"Mount Rainier in Winter" by Yoshida Tōshi

Yoshida Tōshi was the son of another noteworthy Japanese printmaker, Hiroshi Yoshida. I wrote about two of the father's prints early this year: Above the Clouds and Goshikibara.

This is a quiet, stately work with muted colors. I stand at attention and listen. The wind is barely audible. The potential for catastrophe is palpable. Maybe an avalanche, or terrible freeze. I cannot muster any fear of it, for what purpose would fear of a sudden downpour cause in a butterfly flying freely across a wide open field? Majesty is always before us, death, always just behind.

"Goshikibara" by Hiroshi Yoshida

The eyes deceive.
We see the green expanse,
The still, gray waters,
We think we apprehend
The distance to the mountain.
From this viewpoint
All seems possible.
We see all necessary steps
At once, and think
We simply need to
Take one step at a time.

But the mind cannot comprehend
Millions.
The heart cannot accept the
Brevity of life.

"Above the Clouds" by Hiroshi Yoshida

In the history of Japanese wood block printmaking, I most prefer the late ukiyo-e and shin-hanga that followed (Hiroshi Yoshida falls in the latter category.) The reason is mainly color. Just as the Impressionists and Post Impressionists were having their love affairs with new pigments with which to paint light in all its breathtaking varieties, modern Japanese printmakers were using color in just as sophisticated, expressive, if more subtle ways.

In this image, the outline is barely discernible. The gradations soft and subtle as in a watercolor painting. Mountains, purple and washed over by currents in the thick atmosphere. They rest under clouds that appear like bubbles of sea-foam. In the distance, the tallest mountain rises up like an island. Lonely, yet triumphantly reaching toward another world.