Little Brother H. Yoshida

         Today I’m back to the Yoshida family of artists to share some work by Hodaka Yoshida (Japan, 1926-1995).  As the second son, Hodaka was not expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and style.  Indeed, he was not supposed to be an artist at all - but he rebelled and became an artist, in a modernist and abstract style quite unlike the family tradition.  (To review what Hodaka wasn’t doing, you can check my post on Big Brother Tōshi Yoshida.)

        Hodaka began making woodblock prints in 1950, and an early example is this first one, which surprises me by how much I like it!  I especially like the way the colors layer.  It’s clearly a landscape of sorts, although obviously quite abstract.  Then in 1955 Hodaka encountered Pre-Columbian art, which inspired him to head in a whole new direction.  You can really see this in today’s second piece, which is very clearly copying Mayan motifs, but Hodaka also did lots of pieces that were influenced by this style without being so direct.  One example might be today’s fourth piece, made a few years later.

        At the same time, Hodaka was also experimenting with applying a graphic arts filter to more traditional subjects, such as this view of a teahouse, reduced to simplified geometric shapes arranged dramatically across the paper.  Three of the prints I’m sharing today (2,3, and 5) were all made in 1956, so it was apparently my favorite year in his work!

        In the 1960s Hodaka encountered pop art, and began experimenting with media such as silkscreen, photo-transfer, and collage.  Eventually in his later years he settled into a combination of wood blocks with photo-etching.  Art historians point to all this as new, edgy, important work, but as I have little interest in it, I’ll leave Hodaka there.

        In fact, I’ll finish up back in 1956 with this piece that may be my absolute favorite of his that I found.  Although it doesn’t look as Pre-Columbian as some of the others, the influence is right there in the title: “Ancient People, Maya.”  But whatever its inspiration, with its quilt-like mix of patterns, geometry, and softness, its soothing colors, and its interesting layering, I find this one deeply pleasing.

        A confluence of circumstances allowed and encouraged Hodaka to explore his own artistic direction.  In his childhood he was surrounded by artists but not expected to conform to them, then he launched his art career just as government control of the arts gave way to freedom.  He met and married another artist whose connections to avant-garde circles encouraged further experimentation.  (We’ll see what she was doing in the next post!)  In the end, Hodaka’s abstract work ended up influencing both his older brother Tōshi and his mother Fujio.

        What do you think?  Do you prefer the Yoshida family traditional work, or this more modern art?

[Pictures: Woods, color woodblock print by Hodaka Yoshida, 1954 (Image from Art Institute Chicago);

Crafty God, wood block print by Yoshida, 1956 (Image from Scholten Japanese Art);

Teahouse, wood block print by Yoshida, 1956 (Image from National Gallery of Art);

Ancestor, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1958 (Image from Scholten Japanese Art);

Ancient People, Maya, wood block print by Yoshida, 1956 (Image from Egenole Gallery).]

Big Brother T. Yoshida

         My last post was about the artist Fujio Yoshida, who was married to the artist Hiroshi Yoshida.  Today’s post will be about their elder son, Tōshi Yoshida (Japan, 1911-1995).  Tōshi’s artistic beginnings seem to have been influenced primarily by his grandmother, who encouraged him to draw animals, but eventually he was apprenticed in his father’s workshop.  This meant his job was to carry on the family’s artistic style, as defined by his father, rather than to follow his own preferences.  That he may not have been entirely happy with this is evidenced by the fact that as soon as Hiroshi died in 1950, Tōshi went off into a radically different style, highly stylized and even abstract.  However, eventually he worked the rebellion out of his system and returned to detailed realism, but with a focus on animals as subjects.  So after my cursory look at his biography and work, I see three phases in Tōshi’s woodblock prints.  Here are a couple of examples of each.

        First, the early work in which Tōshi followed in his father’s shin-hanga footsteps.  These two pieces are beautiful examples of the style that combines traditional Japanese woodblock techniques and sensibilities with western-art-trained perspective and light effects.  They are serene, meticulous, and controlled, which reflects the controlled environment in which they were made: not only a dutiful son, but living under a dictatorship that censored art.

        Second, the wild and crazy middle work beginning in the 1950s, in which Tōshi turned to  total abstraction, then also strange, stylized magical landscapes.  Many of his abstract works could be considered op art, before it had become a movement or the term was coined.  In this example the layers of finely carved lines create dazzling and disorienting interference patterns, while the central figures (which evoke early Chinese characters to my western eyes) provide a focus.  I like the landscapes even more, and this one evokes a huge mysterious monument towering over a desert outcropping.  This one begs for stories, while suggesting all the unknowns of lost civilizations and alien worlds.

        Third, the return to representationalism and the celebration of the animals Tōshi saw and loved on his extensive travels.  He particularly liked African animals, and many of his prints do include scenic backgrounds, but I chose this one for its drama.  You can see the meticulous realism combined with the use of those traditional Japanese printmaking techniques in the carving of the fur and the shading of the background.  And finally I include a very different example from Tōshi’s later prints because A) I think it’s just really cool, and B) I notice the way the sky echoes those op art lines from his abstract period while the silhouetted deer ground this scene in his return to realism.

        Tōshi Yoshida’s life looks to me like a trajectory of an artist struggling at times to find his own voice, while making absolutely stunning work at every step along the way.  Tune in next time to see some pieces by his little brother, whose artistic development followed a very different path.

[Pictures: Half Moon Bridge, woodblock print by Tōshi Yoshida, 1941 (Image from Fuji Arts);

Iidabashi, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1939 (Image from The British Museum);

Misty Dance, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1957 (Image from The British Museum);

Illusion, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1966 (Image from The British Museum);

Black Panther, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1987 (Image from Fuji Arts);

Mendocino, Sunrise, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1985 (Image from The British Museum).]

F. Yoshida's Flowers

         Fujio Yoshida (Japan, 1887-1987) came from a family of artists, but was the first woman in the family to work as an artist.  I saw a couple of her color woodblock prints of flowers at the Harvard Art Museums last year, and enjoyed them.  They obviously have a lot in common with the flower paintings of Georgia O’Keeffe, with whom Yoshida was an almost exact contemporary.  I don’t know of any statement of direct influence, but given that Yoshida travelled to the United States for shows at just around the time O’Keeffe was exhibiting her earliest enlarged flower paintings, it seems very likely that Yoshida would be aware of them.  However, it was not until 1949 that Yoshida began making her own abstract flower paintings, for which she would place flowers inside a glass fishbowl in order to magnify them.

        The woodblock prints came in 1953.  These pieces are certainly not as large as O’Keeffe’s canvases, but they are larger than life, and share the same sense of abstraction.  At first glance they could be purely abstract, but then you can see how they’re actually zoomed-in views.  It’s interesting to see the traditional Japanese printmaking methods used for such a different style of art.

        I don’t like the dull colors of this narcissus as much, but I do appreciate that it’s an interesting choice, especially compared to the particularly bright greens of the ladyslipper orchid.  I also like that Yoshida has chosen to show the flower from the back, rather than the stereotypical front view.

        I’ve featured woodblock prints by some other member of the Yoshida family in previous posts.  You can see a street scene by her husband Hiroshi here.  Hiroshi had been adopted by her father to be the successor of the family’s art tradition, because of course it couldn’t be a girl.  But after her father died Hiroshi enrolled her in art school and they held joint exhibitions together.  You can see one of his Sailboats here, and Garden in Summer here.  The couple had two sons, both of whom also became artists.  You can see a strange alien city by Tōshi Yoshida here.

        As for Fujio herself, I like how different these flower details are from anything her artistic father or husband had done, although her second son’s abstract work was apparently an influence on her.  Anyway, I love O’Keefe’s flowers, and I like these, as well.

[Pictures: Ladyslipper Orchid, woodblock print by Fujio Yoshida, 1954;

Flowering Kale, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1953;

Narcissus, woodblock print by Yoshida, 1954 (All images from Harvard Art Museums).]

You Can Hear Me Now

         I’ve had a recent spate of videos released, which I can now share with you for your edutainment - assuming you would consider yourself educated and/or entertained by the sight and sound of me reading and talking about my work.  At the very least, it’s a chance for me to share some events with my peeps all around the world, instead of being available only to the local crowd.

        1. In July I was invited to be a guest on the television program “For the Love of Words.”  Host (and poet) John Holgerson interviewed me, followed by my reading quite a number of poems, including some that will be in my next book.  Of course there are a few points I would have made more eloquently or more clearly if I’d written a script in advance (and there’s one spot where they kept in two takes of a comment, so it sounds like I’m repeating

myself!), but it was a great experience and I’m honored to have been invited to participate.  You can watch the program on Easton Community Access Television here.

        2. The Needham Channel did a lovely piece on Needham’s Poet Laureate program.  Producer Yuxiao Yuan gave us the full Ken Burns treatment.  She met with me twice for a long interview and lots of footage, and I was really impressed by how much thought and effort Yuxiao put into this 6 minute “documentary.”  You can watch that piece on the Needham Channel here.

        3. Strong Women-Strange Worlds got a bit behind on posting their videos (it’s an all-volunteer organization and Life has a way of throwing curveballs), so my last two events were only recently posted on-line, even though they took place a while ago.

            A. During the Holiday Extravaganza back in December I participated in “Speed-Date a Book” and presented a pitch for On the Virtues of Beasts of the Realms of Imagination.  I had fun channeling my inner David Attenborough - not to mention having to build a jungle in front of my computer.  Watch here to see whether my book can win a date with you!  (I’m actually the first author to go, but if you want to skip the intro, start at the 3 minute mark.  Or watch the whole thing - it’s fun!)

            B. In February I read from “The Home for Dispossessed Familiars” from Bittersweetness & Light.  If you’d like to hear my 7-minute teaser snippet from that story, check it out here.  In this event I’m the last author to read.  By all means listen to the whole thing and find a wide variety of other cool books, but if you want to skip to my segment, go to 43:15.  (By the way, go ahead and Follow/Subscribe to the SW-SW YouTube channel.  It costs you nothing, and it helps a small but worthy organization get traction on the internet.)

        In addition to all those videos, I’ve also had a few other things published on-line in the past couple of months.

        4. My haiku “Mud Season” was posted on Haiku Newton’s web site, along with all the other winning Haiku from this year.  You can read them all here.

        5. As Poet Laureate of Needham, I wrote a poem for the town: “Home, Needham 2025.”  I presented it to the Select Board in July, and will present it to a wider audience some time in the fall.  In the meantime, it’s posted on the library’s web site, here.

        6. My poem “The Green Girl Thinks of Home” was published in New Myths in June, much to my delight.  I already shared it in my post What’s Black and White and Green, but just to gather everything together in one place, here’s that New Myths link again.

        7. The Needham Hometown Weekly published a press release on July 24 about my solo show “Poems and Prints” that’s hanging now at Gorse Mill Gallery.  Find it on page 3.  (I mentioned that exhibition, too, in a prior post, which you can see here.)  A lovely reporter attended my reception on Sunday, so if they publish an article about that I’ll add the link to this post, possibly next week.

        With all this press and publicity I’ve had to face the paradoxical truth about myself that while I always appreciate and get excited about these opportunities to spread the word, I simultaneously cringe in horror at the thought of being in the spotlight.  I guess it’s lucky for me that I’m so small-time that the spotlight isn’t very bright anyway!  Still, I do hope that you find something in all these bits and pieces that resonates with you about the positive power of poetry, art, and stories.  If you do, please let me know, because that’s what makes it worthwhile despite the discomfort of the publicity!

[Pictures: various stills of various filming by various people, compiled by AEGNydam, 2025.  Follow the links to get specific credits.]

The Range of Gibbings

         Robert Gibbings (Ireland, 1889-1958) was very influential in reviving wood engraving as an artistic medium in the twentieth century.  He worked as an illustrator, author, and publisher, so he was instrumental in defining how relief printing was used throughout a formative period of twentieth century art and design.  The thing about his work that strikes me is the variety of styles he uses over the course of his career.  Early on he was influenced by cubism and modernism, which you can see in this most excellent castle.  There’s definitely something cubist about the perspective and the shading of the blocks that make up the architecture.

        He also developed something he called a “vanishing line” technique, in which many edges and outlines are missing.  This is a style that fascinates me, in large part because I find myself utterly unable to do it.  It requires far more faith in one’s own artistic ability, in the possibilities of graphic design, and in the eyes of the beholder than I have ever been able to summon.  This woman is certainly not the most extreme example, but it’s one of my favorites.  Is she contemplating the next move in a chess game, or is she staring at some other sort of “Problem” to be solved?  With so many details elided I can’t tell for sure, but it’s amazing to me how much we do see in this image, even though it isn’t really there: the whole shape of the woman’s head and body.

        By contrast, this scene of a mill is quite realistic, without any hint of cubism.  Nevertheless, you can see Gibbings’s ability to leave out a lot of details and outlines.  I particularly love how the smaller branches of the trees are dashed lines, and the shaded area between the two wings of the mill is entirely black.  I admire how little carving it takes to pick out an entire scene in small details of white, and I love the serenity of a place that’s been conjured out of so little.

        This last piece is from much later in Gibbings’s career, and by now his style is full of fine textures and little details for an entirely different look.  He was particularly successful writing and illustrating travel memoirs, and this detailed style served well to share scenes from his travels all around the world.  (All this travel was possible because he wasn’t much concerned with family responsibility!  But for today I’m just here to share the relief prints.)

        I’ve featured a few other pieces by Gibbings in past posts, and it’s well worth revisiting Sea Creatures, Under Snow, and Year of the Snake to see more pieces that demonstrate the wide range of styles that strikes me so much about his work.

[Pictures: Castle at Saumur, wood engraving by Robert Gibbings, c. 1925 (Image from V&A);

The Problem, woodcut by Gibbings, 1921 (Image from V&A);

The Mill, wood engraving by Gibbings, 1920s (Image from V&A);

Standing Stones, wood engraving by Gibbings, 1951 (Image from V&A).]