The Ghost of Yaehatahime and Akamatsu Jūtamaru Takanori 1866

Editor: We're looking at *The Ghost of Yaehatahime and Akamatsu Jūtarō Takanori,* a woodblock print made in 1866 by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. It feels like a scene from a nightmare, full of tension and lurking danger. What catches your eye when you look at this piece? Curator: You know, nightmares often reveal more about our waking fears than anything else, don't they? What grabs me is how Yoshitoshi manages to capture the spectral nature of the ghost while giving her a very human presence. The delicacy of her robes contrasts beautifully with the harsh lines of the samurai, and the terrified figure crawling at his feet. Tell me, what do *you* make of the samurai’s expression? Is he brave? Defiant? Or something else entirely? Editor: He looks more surprised than anything! Almost like he wasn't expecting her. Maybe a bit intimidated, even though he's drawing his sword. Curator: Exactly! He's caught off guard, isn't he? It throws our expectations off-kilter. And consider the ukiyo-e tradition itself – often celebrating earthly pleasures, fleeting beauty. This ghost throws a wrench into that. She’s a reminder that the past, our deeds, come back to haunt us. Editor: That's a good point. It makes me wonder what Takanori did to warrant such a haunting! Curator: It invites storytelling, doesn’t it? We *want* to know the backstory. Maybe that's the real power of this print – not just the visual impact, but the narrative vacuum it creates, drawing us into a world beyond the image. Editor: It's definitely stuck in my head. I'll be thinking about that ghost all day. Curator: Precisely. That’s Yoshitoshi’s magic, really. He grabs hold and doesn’t let go.