More Ukiyo-e & Other Prints

Because it was such a pleasant chore last time, I've decided to reprise my virtual print collecting expedition.  Finding a golden trove like Davidson Galleries out of Seattle, WA (last time I went searching for viscosity prints) was a stroke of luck that opened my eyes to the vastness of printmaking as a genre. 

Snow in the Countryside (1909) by Kamisaka Sekka

These selections draw from more traditional roots: some Japanese woodcuts and a talented contemporary artist thrown in for contrast.  This print by Sekka has all the movement of a fierce winter storm, and it's achieved with so few shapes; it's a testament to the striking simplicity and grace of the discipline.  I just enjoy looking at these when I click through, and I hope you do, too.

Of all the Japanese woodcuts, those by Kawase Hasui, in particular, had a way of capturing the essence of fleeting nature, a gust of wind or a snowflake melting on a windowpane, that could transport the viewer into the moment, into the light of the past.  The glowing grey-blue gradation in this Shōwa-era print deftly depicts the rising crystalline moonlight.  One can almost imagine the feel of the cold granite in the foreground, smoothed over centuries by nightly winds rushing through the valley below.

Kiyomizu Temple Kyoto (1933) by Kawase Hasui

Now I realize the last image here is not strictly a print, but the concept of remaking Ukiyo-e via digital photography -- and executing it so immpecably -- meant I had to include it.  The Canadian artist, Jeff Wall (1946 - ), is a master in a highly orchestrated, directorial style of photography.  According to Greg Fallis of Sunday Salon, hosted by Utata.org:

A great deal of Wall’s work seems to be an attempt to be such a “painter.” He even recreates the work of painters he believes met Baudelaire’s standard. For example, Wall is quite taken with the woodcuts of Hokusai, a Japanese artist who lived in the late 18th and early 19th century. In the following woodcut, Hokusai depicted a sort of Cartier-Bresson moment…a decisive moment.

Wall recreated the scene on a cranberry farm in rural Canada. In keeping with his obsessive, directorial style, he staged the photograph with great care. He selected the location to match Hokusai’s wind-bent trees. He had the subjects crouch and hold their hats similar to Hokusai’s. He recreated the hat that was blown away, and the scattering of papers. And yet he made it a completely contemporary image by setting it in a Canadian landscape and including the line of telephone poles.

Wall’s photo has all the drama and spontaneity of Hokusai’s woodcut. There is a wonderful sense of immediacy and tension. How was he able to create such an atmosphere and still reproduce Hokusai’s image so faithfully? By using the magic of digital imagery. Wall’s image is actually a composite of more than 100 separate photographs taken over two winters.

Fallis continues to explain how huge these prints are on display, taking up an entire wall of a gallery on a lightbox, but beyond this reincarnation of a great Hokusai print, its accuracy and emotion, I find the philosophy behind the work to be inspired and thoughtful.  Just as in the prints by Hasui and Sekka, the everyday is elevated to historical significance through the remarkable rendering of these scenes.

Chicken's Last Road Trip

I passed a truckload of chickens this morning before the Southern heat became a swelter this afternoon.  In their rolling cages, their dingy feathers fluttered and revealed a bright white underpinning that'd soon need scalding and plucking, no doubt; well, could've been a layer I suppose, so maybe there's some doubt.  Anyhow, somewhere I learned that chickens in transport are drugged beforehand to calm their nerves, possibly to keep their meat from spoilage by some version of "junglefowl" adrenaline -- maybe it's the same good old adrenaline regarldess of species, but I'm no zoologist.

Most of these unlucky cluckers stared out at the passing countryside bleery-eyed; who knows their focal length -- they're certainly not old enough for cataracts in the factory system.  One bird, however, seemed more alert than the rest, and this one clung to the edge of the truck, outside its cage in a little alcove, peering out at me as I passed.  The plump, billowing chicken was nearly immovable in the gusts of transit, but I'd seen his ilk, as have we all in Perdue's and Tyson's and Gold Kist's North Georgia, flattened and wasted on the ashphalt, dinner's 2-d version.

With Dr. Kevorkian's death this week, I began thinking, "What's stopping this one Houdini chicken from briskly flapping to a glorious, high-speed demise in place of a putrid, yet USDA certified, factory slaughter  down the road?"  All chickeny rationality aside, this specimen's last ride was akin to the Thelma and Louise of poultry production.  There he/she was in the open air, feathers ruffled, gazing out on unknown fields chock full of worms and hoppers and beetles of deep, nether-tasted flavors. For as flavorless as its meat or eggs likely were, that 'James Dean' chicken may as well have scooched its floppy body, albeit completely lacking in muscle tone due to lifelong confinement, and tumbled on up to the chicken-God on high, issuing forth a glorious plume of feathers with a final liberating squak -- all at highway velocity and not a tap of the airbrakes from the trucker. 

I reckon, here ends this comment'ry on the self-determination of captive 'Merican poultry.  Amen.