’.

Reproductions of original creations or associated with new pieces, NFTs (non-fungible tokens) are a means of encryption that allows the buyer to ‘own’ a digital work that is protected under copyright. It can be the digital version of a painting, but also of a digital creation, a GIF, a video or even a tweet…

Held from 30 September 2021 to 30 January 2022, the exhibition Hokusai: The Great Picture Book of Everything is composed of over 100 drawings by the master that were intended to be included in a book that was never published and that was rediscovered in a collection in Paris in 2019.

Pieces that attract new collectors 

Thus, the British Museum proposes 100 NFTs based on digital versions of pieces presented in the exhibition, while the 100 others are from the museum’s collections.

NFTs attract ‘new collectors with an average age of 32, generation 2.0, who buy art at lower prices but as a lifestyle, with art remaining, in the face of all that is reproducible, the last unique gesture’, Thierry Ehrmann explains on the occasion of the publication of the report released yearly by his company ArtPrice. Recently, a piece by the artist Beeple — previously unknown in the art world — sold for $69 million, making it the third most expensive work of art in the world sold at auction.

This sale is organised by the French startup LaCollection.io, founded by Jean-Sébastien Beaucamps. The pieces are classified into different categories: ‘unique’ (only one copy), ‘ultra rare’ (two copies), ‘limited’ (1000 copies) and ‘common’ (10,000 copies). The works in the ‘common’ category are priced from $500 — some are sold at fixed prices while others are auctioned. The division of the proceeds between LaCollection.io and the British Museum has not been revealed, but buyers can pay for their purchase in traditional money or cryptocurrency.

Hokusai: The Great Picture Book of Everything (30 September 2021 – 30 January 2022), an exhibition of pieces by Katsushika Hokusai held at the British Museum in London.

It's NOT beer !!! It's a Woodblock Print

 

No Ordinary Business Card

One letterpress printing shop in Tokyo seems impervious to the tides of time. In an ever changing world, they satisfy an enduring need.

Using tweezers to align letters to create a letterpress plate, which is placed onto a manual platen press printing machine. In addition to business cards and postcards, this type of printing is suitable for smaller items like coasters that are about the size of an old Japanese coin.

Making one’s way down Harumi Street, away from the luxury department stores and elegant shops of Chuo Avenue towards Tsukiji, in Tokyo’s upscale Ginza district, among the narrow alleys behind the Kabuki Theater one discovers a unique melange of small izakaya, elegant apartment buildings, and artisanal workshops. It is clearly still Ginza, but here, on a quiet corner one may open the sliding glass door of Nakamura Katsuji and find oneself transported to a different time, evidenced by the freshly minted envelopes and subtle allure of the classic business cards that greet one from the shining black countertop within.

Akihisa Nakamura is the fifth generation owner of this letterpress business, which he has expanded to include offset printing services as well. Akihisa Nakamura holds a typeprint box. The letterpress cases have handles and are kept on a shelf next to a small Shinto shrine and a portrait of Gutenberg.Letterpress is a type of relief printing in which letterforms are either carved out of wood or cast in metal, typically a lead-alloy, arranged by hand to spell out the text of a manuscript, inked, and then pressed against paper, stamping the letters into it.

Relief printing originated with wood block printing in ancient China and gradually made its way around the world. In the fifteenth century, Johannes Gutenberg was the first to cast movable type from a lead alloy to mass produce the Bible, inventing letterpress printing technology.

In Japan, the traditional art of woodblock printing thrived during the Edo era, but modern relief printing didn’t arrive until the Meiji era when the first letterpress was established in Tsukiji. Other printers soon began setting up shop on nearby Ginza Avenue, until the Ginza-Tsukiji area became the gold standard for the printing industry in Japan.

A long time ago relief printing diverged from other types of printing, and there were a lot of craftsmen specializing in letterpress casting, but then, in the 1970s offset printing appeared on the scene, and demand for relief printing suddenly plummeted. Then in 2000, phototypesetting changed the game completely by ushering in the era of desktop publishing. The changing times put a lot of people in the trade out of business, and we were able to acquire their offset printing equipment and use it to jump-start our printing division’, Mr Nakamura says, explaining the origin of his offset printing business.

A coaster printed from the plate seen in the picture on the left. The illustration of the platen press is unique.

Although relief printing doesn’t offer much in terms of freedom or flexibility of design, there is a depth to the sublime beauty of the letters and the feel of the paper that other printing methods can never rival. With little prompting, Mr Nakamura will enthusiastically expound on the superior merits of his method with a contagious passion. He seems very pleased to be able to take orders for letterhead and business cards from a range of businesses and individuals who share his vision and devotion to quality.

He tells us that there was something of a renaissance of letterpress printing about a decade ago, thanks largely to the influence of the artisanal letterpress movement in America.

America has a card culture, wherein announcements, invitations, and important occasions such as holidays and anniversaries may be marked with handcrafted cards.

Eventually, small boutique printing presses began springing up around Japan as customers discovered the beauty of handcrafted fonts, the feel of quality paper and the convenience of being able to make smaller orders.

Seven years ago we celebrated our 100th anniversary, and we were surprised to receive messages from clients telling us how our business cards had changed their lives. Even with business becoming more and more digitised, the power of a high-quality business card to connect people reigns eternal. We have a young graphic designer who comes here who tells us that she finds our shop soothing. I think there is something tangible about relief printing, something substantial in the letters, that really appeals to people who spend most of their time working in front of computers’.

The print work on Mr Nakamura’s business cards is so delicate, that unless one ran one’s fingertips across its surface on might not even realize that it was relief printed. Other craftsmen lack that sensitivity and leave indentations from the pressure that they use when they print, possibly stemming from an unconscious urge to literally leave their stamp on their work.

Recently a movement of letterpress artisans and aficionados, as well as fans of British and German private presses, has sprung up in Taiwan and they have made their way to Nakamura Katsuji to exchange knowledge to keep the culture of relief printing alive and vibrant.

Many people who come to Japan, for either business or leisure, also find their way here to order business cards. They inevitably order their cards in a mix of the English alphabet, hiragana, and katakana. It is very common to mix alphabets in Japan, but for people from overseas, it creates a distinctive flair.

A woman from Poland is coming to pick up her business cards today. We had trouble communicating verbally, but we were able to use the computer to help her design the cards to her specifications’, says Mr Nakamura, smiling as he wraps up her order, cards elegantly impressed with both the alphabet and katakana.

The workshop that previously specialized in casting the letterpresses.

In addition to the more commonly used characters, there are also older, more arcane characters available.

Distinguished Pipes; Tokyo, Asakusa Style (pen-online.com)

Among the many traditional workshops in Tokyo’s historical Asakusa district, one will find Tsuge Seisakusho, crafters of fine pipes since 1936. Discovering this charming shop, and the masterpieces they create may well cause one to wonder what lies at the heart of this almost anachronistic artisanry.

These days many have a strong aversion to tobacco. Not only does the noxious smoke surrounding the smoker assault one’s senses, but there is also the infuriating lack of consideration shown by many smokers to the people around them. Their frequent breaks from work can be frustrating for colleagues who don’t smoke.

So pervasive is the perception that cigarettes are synonymous with tobacco that it’s easy not to realise that tobacco and cigarettes are not the same things at all.

Cigarettes, incorporating finely chopped tobacco leaves, typically wrapped in paper, have been commonplace for centuries. In the mid-sixteenth century the custom of smoking, along with its attendant rituals and accouterments migrated from its birthplace in the Americas across the Atlantic ocean to Europe where it soon took root and flourished.

When the custom finally found its way into Japan, along with the unstoppable wave of western culture ushered in by the Meiji Restoration, pipes were the very first smoking paraphernalia to make their way into the hands of the Japanese elite, and they quickly became emblematic of status and fashion.

From generation to generation artisans have continued contributing to the evolution of the pipe through innovations in design, experimenting with novel materials and their native sensibilities. Occasionally, the value of one of these handcrafted appurtenances can even exceed the value of a fine work of art.

Over time, however, the craft of pipe making has fallen out of fashion, from a peak of over forty-eight manufacturers in Tokyo alone to the sparse handful still carrying on the tradition today. But even in this precarious environment, there is still one workshop in Asakusa, Tokyo that is putting everything they have into perpetuating this fine tradition.

Hiroshi Mitsui from Tsuge Seisakusho joins us for an interview. ‘Pardon me for just a moment’, he says, standing as he lights and takes a leisurely draw on his impressive pipe. A delicate, fragrant puff of smoke with overtones of honey and vanilla soon graces the air of the room with a rich, sweet aroma.Unlike the ephemeral waft of smoke, however, Tsuge Seisakusho has been a solid monument of a craft house through generations of craftsmen. In fact, one may say without exaggeration that the history of Tsuge Seisakusho is the very history of pipes in Japan. Their chief artisan stood eloquently calm and composed before us, thoughtfully nursing his pipe.

Since their founding in 1936, Tsuge Seisakusho has been committed to two things above all else: A profound aesthetic of style that shines in every pipe they make, and their identity as a part of the rich tradition of Asakusa born and bred fine craft workshops. The company takes great pride in their Asakusa location.

In fact, Mr Mitsui assures us that it’s unthinkable that they should carve these elegant works of art anywhere else, prompting us to ask why it’s so important that they are made in Asakusa, specifically. The answer intertwines with the history of the area itself.

‘Asakusa has been a commercial centre for handicrafts dating all the way back to the Edo Era. Asakusa was the place to find expertly dyed fabrics, traditionally crafted lanterns, and quality tanned leather, for example. Here craft runs in our blood. Many of these traditions have been passed down in an unbroken lineage to the craftsmen who still actively ply their trades. What we do may be different, but we are still Asakusa craftsmen. We keep this pride alive in every pipe that we create’.

Asakusa is undeniably one of the premier places on earth where one may procure handcrafted goods of the highest quality craftsmanship. One can easily understand how this area’s commitment to craft provides a constant source of inspiration for the artisans of Tsuge Seisakusho.

But no matter how deep this local pride of craft goes, there are no guarantees that a business will thrive. One would hardly consider Asakusa, historical as it is, the ideal place for a pipe maker to thrive.

After all, one must recognise that not only are the vast majority of the most noted craftsmen in the field based in Western countries, but also the essential materials for pipe making are, for the most part, imported from overseas. Aficionados recognise briar root as the best raw material for wooden pipes, but it is native to the Mediterranean and does not grow naturally anywhere in Japan.

Even though it may not exactly be a paradise for pipe makers, one senses a continuity of pride in carrying on this illustrious tradition here, in this most improbable of places.

‘We credit this to the skills that we develop as part of our aesthetic. We think of it as an aesthetic of endurance’, Mr Mitsui intimates to us. ‘We have to consider the fullest extent to which we can stay competitive within our limited means. This way of thinking informs every aspect of our pipe making’.

To one’s non-Japanese ears the concept of endurance carries a negative nuance, but it is a deeply engrained part of the Japanese aesthetic sense in general. One may recognise some overlap between this Japanese concept and Western stoicism.

‘When you find yourself in a challenging situation you should always strive to do your best without making a big deal about it. If you can do that, you appear dignified. Dignified is a label that others must bestow upon you. If one calls themselves dignified they come across as vulgar—exactly the opposite’.

Merely looking at one of Tsuge Seisakusho’s superbly crafted pipes is enough to awaken within one a sense of how they embody the sophisticated values that Mr. Mitsui espouses.

Their flagship line, the Ikebana, in particular, epitomises these principles. These masterpieces incorporate only the highest quality briar root, sculpted and polished until the grain perfectly accentuates the sensuous, organic contours of the pipe.

This approach stands in keen contrast to the sharp angles and artificial shapes favored by many modern Western master craftsmen. The humble Japanese aesthetic of these pipes imbues them with a subtle, harmonious beauty, quietly highlighting Tsuge Seisakusho’s commitment to an artful sense of dignity that instantly lends the user an air of worldly sophistication.

As smoking becomes regarded as antisocial, pipe smokers resist with style, and the pipe makers at Tsuge Seisakusho continue crafting artful pipes that embody a beauty that only could have come from Asakusa.

Today, perhaps even right now, somewhere in the world an enticing puff of fragrant smoke is rising like a beacon of pleasure from a Tsuge Pipe.

At one time there were over one-hundred craftsmen at Tsuge Seisakusho, but now there are only eight. Jocular competition between rival craftsman bridges the generations.

Details on a Woodblock Print

Bamboo Yards, Kyobashi Bridge, No. 76 from One Hundred Famous Views of Edo: Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando)

The characters "Hori-Take" on the lantern of the figure just left of center on the bridge are the hidden signature of Yokogawa Hori-Take, one of the best known carvers of the day, an artisan responsible for engraving many of Hiroshige's designs of the 1850s. Here he has inserted his name on the one print most appropriate to its literal meaning: "Carver Bamboo."

ARTIST Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando), Japanese, 1797-1858

MEDIUM Woodblock print

Place Made: Japan

DATES 12th month of 1857

PERIOD Edo Period, Ansei Era

DIMENSIONS Sheet: 14 3/16 x 9 1/4 in. (36 x 23.5 cm) Image: 13 7/16 x 8 3/4 in. (34.1 x 22.2 cm)  (show scale)

MARKINGS No publisher's seal visible, probably lost when left margin was trimmed. Date and censor seals at top margin.

SIGNATURE Hiroshige-ga

COLLECTIONS Asian Art

MUSEUM LOCATION This item is not on view

EXHIBITIONS

Curator's Choice: Hiroshige, One Hundred Famous Views of Edo

ACCESSION NUMBER 30.1478.76

CREDIT LINE Gift of Anna Ferris

RIGHTS STATEMENT No known copyright restrictions

CAPTION Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando) (Japanese, 1797-1858). Bamboo Yards, Kyobashi Bridge, No. 76 from One Hundred Famous Views of Edo, 12th month of 1857. Woodblock print, Sheet: 14 3/16 x 9 1/4 in. (36 x 23.5 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Anna Ferris, 30.1478.76 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 30.1478.76_PS1.jpg)

IMAGE overall, 30.1478.76_PS1.jpg. Brooklyn Museum photograph, 2006

CATALOGUE DESCRIPTION Kyobashi was the first bridge on the Tokaido Road, south of the Nihonbashi Bridge, with which it shared the jewel-shaped metal rail ornaments known as "giboshi." The bridges leading into the gates of Edo Castle were the only others allowed these ornaments. The ornaments on the Kyobashi were preserved when the bridge was destroyed in 1965, and are seen today in front of a nearby police station. Hiroshige began his career as a landscape artist in 1831 with a variety of bridge and moon compositions. The incredibly tall pillars of the bridge in this scene might have influenced Whistler's "Nocturne in Blue and Gold: Old Battersea Bridge" (1872) in the Tate Gallery. Along the bank of this river were the bamboo dealers of Sumi-choa, which gave this area the name of Takegashi ("bamboo quay"). The procession crossing the bridge is a group of pilgrims returning from Mount Oyama with their souvenir bonten. Below is a boatman poling a skiff loaded with bamboo baskets. There is a figure crossing the bridge (about center) carrying a red lantern and on that lantern is the signature of Yokogawa Hori-take, one of the best known woodblock carvers of the day. He engraved many of Hiroshige's designs in the 1850's and carved the memorial portrait of Hiroshige shortly after the artist's death.

Japan, Tokyo, Kyobashi: Then and Now

Interesting YouTube walk around Ginza Feb 18th (Japan Date):

From: Only In Japan Go:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYGHhK21eNU

Kiroku Tea Garden: Rare teas in: WAZUKA, KYOTO Prefecture

Japan’s history with tea goes back 1,200 years, when it is believed the monk Saicho brought back the first tea seeds from China at the end of the Tang Dynasty (618-906). Kyoto, Japan’s first major tea-producing region and the spiritual heart of Japanese tea ceremony, is still famed as one of the finest tea-growing areas in the country. Its southern Wazuka region, nestled next to Uji, accounts for approximately 50 percent of the prefecture’s tea production.

Wazuka is well known for its mountain tea fields, whose terraced slopes and fog make for the perfect conditions for growth. Someone who knows the town’s centuries-long history better than most is Megumi Hori, the fifth-generation owner of; Kiroku Tea Garden: “Almost 100 years ago, my great-grandfather came to the mountains here in Wazuka and cleared the forest for our farm. Back then there were no cars or machinery. Early every morning he would walk to the mountain to clear it by hand. It took him five years,” Hori says.

Japanese brewed with some tea-tinged idioms

Due to decades of お茶離れ (ocha-banare, a departure from tea) thanks to the popularity of coffee, I’m worried that us お茶好き (ocha-zuki, tea lovers) are becoming a minority.

Still, no matter the numbers, お茶 (ocha, tea) has seeped into the broader Japanese culture. So much so that we call it 日本茶 (Nihoncha, Japanese tea). For example, I reckon that most people know that now is the time for 新茶 (shincha, tea leaves from this year’s earliest harvest), a seasonal delicacy that appears in tea stores between May and July.

Besides appearing in the nation’s pots and cups, お茶 pops up in the language all the time. For example, 日常茶飯事 (nichijō sahanji, everyday occurrence) uses the kanji for both 茶 (cha) and 飯 (han, rice), both iconic staples of the Japanese diet. We might say, そんなことは日常茶飯事です (sonna koto wa nichijō sahanji desu, such a thing happens every day) to reassure a friend that something is no big deal as it happens all the time.

The phrase お茶の子さいさい (ocha no ko sai-sai) is a cute way of saying something is a “piece of cake,” while 臍で茶を沸かす (heso de cha o wakasu, brewing tea on one’s navel) is a way to describe something that’s utter nonsense: 8月までに10キロ痩せるなんて臍で茶を沸かすような話だ (Hachi-gatsu made ni jukkiro yaseru nante heso de cha o wakasu yōna hanashi da, It’s nonsense that you think you can lose 10 kilograms by August.)

お茶を濁す (Ocha o nigosu, to cloud the tea) means to deflect the focus of an argument by making vague remarks, and is often used to describe the goings on of politicians: 政治家はお茶を濁すのが上手い (Seijika wa ocha o nigosu no ga umai, Politicians are adept at clouding the tea) is definitely not a compliment.

More of a compliment would be if someone were to ask you a formal “お茶を飲みませんか？” (“ocha o nomimasen ka,” “would you like to have tea with me?”) or a casual “お茶でもどう？” (“ocha demo dō,” “how about some tea?”), both of which were standard pick-up lines in the latter half of the 20th century. Of course, many of the men who asked women this question were after more than tea — unless it was asked by a お茶男子 (ocha danshi, a tea boy).

According to modern media outlets, the お茶男子 is the kind of guy who asks his partner if they would care for tea. It’s quite a role-reversal in Japan, considering that for the longest time women were expected to take care of お茶汲み (ocha-kumi) — meaning they’d make the tea for the men at the office. It is thanks to this tradition that practically every floor of a Japanese office building has a 給湯室 (kyūtōshitsu, office kitchenette).

However, お茶淹れ (ocha-ire, the making of tea) was once the realm of those most alpha of Japanese, the samurai. The ability to do it properly was part of the 武士の嗜み (bushi no tashinami), the necessary accomplishments of a samurai. Maybe that’s why I always felt Japan’s corporate samurai were slightly lacking when compared to the real thing.

Times have changed, though, and these days “お茶しましょう” (“ocha shimashō,” “let’s do tea”) is more likely an invitation to join someone on a walk to the 自動販売機 (jidōhanbaiki, vending machine) than an order to serve the menfolk.

Speaking of which, the Japanese were the first in the world to package 緑茶 (ryokucha, green tea) in disposable containers such as cans (in the 1980s) and PET bottles (in the ’90s) and sell them from 自動販売機. Some nutritionists claim that loading the machines up with 緑茶 instead of soda has helped Japan keep obesity at bay — though studies have shown that the bottled kind is high in additives and calories so it is still wise to control your intake.

Made fresh, however, and 緑茶 is endowed with a host of benefits, such as 体内浄化 (tainai jōka, internal purification) or, in other words, your own personal detox. The drink is also filled with 酸化防止剤 (sanka bōshizai, antioxidants) and is said to 免疫を強化する (men’eki o kyōka suru, strengthen one’s immunity). Not bad during a pandemic.

At the height of summer, 冷茶 (reicha, cold green tea) is a treat, especially in the mornings. In fact, there’s a phrase, 朝茶は七里帰ってでも飲め (asacha wa shichi-ri kaette demo nome), which translates loosely as “it’s worth walking back home seven ‘ri’ to drink your morning tea.” 七里 (shichi-ri) equals out to an astounding 27 kilometers — but seeing as though 緑茶 is so healthy, I reckon it’s doable.

WWW. Butt of the Joke

Asian Paper-Making, in days of yore

A first rate public resource:

Old Papermaking In China And Japan, 

by: Dard Hunter.. 1932

https://collections.lib.utah.edu/details?id=121304&fbclid=IwAR10bpwXP3lqP9Td-xm4LCpuiKN98fk_RsT88s6W0TmM07xcwYAtyF9Wt7g

Front Cover and an example page:

Tokyo's Jimbocho Book shoppers meca

Thousands of bibliophiles are expected to descend on Tokyo’s Jinbocho neighborhood over the next week or so as the city celebrates the 60th anniversary of its largest secondhand book fair.

Bookstores can be found on almost every corner of Tokyo’s Jimbocho neighborhood

Bountiful books: Founded in 1939, Komiyama Tokyo is a bookstore that places an emphasis on photography books.

Tough times: Isseido was the first bookstore to reopen in Kanda after the 1923 earthquake.

Survival specialists: Kitazawa Bookstore was once one of the country’s biggest suppliers of English-language books.

Paper pleasure: Isseido also has a wide selection of English-language books.

Digital fatigue: Nyankodo stocks more than 2,000 titles on cats and feline issues. 

Mix & blend Tokyo: Adventures in tea through the seasons

An elegant pour: The motions of the tea server are at once graceful and entertaining.

Mix & Blend Tokyo:Adventures in tea through the seasonsA wisp of vapor rising from a teakettle … the robust aroma of roasted hōjicha … the subtle sweetness of classic green sencha … every stimulus conspires to soothe your senses in the quiet sanctuary of Sakurai Japanese Tea Experience, a hideaway perched above the lively streets of Omotesando, Tokyo’s premier fashion district.
“I was trained to serve with poise and efficiency at a bar counter,” says tea master Shinya Sakurai, looking back on his bartender days. “The need for controlled yet flowing motion had a lot in common with the stringent procedures of the tea ceremony.”

An important responsibiliy: Shinya Sakurai operates his roasting machine with the air of a dedicated scientist.

Today he serves tea following his own interpretation of the decorous ryūrei (tea ceremony performed with tables and chairs instead of on tatami) table style from the Urasenke tradition. “I first ask customers about their preferences in tea. If they arrive after a meal, I’ll recommend teas according to what they’ve eaten.”

Offering up the second and third brews with just the right timing, the tea servers exchange only a few words with their clientele across the counter, reminiscent of the low-key conversation at a bar. The staff’s disciplined movements add a pleasant tension to this tranquil space, where time slows to a standstill. The blend of elements is inimitably Sakurai’s. 

The perfect pairing: Wagashi Japanese sweets are an indispensable accompaniment to Japanese tea. The shop’s selection ranges from its signature bite-sized sweets to seasonal specialties.“I hope to convey the spirit with which Japanese observe the changes of the seasons,” Sakurai says. Based on the old calendar’s 24 seasonal divisions of the year, his shop offers a menu of tea blends and wagashi Japanese sweets that changes twice a month. Autumn features such combinations as green tea with persimmon, ginkgo, yuzu citrus or apple. Sakurai sometimes will blend tea by request, much as bartenders oblige with custom cocktails. The personalized service and seasonal blends entice customers to come back for more.Surprising variety: Sakurai’s shop handles as many as 30 types of tea leaf. Teas used for hōjicha (roasted green tea), which is roasted to order, vary depending on whether they are for light or dark roasting. 

Hōjicha, a roasted green tea, rewards drinkers with its savory, invigorating flavor. Thanks to the association with coffee, Sakurai sees roasting as a way to expand the ranks of Japanese tea aficionados. He also offers green-tea-based cocktails with snacks; always on the lookout for new pairings, he finds inspiration in the discovery of unlikely but successful matches. With plans in the offing to take a hand in tea cultivation as well, the Sakurai experience continues to expand and evolve.

Kitagawa Utamaro (1753-1806)

Studies from Nature': Kitagawa Utamaro's glorious prints

 Well-versed: Each Kitagawa Utamaro illustration is accompanied by a kyōka poem by Tsutaya Juzaburo.

 

The early 1780s were a difficult time for the shogunate, Japan’s feudal government. Though the country was at peace, one of the worst famines on record was wreaking havoc across the land. Making matters worse, epidemics and natural disasters were rife. The peasantry was never far from open revolt.

In his late 20s at the time, Kitagawa Utamaro (1753-1806), a painter and ukiyo-e print designer, was no doubt aware of the surrounding misery. But in Edo, the capital, a dynamic metropolis of more than a million inhabitants, its impact was limited. Besides, Utamaro’s congenial social circle of young artists provided constant entertainment that must have buffeted some of the social dislocation.

In 1783, he moved into the house of a friend, Tsutaya Juzaburo (1750-97), one of the most influential publishers of his generation (the modern-day Japanese book store partly chose its name as a nod to him), thereby plunging head on into the “floating world.” It is no exaggeration to say that his life would never be the same again.

Tsutaya was a creature of the pleasure quarters. His closest acquaintances were authors and painters, some established, others dilettantes, with whom he spent many a night carousing in the tea houses and geisha establishments of the capital. Tsutaya’s bookshop, which also traded in ukiyo-e woodblock prints, was conveniently located by the main gate of Yoshiwara, home to most of Edo’s courtesans, where it catered to its gay and gallant clientele.

To the bon vivants around him, Tsutaya was a sort of Ragueneau, the colorful patissier and faithful companion to Cyrano de Bergerac, who, when not providing moral encouragement to would-be poets like him, was generously offering free sustenance to those down on their luck. Utamaro lodged with Tsutaya for more than 15 years. Many other creative types likewise benefitted from the publisher’s largesse.

Tsutaya was also an amateur versifier and specialist of kyōka, a form of witty, irreverent and humorous poetry which, in the 1780s, was growing in popularity. It perfectly fitted the times: While the country metaphorically burned, social conventions were loosening, censorship rules relaxed. These were good times for Edo’s epicureans.

Alas, it did not last. The shogunate soon reasserted itself through conservative reforms and strict censorship laws. These, however, did not prevent Tsutaya from launching one of the most consequential and successful ventures of his career: The publication of three anthologies of kyōka poetry, all illustrated by Utamaro. The first, published in two albums in 1788, was the “The Book of Crawling Creatures.” It was followed a year later by “Gifts of the Ebb Tide” and, in 1791, by the two-volume “The Book of Myriad Birds.” All were popular and sold very well. Today, original copies are exceedingly rare.

This summer, The Folio Society, a London-based publisher of fine books, released a facsimile of all five volumes in a limited edition of 500 copies titled “Studies from Nature.” The result is nothing short of glorious, and even that might be an understatement.

Folio meticulously reproduced the gaufrage on some of the original woodblock prints, thereby adding texture to water, flowers or the plumage of birds. It found innovative ways to add a lustrous shine to the wings of insects, thus recreating the effect of mica that had been used by 18th-century printers for the same purpose. It chose paper to mimic the original and it bound all volumes as they were then, Japanese or concertina-style. Finally, all kyōka verses have been translated in a companion volume, each with its own commentary, and three essays detail the historical and cultural context of the works.

At £495 (about ¥69,000), the price is admittedly steep, but not unreasonable given the quality of the workmanship and scholarship.

These tomes constitute a watershed in Utamaro’s oeuvre. Neither he nor Tsutaya — nor any other publisher for that matter — quite reached the same heights again. As a print designer, however, Utamaro’s best work still lay ahead.

From the 1790s onwards, he devoted enormous energy, obsessively at times, to the design of bijinga (prints of beautiful women). Why he became so engrossed with this topic remains somewhat controversial. A bit of a roue, Utamaro spent much time in Yoshiwara, so his interest for the demimonde should not be surprising. But bijinga were also a moneymaker, and some scholars have posited that his large output was partly stimulated by a desire to ease the financial difficulties of his friend Tsutaya, the publisher, who, in 1791, fell foul of government regulations and was so heavily fined that he lost half his wealth. Be that as it may, these prints made Utamaro’s career and reputation. Today, they can sell for tens of thousands of dollars.

By the early 1800s, the shogunate had regained its footing. Despite periodic crackdowns, the publishing industry was also doing well, bolstered by demand from an increasingly literate and mobile population. By then, however, Utamaro’s best years were behind. In 1804, he had a run-in with the law that resulted in a three-day jail spell and a conviction to wear manacles for another 50. Two years later, he died.

Utamaro is justly remembered as one of the greatest ukiyo-e print designers of the second half of the 18th century. His collaborative work with authors and poets however, is far less recognized, at least in the West. “Studies from Nature” brilliantly sets the record straight.