'Traditional' vs 'Creative' printmaking
Woodblock printmaking in Japan has two main faces: traditional and creative. Those are not particularly accurate words to describe the two 'worlds', as the traditional side can certainly be creative, and the creative side is founded on many traditions, but the words have been chosen - and that is that.
The 'division of labour' method with which traditional Japanese prints were (and are) made must by now be pretty much familiar to most people. Four people were responsible for each print:
a publisher, who conceived each project, directed each aspect of the production, and marketed the finished prints.
a designer, working under commission from the publisher, who created the image that was to appear on the print.
a carver (more accurately - a group of carvers, some of high experience, some of lesser ...), who took the illustration from the designer and carved it in wood.
a printer (again - sometimes a group of printers), who produced the actual prints from the carved blocks.
Other people were certainly involved, a skilled worker to transform the designer's 'free' sketches into a detailed tracing for the carver to follow, a papermaker, etc., but it is these four whom we now see as being the 'Ukiyo-e Quartet'.
It is sometimes difficult for people living in our day, a time in which the names of many of the long-dead designers have been elevated into 'superhero' status ... Utamaro, Hokusai, Hiroshige ... to understand that these designers in many cases had very little to do with the details of the appearance of the finished prints. Quite a number of working sketches and intermediate stages have survived to our time, and these show us that the designer usually produced what we would now call a 'sketch'. The main strokes of the design were there, but all else was vague at best.
This sketch was transformed by other artists (in the publisher's workshop) into a detailed, precise, and sharply drawn 'hanshita', the sheet that would be passed to the carver to guide him in his work.
Here are some illustrations that show something of this process. A sketch by Hokusai ...
... and the corresponding portion of the resulting print.
The step that came in between these two stages - the hanshita prepared by the unnamed artist - was of course destroyed in the carving process.
Some of the old hanshita have survived though, and it by looking at these that we can get an idea of the importance of this unknown step in the production process. Here is a close-up of one such drawing - from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston (reproduced from Jack Hillier's wonderful book 'The Art of Hokusai in Book Illustration')
Looking at this drawing, one can hardly tell the difference between it and a finished print, the resemblance is so exact. This was the man who really created our print!
But it was not only at this stage that the unknown craftsmen worked their magic. Here is another illustration - this one is a 'kyogo-zuri', a proof print taken from a freshly carved key block. Such prints were pulled when the main carving was done, and sent over to the designer to receive his recommendations on what colours were to be used in the print. Theoretically, he would carefully outline each area that was to be printed in each colour, and would provide the printer with detailed guidance on exactly what shades to use. Theoretically.
As we can see in this kyogo-zuri, Utamaro (the designer in this case) not only didn't bother outlining each area of colour, but just slapped down colour names in various places - 'blue', 'yellow', 'shiny black', etc.
When he handed this back to the publisher, that would be the end of his input in the process ... The printer would then sit with his bowls of colour, and mix magical and exquisite balances of colour from those few simple words of instruction. This was the man who really created our print!
But who do we remember now - that man who carefully drew every line in the print? The carver who brought those lines to life? The printer? No, the only name we remember is that of the man who brushed that original sketch ...
Is my bias on behalf of the craftsmen showing perhaps a bit too strongly? Perhaps it is - but there have been many millions of words written about Utamaro. It won't hurt to have these other men gain just a little bit of recognition ...
So there we have the 'traditional' side of Japanese printmaking. That way of doing things arose in the late 1600's and flourished until the late 1800's. Remnants of it still survive today. A few publishers are still active, mostly making reproductions of the old prints, but occasionally some more modern things, usually reproductions of famous 'nihonga' paintings. A half-dozen people still work as carvers, and perhaps a dozen or so as printers. But traditional printmaking has been on shaky ground for nearly a hundred years now, ever since the Meiji era saw the introduction of printing presses.
How could printing presses alter the life of men working as artists? A good question, but the wrong question. Those men were not working as artists - they were working as 'printers', in the sense that we use that word today - to describe people working in the printing business. The woodblock process was simply the way that all printed material was made - books, pamphlets, illustrations ... And when the presses rolled in, with vastly superior speed and capacity - that was the end of it for them. The men still working in this field now are considered to be working in the 'arts', but that was certainly not the case originally.
The other side of the coin - 'sosaku hanga' ('creative' printmaking) - has a history that stretches back to just after the turn of the 20th century, when the first prints were made under a new philosophy; that the artist should take control of every part of the production process himself - from conception to finished print.
The men who established this movement were of course inspired to do so by what they learned from contacts and travel in Europe (particularly France), where such things had long been common. For them the main point was that a print should not be a reproduction of something else, but should be an end in itself - a creative work of art. They cast aside the technical achievements of the traditional carvers and printers, and moved away from prints in which the 'line' dominated all. To them, the creation of a mood was more important.
They also considered themselves 'internationalists', and as the movement developed their range of subjects gradually grew wider in scope, until it finally became impossible to recognize the prints as being produced by Japanese.
These days the actual term 'sosaku hanga' is not much used by such artists, as they no longer have any need to distance themselves from traditional work. They move in different circles completely, and consider themselves simply 'hanga-ka' - printmakers.
So those are the two worlds of printmaking in Japan. They are not as completely separate as I have implied, as some modern artists working in the 'creative' field sometimes hire traditional craftsmen to do cutting or printing for them (although they rarely credit such men in public ...).
Creative printmaking is extremely popular in this country, both at a 'professional' level (these men are usually university professors, etc.) and as a hobby for many thousands of people. Tools and supplies are readily available anywhere, and every local library and bookshop has a section on woodblock printmaking.
Traditional printmaking on the other hand, very definitely seems to be on its last legs. There are very few young people entering the field, and as the older men pass away one by one, the number of people making a living at this work shrinks with every passing year. Various levels of government are trying to support the craft with subsidies and assistance programs to publishers and craftsmen's associations, but with very little public interest in their products, it seems inevitable that the end of the three-hundred year old tradition is not too far off ...
It will then continue to exist only in small pockets here and there where particular individuals have a personal interest in maintaining such skills. And perhaps in the pages of this Encyclopedia, where it is hoped that as much information on these traditions as possible can be stored until such time as it can prove useful to someone exploring the past ...
Comment/Discussion/Questions
Added by: Troy Carney on March 31, 2009 7:41 PM
Hi, Thank you for this website , it has allot of information and incredible works of art. I'm an artist here on Kauai and I am very interested in learning Japanese wood block printing. I seriously think I was born to do this and I'm sure I'll be printing in no time. My Question is, where can I purchase good quality Sakura wood for the blocks? After not finding a place to buy the blocks I was thinking of starting small and purchasing some Sakura flooring strips but, after reading your information about thickness and the preparation I want to do this right. I'm book marking your site as it is so far my favorite. Mahalo, Troy Carney
Added by: Dave on March 31, 2009 7:51 PM
One place here in Japan that exports blocks is Woodlike Matsumura. But planks of solid cherry are very heavy, so it gets pretty expensive ... It might be worthwhile trying to find some US cherry locally - check with lumberyards that supply people making furniture, etc. ...
Added by: Fatima Ferreira on May 19, 2009 5:48 AM
Dear David,
Firstly I want to thank you and congratulate you for your fabulous, complete and informative site.
However I have a question for you if you have time to answer me...
"wood engraving" is the technique where you work the wood against its grain. True ?
"wood cut" is the technique where you work the wood in the same direction of its grain, isn't it ?
And "woodblock" is it a more general name for both techniques ?
The name "Ukyio-e prints", come from the special technique to make them (are they always wood engraving ? or also wood cut?)or this name come also from their date ?
I Thank you very much in adavance for your answer.
My best wishes,
Fatima Ferreira
Added by: Dave on May 19, 2009 10:00 AM
wood engraving ... vs wood cut
Wood engraving is the term usually used for the method where wood is used on the 'end grain'. The tools used are burins, rather than knives. Printing is done with oil-based inks, either with a press, or sometimes hand burnishing.
Wood cut is the term usually used for prints made with the wood cut in 'plank' fashion. Burins don't work well on this type of wood surface, so knives and gouges are used. Pigment can be either oil-based (typical western tradition), or water-based (typical Japanese tradition).
The name "Ukyio-e prints", come from the special technique to make them
No. This is a common error. ukiyo-e are 'images ('e') relating to ukiyo themes'. ukiyo is a philosophy, not an art style. Check Wikipedia for discussion on this.
The technique is irrelevant. There were many painted scrolls in an ukiyo-e style, for example ...
Topic: Tools and Materials
Note: The Encyclopedia is in the middle of a major renovation, with the page designs being completely renewed and updated. So you will encounter a mix of old and new as you browse through, which may be quite confusing. Hopefully, it won't take too long to finish the job ...
Tools for carving:
Basic Carving Tools
Sharpening Stones
Basic Sharpening Procedure
Ito-san's Carving Knife
Tools for printing:
The 'hon' (real) baren
Other types of baren
Breaking in a new baren
Re-covering the baren
A 'comic' version of the re-covering pages
A Q&A Session based on the re-covering pages
Fundamentals of baren use
Softening the brushes by machine
Printing bench
The Printer's workspace
Making 'hakobi' (pigment brushes)
A 'comic' version of the hakobi-making pages
'Alternative' barens
Wood:
Bringing home some cherry planks ...
Paper:
Traditional Japanese Paper Dimensions
A Collection of Sizing Recipies
Overview of the Sizing Process
Pigments:
Preparing powder pigments
Various paste recipies
Sadako's paste recipe
Workshop:
A Portable Carving/Printing 'Kit' ...
arving Tools
A Basic Carving Tool Set
Questions on carving tools - "What tools do I need?" - "Are Japanese knives the best?" - "Do I need to buy such an expensive kento-nomi?" - make up far and away the largest category of questions that come in my email. That this should be so is a bit of a puzzle for me; my impulse is to answer them all, "Don't worry so much about exactly what tools to buy! Get hold of any kind of cutter from your local hardware store, and get started carving. Once you've been at it a while, you'll have a better understanding of what sort of tools will be useful to you ..."
My first few prints were made using nothing but an X-acto knife, and yes they were indeed pretty bad. I rather suspect though, that even if I had used specialized woodcarving knives and chisels, there wouldn't really have been a whole lot of difference in the results ...
But of course this is not the answer that most of the correspondents want to hear. So I'll console myself while writing this little description, with the hope that you who will read it have already tried a bit of printmaking, are interested in doing more, and would now like to get some proper tools. Be warned though, that when I say 'proper', my bias means that this will be the sort of tools that are used in the Japanese traditional techniques. There are many many different sorts of knives, cutters, chisels, and gouges out there in the shops, and they will all make marks in wood. But I can only write of what I know, so this particular Encyclopedia entry will thus be somewhat restricted in scope.
'Restricted' ... to the group of tools used to make that astonishing creation known as the Japanese woodblock print ...
Before trying to describe each specific type of tool, I have to mention something about the special way in which nearly all Japanese cutting tools - from mundane kitchen knives right up to exotic swords - are made. The blacksmith making any particular blade is faced with a very basic trade-off when he selects his steel. If he chooses a type with a relatively high quantity of carbon added to the iron, the blade will be very hard, and capable of being sharpened to a keen edge - but it will be quite brittle, and easily broken. If he chooses a low carbon type of steel, the blade will be much less likely to break or chip, but it will not hold a fine edge.
The Japanese blacksmith's answer to this dilemma is to make his blades by using a lamination of both types; a high carbon steel for the part of the blade that is to carry the cutting edge, and a 'backing' layer of lower carbon steel for support. Ingots of steel of the proper size and shape are hammered together when in a near molten state, and the two layers fuse together into a single blade. But they do not blend together, and the dividing line between them can clearly be seen in the finished tool - the area with the more 'white' and shiny appearance being the higher carbon steel.
Whenever you are looking through a tool catalogue, and wondering why some of the knives are so much more expensive than others of a similar type, it is the way that this laminating process has been handled that is to 'blame'. A knife made from a high-quality steel, laminated at the proper pressure and temperature, will obviously be more expensive than one made in a more sloppy way. To the beginner, the difference may not be very appreciable, but once some experience is gained, the more expensive tool will bring greatly increased efficiency and far more pleasure in its use.
Hangi-to
Pronounced 'hang gee toe', and also known as the 'chokoku-to' or more simply 'to', this is the basic carving knife that forms the heart of any set of carving tools for woodblock print making. It is the only member of the set that is asymmetrical, and thus comes in both left-handed and right-handed versions. It is commonly available in sizes from 1.5mm up to 9mm in width. (This photo is of a 6mm 'standard' size 'to', right-handed type).
The handles of these knives are made of a hard wood, usually cherry or ebony. The blades fit into a small slot cut into the handle, and are held in place by a ring of brass. This ring may be easily slipped off to allow the blade to be slid forward as it becomes worn down through repeated sharpening (and then eventually replaced).
If you look in the toolbox of an experienced carver, you will see quite a collection of these knives; in addition to narrow ones for delicate work and wide ones for heavier cutting, he will have an assortment sharpened at different angles to suit different types of work. A blade sharpened at an acute angle as in the knife on the left in this next photo is suited to work that involves sharp curves and small circles, etc. It is difficult to control on long straight lines. The centre knife is sharpened at a more all-purpose angle (perhaps a bit too much on the 'acute' side ...), and the one on the right is a blade specifically for cutting straight lines; the low angle means that more of the metal is 'buried' in the wood at any given moment, and is thus less inclined to wander. (These three are for left-handers.)
Ai-suki (ah ee soo kee)
The word literally means 'the inbetween becomes transparent', and that may (or may not!) give a hint about how these chisels are used. They have a flat blade with a slightly rounded nose, and are used with a pushing motion to clear away wood from between lines carved with the hangi-to. Common sizes are from 1mm up to 6mm.
The handle is usually made from a hard wood (sometimes bamboo), and is made in such a way that it can swivel open to allow the blade position to be adjusted after sharpening.
Unlike the case with the hangi-to, where the 'extreme' sizes are seldom used, the full range of sizes of the aisuki is in regular use. When it comes time to start the clearing work on the block, the carver is constantly reaching for the chisel that fits the particular space that needs to be cleared at any moment. For areas much wider than 6mm, the hammer-driven chisels are used (see below), but for anything under this dimension, the aisuki does the job.
In addition to the store-bought aisuki, which are usually obtainable only down to the 1mm size, many carvers also have a selection of smaller ones they have made themselves. A common type is made from a broken-off sewing machine needle inserted into a wooden handle and sharpened to a narrow point (the left-most chisel in the group of five above is one of these). The metal such needles are made from is extremely resistant to breaking, and the point is used with a prying motion to dig in and 'pop out' the slivers of unwanted wood between carved lines.
Maru-nomi
The word means 'round-chisel', and unlike all the other tools mentioned so far on this page, this one is used with a hammer or mallet.
The blade has a 'U' shape when seen face on. Typical sizes range from 4.5mm up to 15mm, in two general types - shallow or deep. They are used to quickly remove waste wood from open areas of the block.
Soai-nomi (so ah ee no me)
A sort of sub-group of the 'hira-nomi' (flat chisels), the soai-nomi have slightly rounded corners, and leave a cleaner block than the hira-nomi. They are used with a large mallet to clear away any wide areas of unwanted wood from the block. (The one I've got here, an old treasure bequeathed to me by an older carver, is actually almost 'square' enough to be classified as a 'hira-nomi'.)
These chisels range in size from 9mm to 30mm, with a 21mm width being perhaps the most common.
Kento-nomi
This is perhaps the last chisel that should go on your shopping list. It is usually very expensive, and is used on only one occasion - when cutting the two registration marks on each block. It has a simple straight blade, and is kept in an extremely sharp and perfect condition, in order that the marks may be cut as accurately as possible. It comes in only one size - 15mm. (It is worth noting that this 'carving' tool is also found in the printer's toolbox - he is the man who cuts the registration marks on the colour blocks, not the carver.)
That's it ... for the standard traditional selection of carving tools. Carvers working in the old style used no other tools than this, but it would be remiss not to at least mention two additional types now in common use ...
Koma-suki
These are a family of 'push-type' chisels, used in the hand like the aisuki (without a hammer), but with a U-shaped blade rather than a flat one. They have the same size range as the aisuki, from 1mm up to 6mm. They cut a small 'trough' shape in the surface of the block.
San-kaku to
The word means 'triangular knife', and this corresponds to the western 'V' shaped gouge. These also typically range from 1mm to 6mm.
I can't show you photos of these two types, because I don't have any of them!
So much for the basic description, but just which of these tools do you really need to start making woodblock prints?
Obviously, without knowing what sort of prints you want to make, I cannot give you a definitive answer about what you should buy. Let me here simply give an outline of what I use. This advice will be most appropriate for work being done in the traditional Japanese 'outline' style ...
Here is a complete list of my carving tools:
Hangito 3mm, 4.5mm, 6mm (a selection sharpened in a variety of ways as outlined above)
Marunomi 6mm (deep), 15mm (shallow)
Soainomi 24 mm
Aisuki 1mm, 1.5mm, 3mm, 6mm (plus a couple with very fine points made from sewing machine needles as outlined above)
Kento-nomi
These tools are listed here in the same order that I use them in cutting a block. First the outlines are all incised with the hangi-to. When that's done, the marunomi is run around in the wide open areas staying just 'offshore' from the cut lines. Next, the soainomi takes away the unneeded wood in the wide open areas. Finally, the aisuki trim away the waste between the marunomi trench and the cut lines. All my work is done with this relatively small group of tools. (The marunomi and soainomi are used with a hammer, the aisuki are 'pushed', and the 'to' is drawn towards you.)
Basic Process of Making a Print
The Traditional 'Key Block' Method
With a keyblock - or without? Are there really only two ways to make a woodblock print? No, of course there are many many different ways to approach the construction of a print; it is simply that woodblock prints generally fall into one of two major types - those with an outline (usually in black) that defines the boundaries of all the shapes in the image, and those with no such line present.
The most famous examples of the outline type are of course the prints created in the Japanese traditional manner. Indeed, in these prints the colour can in many cases be considered an afterthought; the outline stands on its own as a complete image.
Prints made without outlines however, depend on the colour masses and their arrangement to create the image. Black may be present, but if so it is usually treated no differently from the other colours in the print. (Illustration of a print by Matt Brown)
As would be expected from such dramatically different concepts of what a print should look like, the construction of the two types follows quite different methods ...
With Keyblock ...
The most interesting aspect by far of the traditional outline-based woodblock print, is the fact that until the last of the colours has been printed on the proof copies, no one will ever have seen the image in its entirety. The outline drawing existed at one stage, so the general shape of the image was clear, but how it was to look in final 'full-colour' splendour was something that only existed in the designer's mind. It's much like the creation of a piece for symphony orchestra - the composer himself can presumably 'hear' the piece, but until all the parts have been copied, and all the musicians assembled, the music doesn't have any actual existence.
The first step is of course a sketch of the design. Although it is indeed possible to dispense with this, and simply attack a piece of wood with some sharp tools, most of us need to be a bit more organized than that ...
Once the design is 'ready' it must be translated into a form suitable for cutting on wood. One common way to do this is to use a thin paper (tracing paper, or a thin Japanese paper known as minogami) and, using brushes or pens, carefully draw each of the lines. The image is not reversed for the woodblock, but drawn in 'normal' orientation.
No indication of colouring is made at all. At this point, nothing but the outlines are needed. In addition to the image itself, it is necessary at this point to add the registration marks (kento). These will be carved onto the wood along with the design, and will enable the paper to be placed in precise position for printing later.
This finished sheet is known as the sen-gaki (outline drawing) or the hanshita (tracing for carving). Here's an sample - using a print I made a few years ago for a children's printmaking workshop.
The hanshita is pasted face down onto a suitable piece of wood, and it is this face-down orientation that performs the essential step of reversing the image for the block. If the paper used was thin enough, the image will now be visible through the back; if a Japanese paper such as the minogami was used, it can be gently rubbed at this point to remove most of the fibres, leaving the image clearly visible on the wood.
The block is now carved. (Five easy words to say!)
The two parts of the kento are also carved (the 'L' shaped corner mark, and the straight mark).
Once the key block is ready, work on colour separations can begin. In order that blocks for the colours can be carved accurately, a number of impressions are now printed from the key block - as many as there are to be colours in the final print (plus a few for 'extras' ...)
One point of confusion for beginners comes up here - these impressions are not printed in the 'normal' way, with the paper inserted into the kento as common sense would dictate, but are printed with the paper laid over the entire piece of wood. Pigment must be rubbed over the entire image including the kento marks. In this way, the placement of these registrations marks will be clear on the colour separations, allowing matching marks to be carved in the corresponding locations on the colour blocks.
The next step is also surprising for beginners - the colour separations are made, not using the colours that are expected to appear in the final print, but with anything that is handy. In the old days, it was common for a vermillion pigment to be used to deliniate each area of colour, but as a water-based pigment tends to cause the paper to expand and distort, I find it better to use a modern fluorescent marker.
One sheet is used for each colour, and the marker is used to carefully fill in the appropriate areas. Any areas that are left blank on all the sheets, will appear as blank white areas in the finished print (the inside of the 'boat' in this example). Any areas that are coloured on more than one sheet, will be areas of overlaid colour (the background trees, his cuffs, the stick ...).
(A common 'trick' when the separation work is done, is to stack the sheets on top of each other and hold them up to the light. This will show up any areas that have been missed in the colouring - a very easy error to make ...)
Each of these sheets is then pasted down on a fresh piece of wood - again face down - and they are carved, including the kento marks. Carving a colour block simply consists of removing everything that isn't 'red' - out to a distance of about 3~4 cm away from the retained areas.
Once all the carving is finished the printing process begins, and this follows the same general order as the carving - the key block comes first, the colours next. In this way, each colour block can be carefully adjusted so that the colour will fit exactly between the outlines. (In the traditional Japanese style of printmaking, the pigments were nearly always a transparent type, so there was no problem with opaque pigment covering the lines.)
Impression of the key block
Impression of the first colour block ...
The two combined ...
Impression of the second colour block ...
The three combined ...
Impression of the third colour block ...
The four combined ...
So in this example, four impressions serve to produce a print of six colours, due to the areas of overlap between colours. Note again - the colour blocks span wide areas, including places where black is printed - the face for example. But because the pigments are transparent, even though the colours are printed on top of the black lines, those lines show clearly in the final print.
This 'key-block plus colours' method of working is capable of producing prints of astonishing complexity, as any glance through a book on traditional Japanese prints will show ...
Preparing paper for printing - (entry by David Bull)
The hosho paper arrives from Misawa-san the sizer in the same crate in which he received it from Iwano-san the papermaker. A 'standard' order for paper of this type is 500 sheets.
This is the 'O-bosho' paper, which will make two of the typical 'ukiyo-e' size prints when cut in half. Using a knife and ruler to cut the sheets one at a time like I am doing here is most definitely not the usual way that printers here in Japan do it. They use a specialized knife known as a kami kiri bo-cho (paper cutting chopper). Why don't I? Because I've been waiting over three years at present for the blacksmith to make me a left handed model!
I like to keep as much of the mimi (deckle edge) as possible, but the paper in that form does not fit cleanly into the kagi registration mark. It is thus necessary to cut a tiny notch in one corner, to provide a clean right angle to fit the mark. The straight side of the freshly cut edge of the paper will fit against the hikitsuke mark.
The next step is very important. Iwano san and his family do go to extreme lengths to make sure that the paper is clean and free from errant shreds of dark bark, but in each batch of 500 sheets it is inevitable that a few such tiny defects remain. And of course, you know where they always end up - right in the most important part of the design - the face.
So each sheet is checked by placing it over the original photograph on the light table ...
... to ensure that all important areas are clear and clean. Rejected sheets are set aside to use with a different design, one in which the defect will presumably fall in a less important location.
Then it is on to the most important part of the process, moistening the sheets ...
... which is described more thoroughly on another page.
Paper preparation ...
Before the actual printing can begin, the paper must be moistened. There are two main reasons for this: (1) if we tried printing on dry paper, it would expand unevenly as it absorbed the water from the blocks, and registration of multiple colours would then become impossible; and (2) the pigments will not 'sink in' properly if the paper is too dry and 'hard'.
One convenient way to moisten the paper is to press it between sheets of wet newspaper for a couple of hours (many printers do it the night before). Using a basin of water and a mizubake (if you don't have this specialist's brush, a wallpaper brush or wide, clean paintbrush will do), brush water over alternate sheets of both the printing paper and the sheets of newspaper, then wrap the stack in a plastic bag and stack it between boards as shown in the picture until the moisture has equalized.
What level of dampness are you aiming for? The printing paper should end up feeling about like a sheet that has just come out of the spin drier ready for hanging on the clothesline - damp and soft.
This simple method should suffice for many purposes, but if the paper dimensions are relatively large, or if the design contains small-scale elements that make registration critical, then a second step is necessary. The moistened paper needs to be allowed to expand freely as it absorbs the water, but while held tightly in that stack, it is unable to do so. So after it has been stacked in this fashion for a couple of hours, it must be re-stacked in a 'looser' form. There are a couple of common ways of doing this:
(1) The traditional methods use a wide board covered with moistened thick paper or smooth cardboard. On this moist surface, arrange the sheets of printing paper in 'staggered' fashion (the illustrations show two common methods: 'otosu' and 'hawasu').
When all the paper is in place, cover it with more of the moistened thick paper, and then cover the entire stack with moistened towels or heavy cloth.
The next morning, in preparation for printing, open the stack, quickly slide the paper into a single pile again, and place this in position ready for use, face down and covered with more of the moistened thick paper to keep it damp while it waits ...
(2) Another method, and one that makes it somewhat easier for an inexperienced printer to control the moisture during the days of printing, is to use the same wide board covered with the moist thick paper, but on this lay some well-moistened newsprint (in 'eight-page' sections works well). On this place 5 sheets of your printing paper face up, slightly staggered, as in the second illustration above. Over this another newsprint section, and then 5 more sheets ... Continue until all the paper is in place. A few more sections of newsprint, and then cover it all with the moistened thick paper and towels as above.
At printing time, remove the towels and thick paper, and place the entire stack in position in front of the printing workspace (flipped over so the paper is face down). Flip some of the moist newspaper over to the side platform, then print five sheets. Flip the newspaper across, then print five sheets, etc. etc. Add moisture to the newsprint as necessary before re-covering for the night.
Moistening Paper - further considerations (entry by David Bull)
It takes quite a bit of practice to get printing paper moistened evenly. As the brush is full at the beginning of each stroke, but gradually loses water as it moves across the paper, the tendency is for one end of the sheets to become somewhat wetter than the other end. There are a couple of ways to guard against this. The easiest is simply to flip alternate sheets around so that the moisture is in approximate balance throughout the stack.
Another way is to adjust the speed of the brush stroke, starting out quite quickly, but then slowing down as you reach the opposite end of the paper. The moisture thus released is approximately equal.
Professional printers here in Japan generally use the stroke order shown in this illustration. They don't flip the paper around at all, but equalize moisture by varying the speed of their strokes.
Stroke (1) is 'back-hand'. Stroke (2) then follows naturally - 'front-hand'. (3) and (4) follow the same pattern - back and forward, and stroke (5) finishes off. (This illustration is for right-handed people; I do it the other way around myself ...)
Of course, the number of strokes you will make depends on the relative sizes of your brush and the paper.
It is possible to 'tint' the paper at the same time that the moistening is being done, by mixing the desired pigment with the water. In that case, you have to be very careful to ensure that your brush strokes neither overlap a great deal, nor leave wide gaps between ...
This is most effective when done with a dull sandy colour, giving an 'aged' feeling to the finished print.
(David Bull)
Drying Prints - (entry by David Bull)
Drying prints is not difficult, but can be a time-consuming process, especially in the rainy season! When dealing with washi (Japanese papers), there are a few important points to observe:
It is best not to start drying the paper immediately after printing the final colour impression. Give the pigment time to 'settle' into place. Wait at least a few hours - overnight is best.
After the days and days of printing, the paper will by now be very soft and fragile. Handle it with great care, as any kinks or creases made at this point will be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to remove.
Most prints made on washi, with the exception of those in which pigment has been deeply pressed into the entire surface of the sheet, will still have some 'body' or thickness at this stage in the process. Using a strong press to dry and flatten them can damage this, and can also damage any embossings that may be present. Heavy weights are not used.
Professional printers here in Tokyo nearly all dry their prints in exactly the same way. They have on hand a stack of cardboard, quite heavy stuff about 3mm thick, and about 1 metre square. (Note that this is not corrugated cardboard; using this will leave striations in the prints.)
The wet prints are laid out side-by-side (never overlapping) on a sheet of this cardboard, and another sheet is placed on top. More prints are laid out, another sheet placed on, and a large stack built up. A piece of plywood goes over the top, and maybe a few books or something to hold everything in place. How long they stay in there depends completely on the weather; it may be anywhere from a few hours, to some days ...
After the prints are removed, the cardboard is arrayed out on the balcony to dry out ready to be used again.
There are two problems with this procedure however, that lead me to use a different method for my own prints:
Because the cardboard itself is carelessly dried out while hanging around out there on the balcony, it develops considerable warping. This is 'incurable', and each time prints are dried in it, they too pick up these warps. The stacks of prints that these men send off to the publishers are actually not very neatly pressed. I've heard considerable grumbling from publishers who have to spend a lot of time pressing them flat into a state suitable for selling.
Where does the water go? The water isn't actually taken away from the stack. Most of it is absorbed by the cardboard, because that is thicker and heavier than the printing paper, but it doesn't go anywhere, and the prints remain still slightly damp when they are removed.
So I do things a bit differently. After printing the final colour, I give my workshop a complete once-over - cleaning up all the printing tools, and vacuuming the tatami mats thoroughly. When I am ready to start drying the prints I lay them out on the mats side-by-side, usually about 20 or so at a time, crack the windows and doors open, and then sit and watch them. How long this step takes again depends very much on the weather, and may take just a few minutes, or a few tens of minutes, but as soon as I see and feel that most of the moisture has 'flown out', but before they start to crinkle up, I quickly slide them into place in a stack of medium-weight illustration boards - two prints between each two boards.
Once the twenty sheets are in there, a piece of plywood and a couple of books go on top, and I lay out the next batch. This continues until they are all in there, and that is where they stay overnight. Come the next morning, they are wonderfully dry, extremely flat, and ready to be checked, signed, and sent out to my waiting collectors.
Because most of the moisture was allowed to escape before the prints went into the stack, the illustration boards themselves do not absorb a lot of water, and are thus not damaged and warped when I them put them out on the balcony to air out. I make sure that they are thoroughly dry, and then store them in the closet. I have been using the same set of 100 boards now for a couple of years, and they still show no warping, nor any sign of becoming moldy or otherwise unuseable.
I should mention that there are a couple of possible trouble spots with this method:
Too much handling of the prints while they are so soft and wet is not good. If one is not extremely careful while laying them out on the mats and picking them up again, it is easy to make kinks or creases. I trust this job to nobody but myself.
You have to be careful not to get interrupted. If you have to go away to answer the door, and get kept there by an important visitor, you will return to find that batch of prints all curled up and wrinkled. This isn't permanent damage, but these prints then have to be re-moistened with a brush (from the back side), left to settle, and then re-dried.
And I could tell you some stories about an extremely curious and rather determined cat ... But perhaps that is better left to your imagination ...
Keyblock Carving
For carving, three different types of knife are used, in a 'three stage' process: first cutting the lines with the main carving knife (toh), next removing wide unwanted areas with the round chisels (marunomi), and finally trimming away waste close to the printing areas with the small flat chisels (aisuki).
First stage: cut the lines of the drawing, holding the knife at an angle that will produce a beveled edge on the finished line (Fig. a). Keep the tip of the blade about 1 ~ 2mm deep in the wood.
Second stage: switch to the round chisel, and start gouging away the waste wood. Only the waste lying within about 5cm of any printing area will need to be removed. You should aim to create a 'valley' around each of these areas, with a depth that varies with the distance (Fig. b). Hold the chisel firmly in one hand, and with the other use a mallet to drive the chisel through the wood. Change direction as the grain of the wood dictates. Do not carve right up to the outlines previously cut with the toh, but keep a short distance away.
Third stage: trimming with the small flat chisels. Pare away the remaining waste wood, working from the areas already cleaned up by the marunomi right up to the carved lines (Fig. c). Work in short strokes, with a slight 'scooping' motion. Be extremely careful when moving along the lines - any spots where the toh didn't quite cut deeply enough are in danger of splitting away at this point. If you feel resistance - stop and re-cut the line a bit deeper at that point. (This is a very common trouble spot for beginner carvers ...)
When this is all done (Fig. d), it's time to move on to the next step - cutting the 'kento', the registration marks.
Making Colour Separations
The picture on the right illustrates what is known in Japanese as a kyogo. It is an impression taken from the finished key block, printed in thin sumi ink.
A thin but strong paper is used for these kyogo. In the old days a thin minogami was used, but as this is extremely difficult to handle, and the slightest error will make the resulting colour blocks useless, I use a slightly thicker paper called hodomura, which has the necessary characteristics for making good kyogo - it has a smooth front surface allowing fine detail to show, it is not overly subject to expansion and contraction, and it is readily abraded from the back (see below).
I request that it be quite heavily sized, and then before using it I 'kill' it with a baren by rubbing it vigorously against a smooth uncarved block.
How many kyogo will you need? One for each colour block.
This is not necessarily the same as the number of colours in the finished print, as in some cases two or more colours can be included on one kyogo (see below).
On each kyogo 'colour in' the areas where you wish one colour to appear.
(This particular photo actually shows a two-colour kyogo. The 'tail' of his hat, and the inner sleeve of his kimono will be different colours in the finished print. But they can be combined on one colour block, because they are far enough apart to allow separate brushing.)
For this print, there is a pattern on the clothing that did not appear in the key block. It must now be drawn on one of the kyogo.
My carving bench has a 'window' in it, and this is used as a light table - the kyogo is taped over the original photograph, and the pattern then traced.
Note also that the yellow marker does not completely fill in the designated area.
This is to avoid saturating the paper with the fluid, and thus causing wrinkles and expansion - both of which would cause trouble later.
One of the finished kyogo.
Note also that these sheets are printed in a different way than 'real' prints. When making a normal print, the paper is slipped into the kento (registration) marks. But when printing a kyogo, the paper is laid on top of those marks (which are also brushed with pigment).
The registration marks thus appear clearly on each kyogo (here they are in the lower right, and upper right). It is thus a simple matter to carve matching registration marks on each colour block.
The colour of the marker or pen used for these kyogo has absolutely no connection with the colours that will appear in the final print. It is chosen for clarity. In the 'old days' a vermillion pigment was commonly used.
Here's the entire collection of kyogo for this print. There are seven sheets, one of which carries two colours (see above).
The 'coloured in' areas actually overlap in a couple of cases. These indicate places on the finished print that will be receiving colour from more than one block (overprinting).
When they are all done and checked for omitted spots (a very easy mistake to make), they are pasted face down onto new blank blocks in the same manner as the original hanshita.
While the glue is still damp, a great deal of the paper fibre can be peeled from the back of each sheet, making the lines much more visible.
In a print like the one in this example, with some very small areas of colour, it is not necessary to use a fresh large block for every sheet. It is usually possible to arrange the kyogo in such a way as to allow a number of colours to be combined on each wood face.
Once they are all in place, and the glue has dried thoroughly, it's time for more carving!
Making Colour Separations
The picture on the right illustrates what is known in Japanese as a kyogo. It is an impression taken from the finished key block, printed in thin sumi ink.
A thin but strong paper is used for these kyogo. In the old days a thin minogami was used, but as this is extremely difficult to handle, and the slightest error will make the resulting colour blocks useless, I use a slightly thicker paper called hodomura, which has the necessary characteristics for making good kyogo - it has a smooth front surface allowing fine detail to show, it is not overly subject to expansion and contraction, and it is readily abraded from the back (see below).
I request that it be quite heavily sized, and then before using it I 'kill' it with a baren by rubbing it vigorously against a smooth uncarved block.
How many kyogo will you need? One for each colour block.
This is not necessarily the same as the number of colours in the finished print, as in some cases two or more colours can be included on one kyogo (see below).
On each kyogo 'colour in' the areas where you wish one colour to appear.
(This particular photo actually shows a two-colour kyogo. The 'tail' of his hat, and the inner sleeve of his kimono will be different colours in the finished print. But they can be combined on one colour block, because they are far enough apart to allow separate brushing.)
For this print, there is a pattern on the clothing that did not appear in the key block. It must now be drawn on one of the kyogo.
My carving bench has a 'window' in it, and this is used as a light table - the kyogo is taped over the original photograph, and the pattern then traced.
Note also that the yellow marker does not completely fill in the designated area.
This is to avoid saturating the paper with the fluid, and thus causing wrinkles and expansion - both of which would cause trouble later.
One of the finished kyogo.
Note also that these sheets are printed in a different way than 'real' prints. When making a normal print, the paper is slipped into the kento (registration) marks. But when printing a kyogo, the paper is laid on top of those marks (which are also brushed with pigment).
The registration marks thus appear clearly on each kyogo (here they are in the lower right, and upper right). It is thus a simple matter to carve matching registration marks on each colour block.
The colour of the marker or pen used for these kyogo has absolutely no connection with the colours that will appear in the final print. It is chosen for clarity. In the 'old days' a vermillion pigment was commonly used.
Here's the entire collection of kyogo for this print. There are seven sheets, one of which carries two colours (see above).
The 'coloured in' areas actually overlap in a couple of cases. These indicate places on the finished print that will be receiving colour from more than one block (overprinting).
When they are all done and checked for omitted spots (a very easy mistake to make), they are pasted face down onto new blank blocks in the same manner as the original hanshita.
While the glue is still damp, a great deal of the paper fibre can be peeled from the back of each sheet, making the lines much more visible.
In a print like the one in this example, with some very small areas of colour, it is not necessary to use a fresh large block for every sheet. It is usually possible to arrange the kyogo in such a way as to allow a number of colours to be combined on each wood face.
Once they are all in place, and the glue has dried thoroughly, it's time for more carving!
Making Colour Separations
The picture on the right illustrates what is known in Japanese as a kyogo. It is an impression taken from the finished key block, printed in thin sumi ink.
A thin but strong paper is used for these kyogo. In the old days a thin minogami was used, but as this is extremely difficult to handle, and the slightest error will make the resulting colour blocks useless, I use a slightly thicker paper called hodomura, which has the necessary characteristics for making good kyogo - it has a smooth front surface allowing fine detail to show, it is not overly subject to expansion and contraction, and it is readily abraded from the back (see below).
I request that it be quite heavily sized, and then before using it I 'kill' it with a baren by rubbing it vigorously against a smooth uncarved block.
How many kyogo will you need? One for each colour block.
This is not necessarily the same as the number of colours in the finished print, as in some cases two or more colours can be included on one kyogo (see below).
On each kyogo 'colour in' the areas where you wish one colour to appear.
(This particular photo actually shows a two-colour kyogo. The 'tail' of his hat, and the inner sleeve of his kimono will be different colours in the finished print. But they can be combined on one colour block, because they are far enough apart to allow separate brushing.)
For this print, there is a pattern on the clothing that did not appear in the key block. It must now be drawn on one of the kyogo.
My carving bench has a 'window' in it, and this is used as a light table - the kyogo is taped over the original photograph, and the pattern then traced.
Note also that the yellow marker does not completely fill in the designated area.
This is to avoid saturating the paper with the fluid, and thus causing wrinkles and expansion - both of which would cause trouble later.
One of the finished kyogo.
Note also that these sheets are printed in a different way than 'real' prints. When making a normal print, the paper is slipped into the kento (registration) marks. But when printing a kyogo, the paper is laid on top of those marks (which are also brushed with pigment).
The registration marks thus appear clearly on each kyogo (here they are in the lower right, and upper right). It is thus a simple matter to carve matching registration marks on each colour block.
The colour of the marker or pen used for these kyogo has absolutely no connection with the colours that will appear in the final print. It is chosen for clarity. In the 'old days' a vermillion pigment was commonly used.
Here's the entire collection of kyogo for this print. There are seven sheets, one of which carries two colours (see above).
The 'coloured in' areas actually overlap in a couple of cases. These indicate places on the finished print that will be receiving colour from more than one block (overprinting).
When they are all done and checked for omitted spots (a very easy mistake to make), they are pasted face down onto new blank blocks in the same manner as the original hanshita.
While the glue is still damp, a great deal of the paper fibre can be peeled from the back of each sheet, making the lines much more visible.
In a print like the one in this example, with some very small areas of colour, it is not necessary to use a fresh large block for every sheet. It is usually possible to arrange the kyogo in such a way as to allow a number of colours to be combined on each wood face.
Once they are all in place, and the glue has dried thoroughly, it's time for more carving!
arving the Colour Blocks
Once the kyogo are safely glued down, the carving of the colour blocks begins. The process is pretty much the same as carving the key block - the same three steps are used. One difference is that as there are no lines on these blocks - only masses - it is not necessary to cut both sides of each line.
The first step is to use the main carving knife to cut around the outside of each colour area. Keeping the flat face of the blade against the wood area that will be retained, hold the blade at about the same angle as that used for regular carving, and cut down the line that borders the colour zone.
Where exactly you cut will depend on how thick that line is. A general rule might be to keep just a little bit 'outside' the centre of the line.
Once all the outlines have been cut, the next step is to use a marunomi to cut a shallow groove just a few millimetres to the outside of each colour mass.
Then switch to the large clearing chisel, the soainomi, and clear away the unneeded waste to a distance of about 4cm out from the wood that will be retained. The traditional Japanese measurement for this is yubi sanbon - the width of three fingers placed side by side.
It is at this point that the chips really start to fly, and the room, which up until then has been fairly neat and clean, starts to look like a carver's workshop!
When the bulk of the waste wood has been removed, the aisuki chisels are used to trim away that left-over strip between the channel carved by the marunomi and the line incised by the carving knife.
After this is cleared away, go over the surface of the block with the aisuki, paring away any sharp ridges left by the clearing chisel. If left alone they will collect pigment from the brushes and may be the cause of blots on the print.
It is also a wise idea to use a chisel and pare away the sharp edge of the unneeded outer area of the block surface, to avoid having the baren strike it and leave marks in the print.
You're done ... Wash off the remaining kyogo paper, being careful not to disturb those portions that carry the registration marks. These are not usually cut at this stage but are left for the printer to cut.
(In the block in this photograph, two colour zones have been carved, and you can see the places where two 'kagi' and two 'hikitsuke' will be carved.)
Making the hanshita with a copy machine (for carving a reproduction of an existing colour print)
- A 'photo-essay' showing how I make the 'hanshita' for each of the prints in my series of reproductions of Katsukawa Shunsho's 'Hyakunin Isshu'
David Bull
The starting point for the process is a colour slide (positive) of the page in the original book (published in 1775). At the beginning of the project I ordered a set of these slides from the Toyo Bunko, a museum/library here in Tokyo.
I have this negative enlarged into a normal photograph, scaled to match the size I wish the carved block to be.
I want this image to be copied onto a very thin paper, but such paper is impossible to use with a copy machine, so I first use a low-tack spray glue (3M '55' type - also known as 'Repositional 75') to lightly coat a sheet of standard 'copy' paper ...
... and then tack this sheet to the back (the 'non-shiny' side) of a sheet of hand-made thin Japanese washi. 'Usu-mino' is one such paper, but the one I am using in this photograph is an extremely thin paper known as 'Usu-gampi'. Mr. Isami Misawa has treated this with strong sizing for me, so that it will stand up under the following process without tearing or losing fibres.
The laminated paper is then trimmed to size, and used in a high-quality colour copy machine to make the hanshita from the photograph. Even though the first block carved will be the key block, on which nothing but the black outlines of the design will be carved, I use a colour copy for this hanshita. If I were to use a black and white copy, many of those portions of the original print in say, a deep red colour, would reproduce as muddy black, and it would be difficult to see the lines while carving. Using a colour copy allows all lines to be seen clearly. (Colour copy technology just a few years ago was too poor for this, but recent machines will produce crisp and clear lines ...)
A typical hanshita for a woodblock print is not reversed; it has the same left-right orientation as the finished print. Pasting it to the wood face down ensures the proper orientation of the design. But I have found that when using a colour copy as a hanshita, the light film of oil that is left on the surface of the paper by the copy machine causes parts of it to peel away from the block during the carving. So instead of pasting it face down in the usual way - I set the machine to make a reversed copy (a mirror image), and paste this face up. If the paper of the hanshita was thick, this method would cause problems in the carving, but this usu-gampi is thinner even than tissue paper.
Before it can be pasted onto the wood though, a bit more preparation is necessary. The registration marks must be drawn in the proper place, and the gampi paper must then be removed from the backing sheet. It is extremely difficult to handle this thin paper by itself, so before peeling off the backing sheet, I use the same spray glue to lightly tack another sheet of copy paper to the front face to act as a temporary support ...
... peel away the unneeded backing sheet ...
... and then start the pasting process. A 'dry run' allows the block to be checked to ensure that no small knots or irregularities in the wood line up with any critical areas of the design. Once this is OK'd, I rub a film of glue (I use a ready-made 'gum arabic') over the entire surface of the block ...
... and lay the hanshita in place.
After initial smoothing with the hands, a few rubs with the baren ensure good adhesion.
The temporary supporting sheet is then carefully peeled away ...
... and the block set aside while the glue is allowed to dry thoroughly.
When it is ready, the carving begins.
Carving the Hair on Ukiyo-e Prints (entry by David Bull)
'Comic' version of this tutorial is here ...
For carving the delicate hair lines on a typical ukiyo-e print, one needs three things:
a very sharp knife
a clear hanshita (tracing) on the wood surface
a steady hand!
All three ready? Let's step through the process ...
Cutting the hair is a 'five cut' process - this is how many knife cuts are needed to allow each hair to stand free of the surrounding wood. The first cut is made along the entire length of the hair region, perpendicular to the hairs themselves - about 1mm 'out' from the line where you wish the hairs to actually end in the finished print. Cut it about 1mm deep, and angle it slightly (bevel it 'towards' the hairs).
(When we were preparing the photos for this entry, my daughter and I forgot to take a picture of this line after it was carved, but you can see it on the right hand side of this photo ...)
Then the actual carving of the hair begins. Keeping the flat side of the knife blade against the hair, make a stroke down the length of each hair, starting up at the 'top' of each line, and sliding down off the end of each one. Keep the knife almost vertical - don't attempt to bevel the side of the hair. Go through the entire 'set'. This is stroke number 'two' in the five:
When they are all done (or one-at-a-time as you see in these photos), use the other face of the knife to cut the opposite side of the neighbouring hair. Although it is difficult to see in this next photo, this cut is made with the knife held at a lower angle; this side of the hair is quite beveled. If the three cuts have been made correctly, a long and thin triangle of wood will now pop out:
When they are all done, the row should look something like this:
Next, use the 'aisuki' chisel to trim off the waste that lies beyond that first line that you cut:
Slide the chisel along the line, being careful not to nick any of the hairs:
The result should look like this. But I said that it was a five-cut process - there is still an abrupt line at the end of the hairs, and if we were to stop at this point, this would show in the finished print ...
Two more cuts are necessary on each hair - one from each side, to 'feather' the tip. It is difficult to see in this next photo, and difficult to describe in words too ... Don't carve down the entire length of the hair, but start a few millimetres back from the tip. Lay the blade in place against the hair, and then as you start the stroke, gently tip the knife over so that it starts to cut into the hair. As you pull the knife off the end of the hair, you will have tipped over about 10 degrees or so. Doing this from both sides leaves each hair ending in an invisible taper.
The difficulty here is getting these tapers to all end in the same place. Tipping over a bit too much will leave that particular hair too short, compared to the rest. It is not necessary (nor desirable) that each hair be exactly the same length, but wide variations are not so good ...
When you're done, the result should look something like this:
Oh, and did I forget to mention, don't bother trying this on something like pine ... A hard cherry is the wood of choice here in Japan, and for particularly fine work, a piece of boxwood (tsuge) is inlaid.
The Production of Japanese Woodblock Prints
Introduction
The production of classic Japanese woodblock prints is a fairly complex process, involving a number of steps, each usually performed by a different person, one skilled in that particular step.
I say "classic" because in the modern Japanese print movement, often the artist performs all the steps themselves. However, while classic Japanese prints were sometimes produced in limited editions as 'high art', more usually they were produced in far larger editions as popular, mass-produced art, art that was originally intended to be transitory.
As such, the production process rapidly evolved into one with various specialties, and during the hey-day of ukiyo-e, it was not uncommon for different steps to be performed in different establishments, each with a particular speciality.
The Publisher and Artist
Woodblock prints were almost always initiated by a collaboration between an artist (who is now, by convention, credited with the print, even though other people played almost equally important parts) and a publisher. The latter oversaw the commercial aspect of the operation, and either employed all the skilled personnel who actually produced the prints, or contracted out some stages of the operation to specialist establishments. The relationship between artist and publisher was usually a fairly straightforward contractual one, in which the artist was paid an agreed sum per design.
In general, the publisher would have an idea for a project, either a single print or a series, and approach an artist to see if they would undertake it. Some artists worked almost exclusively for a single publisher, such as the relationship between Utamaro and Tsutaya (in some cases, the publisher was the one who discovered the artist and made them popular); other artists worked with a large number of different publishers.
The artist would start by producing a preparatory sketch (gako), with the most detail in areas like faces, etc. He (and it was usually a 'he', although a few female woodblock artists are known from the pre-Meiji period) would make alterations and corrections by gluing new paper over the desired areas.
The artist would then pass this drawing to a block-copyist, who then made an elaborated final copy, a very fine black and white paper drawing, the hanshita-e ('under-drawing', sometimes given as shita-e) on very thin mino paper, which showed the (usually black) lines which outlined everything in the image. (This copying process explains why so many original sketches for prints are still extant, since the hanshita-e was destroyed in the process of creating the blocks, as we will see.)
The completed drawing would then be shown to the official censors, and after being passed, it would go to a carver, who specialized in carving the blocks used to produce the print.
The Block Carvers
The job of the block carver was a very important one, and it was reckoned that it took 10 years to become a good block carver. Artists would in general have some idea of the process, but they were not in general skilled block-carvers themselves, although it was not unknown; Hokusai spent several years learning to carve blocks while apprenticed to a wood-carver.
The carver would start with a block of single-petaled white mountain cherry wood, usually carefully aged and selected to prevent warping. (The size of the blocks used for the printing of woodblock prints was limited, precisely to reduce the likelihood of warping. Larger images were produced by linking together multiple independently printed images, in diptychs [both horizontal and vertical, the latter called kakemono], triptcyhs, occasionally pentaptcyhs - and even an occasional rare hexaptych for large scenes, with the prints arranged in two rows of three. In addition, larger prints were usually not produced in the summer, when higher humidity affected the dimensional stability of both the paper and the wooden blocks.)
He (again, usually this was a male occupation) would paste the original drawing to the block, face-down. The paper would then be made transparent by either treating with oil, or peeling off a thin layer of paper with the flat of the finger, thus revealing the reverse of the lines which the block had to produce.
He would then outline the areas which were desired to print with a sharp knife; during the Edo period, outlines were cut following the original direction of the brush stroke. All outlines were cut at a slightly inward sloping side, to prevent chipping of the wood. The carver would then carve away the material where no ink was to be printed, using a large set of chisels specially made for this task. (Although a wide variety of tools was available, most work was done with just a few.) This would produce the block to print the black lines, called the "key block".
A number of prints were then printed using just this one block, and the artist indicated, on one copy for each color, which areas should be in which colors. These copies were in turn pasted to blocks, and used to guide the carvers in making additional blocks for the colored areas, one block per color. It was not uncommon for prints to contain as many as 15 or so colors.
Apparently a complete set of average blocks could be carved in as little as three days, and even complex sets only took a couple of weeks. Detailed areas would be done by a master carver (atama-bori, or 'head carver'), and the rest left to a trainee (do-bori, or 'body carver').
Also critical, of course, was the ability to re-register the image for each color printed, so that the colors lined up. This registration was done with registration devices, called kento. One was raised "L" shape (called the kagi) on one corner of the block, into which one corner of the paper fitted; the other was a raised bar (called the hikitsuke) out along one of the sides (generally the long one) that went into that corner.
The set on the key block were carved before producing the first prints used to indicate colored areas. The registration devices were easy to carve on the color blocks, since they were printed on the sheets used to produce the color blocks. Discrepancies which appeared as blocks changed shape over time were fixed by plugging thin slivers of wood into the block, next to the kento.
Once printing had begun, alterations or addition to the blocks were made by plugging areas with new pieces of wood. This often happened where the names of actors or titles were changed, or in the head and hands of bijin, where the fine lines of the drawing showed wear the most.
The Printers
The third set of artisans were the printers, skilled in making the inks (both vegetable and mineral inks were used), and applying them, especially to get the shading (called bokashi).
The grinding of pigments was one of the steps traineee printers had to master; each was kept in its own porcelain bowl, and before use a few drops of water would be added to produce exactly the right consistency. Also, a stack of one of two kinds of mulberry (kozo) paper would be slightly moistened, and laid ready to hand.
The printing was done in fairly straightforward fashion; ink was applied to the block, which was face up, using brushes (hake) made from a horse's mane. Rice-starch was sometimes added to the block, to give better adhesion and color depth. The paper was then laid down on the block, using the kento to line it up, and the ink was rubbed onto the paper using a circular or semi-circular motion. The rubbing was done using a baren, a large circular flat pad, usually made of a bamboo sheath wrapped around a lacquered cover over a flat coil of straw and/or bamboo fiber, or some similar material; the strands of the coiled fiber produced an uneven surface which was important in pressing the ink into the paper.
Generally the printer would do a number of sheets with one color, and then the process would be repeated with the next color. There was no need to wait between colors for the previous color to dry, as the pigments are actually embedded into the paper by the pressure of the baren, so there is no concern with smearing. In general, a fixed sequence of colors was always followed, with light colors first, then dark colors, then finally dense blacks (which often needed several printings). Note that the keyblock was often not printed first; any dark colors can obliterate the thin black lines, and it is not uncommon to find prints in which it has been printed after the dark colors were.
The shading (called bokashi) is produced by a number of different techniques, such as:
wiping the blocks with a cotton cloth or pad after the application of the ink;
using brushes with varying color intensity and moisture level;
rubbing the block with a damp cloth before applying the ink.
One thing to note is that the printer will often vary the amount of bokashi in a single run - it is not at all uncommon to find two impression of a print which are completely different, so different is the amount and location of the shading.
A single sheet took around 15 to 25 seconds to produce, on a particular block, depending on whether or not bokashi was needed.
Repeat Printing
Actually, sometimes a block would get used more than once, as partial (i.e. the block is not completely inked, but only in one area, with a shading out to no ink on other parts of the block) overprints of an emphasis color.
Ironically, it appears that this technique appeared in response to sumptuary regulations passed by the Tokugawa Shogunate during the Tempo Reforms of the early 1840's, which limited the number of blocks which could be used in making prints!
You can see this technique being used in many prints, especially ones that show sky or water; in the middle or the edge of the water, which is generally light blue, there will be a band of dark blue water. This whole area would have originally been printed in the light blue ground color, and then that part overprinted in the deeper blue.
It can get even more complex, though. It is fairly common to take a block which is used to print a basic sky color (e.g. light blue-grey), and overprint with it twice after the initial printing; the first time with a one accent color (e.g. deeper blue) along the lower edge, and the second with another accent color (e.g. a black) along the upper edge. Even so, a complete print can use a large number of blocks.
Special Effects
A large number of special techniques were used to produce various unusual effects. The list is too long to cover completely here - interested readers may consult:
Amy Newland, Chris Uhlenbeck, "Ukiyo-E to Shin hanga",
Mallard Press, 1990
which contains an extensive section by Richard Kruml on print-making techniques, for more details.
The most common was blind-printing (called "gauffrage" in the West), or karazuri. This did not use any ink at all - rather, a pattern was impressed into the paper. The process involved lightly dampening the paper, and then using any one of a number of implements (a piece of ivory, or the edge of a baren, or even the printer's elbow) to produce three-dimensional effects in the paper. It was especially suited to depicting white-on-white, such as egret feathers, or clouds. Mesh patterns would be created by using two separate blocks, cut at right angles to each other.
Related to blind-printing is a rarer process called nunomezuri, wherein a piece of muslin or silk fabric was wrapped around an un-inked block; when printed, it left the pattern of the fabric embossed into the paper.
Also relatively common was a process whereby black areas could be surface polished, in the shomenzuri technique (but with the block behind the paper, and the rubbing from the front of the paper, instead of the opposite process used with karazuri) to give the impression of lacquer, or areas of woven effects on cloth.
In a related but rarer process, known as tsuyazuri, glue was applied to areas of finished prints to produce a sheen; it was most often used on animals' eyes, and areas of blood.
Occasionally seen is a process called itame-mokuhan, which was used for areas of unfinished woodwork portrayed in the print; it used a densely grained woodblock which had been soaked in water, in order to emphasize the pattern of the grain in the block.
The printing process could be finished off with applications of ground mica, called kirazuri, to make the picture sparkle, or give a glowing ground. Mica was sometimes used in the entire background of deluxe bijin and actor prints, but this was banned early on by sumptuary laws, after which it was often seen as an overlay on areas of color.
Editions
Apparently, the average print run was two hundred copies or so, although the number could run into the thousands for a popular design. Running a number of smaller editions allowed the blocks to 'rest' between editions, as taking too many impressions at one time increased the wear on the blocks, and caused the blocks to become saturated with color, producing uneven color transfer.
Runs were not limited through cancellation of the blocks, though, at least in the classic period. The blocks for popular series would be printed again and again, being recut as needed if they became worn. There is some indication that total runs of up to twenty thousand were made for popular prints.
The Creation of a Woodblock Print
There is wonderful little book called "The Process of Color-Block Printing", published by Watanabe (the famous publisher of shin-hange - the "new prints" of the 20th Century) which consists of alternate leaves, one showing each stage of the process as an individual printing (i.e. by itself, on a fresh sheet of paper), and the facing page showing the "accumulated" effect of all the blocks so far. This sequence is reproduced below.
Note that in a number of stages, a block which was used in a previous stage is used again, to overprint an accent color, always using bokashi to grade it in. Even with the repeat printing, the little book used 10 blocks, with two being overprinted twice, for a total of 14 separate printing stages.
The process starts with the key block (note that for this, as well as all the images below, you can get a larger image by clicking on the image):
Now we add the rest of the blocks:
Stage Print Block Cumulative Print
1 - Brown
2 - Pinkish Brown
3 - Grey
4 - Bluish Grey
5 - Light Blue
6 - Grey (same color as stage 3)
7 - Dark Blue (same block as stage 5)
8 - Dark Blue (same block as stage 5)
9 - Grey-Blue
10 - Green
11 - Light Blue (same block as stage 9)
12 - Black (same block as stage 9)
13 - Red
Note that apparently the same color is used in stages 7 and 8 (which also use the same block). If so, it is not clear why these two were not done as a single stage (with bokashi gradation on top and bottom).
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