Two Beauties Reading a Letter c. 1780 - 1800

Curator: I feel a sense of contained yearning here. Almost like two flowers intertwined on a single, sturdy stem. Editor: I agree, there is something melancholic and elegant in this print by Chokosai Eisho, titled "Two Beauties Reading a Letter" and likely created between 1780 and 1800. We're lucky enough to have this woodblock print on view at The Art Institute of Chicago. What do you make of the materiality? Curator: There's such an intimate voyeurism at play, isn't there? The ink bleeds a little, the lines so delicately assertive – it's as if the very paper sighs with the weight of unsaid things. And what secrets lie within that letter? Their faces, so poised, suggest a careful choreography of concealed emotions. Editor: Concealed perhaps from the men who, at the time, would likely have commissioned these prints. Ukiyo-e prints like these weren't "high art" in the Western sense, but were designed to appeal to a growing merchant class who sought images of the pleasure quarters of Edo—modern day Tokyo—and celebrated transient beauty. The work's material accessibility as a print challenges the preciousness of painting while depicting these courtesans in the midst of an ordinary activity. Curator: Ordinary perhaps to us, but for them? Maybe this shared moment of reading, of feeling connected to the outside world, was their rebellion, a quiet revolution unfolding on a single sheet of paper. What a fragile testament to intimacy! Editor: Exactly! And you see how the flowing robes emphasize production – all that textile work, all that silk trading behind a "simple" image, and all the labor involved in designing, carving, and printing those blocks. Each line represents time, craft, and economic exchange. Curator: It reminds me of whispers across time, of longing transcending mere existence. Maybe the "beauties" reading is not simply an image, but a portal where fleeting connections between human beings meet. A quiet, gentle invitation to feel more than just look. Editor: And, as with any piece of historical material culture, a quiet reminder of production processes that extend beyond aesthetics to influence everyday life and social history. I never considered a woodblock print a record of rebellion. Thanks for bringing that into the light.