Cushion, Short Coat and Fur of Tiger 1800 - 1823

Editor: We’re looking at "Cushion, Short Coat and Fur of Tiger" by Ryūryūkyo Shinsai, a print from sometime between 1800 and 1823. It feels oddly domestic – these luxurious objects presented almost like a still life, but the flattened perspective gives it this surreal, dreamlike quality. What’s your take on this piece? Curator: Surreal is a perfect word. Shinsai invites us into a world where textures speak louder than forms. I see reflections of fleeting moments - the soft fur, the patterned textile, they almost whisper stories of warmth and intimacy amidst the clamor of Edo-period life. There is so much poetry inscribed, like haikus adorning everyday life... Almost like spells. What could these objects represent to you? Editor: Maybe… comfort? A shield from the outside world? Curator: Precisely! The tiger fur, a symbol of strength, juxtaposed with the domestic cushion - it is the dance between protection and repose. But do you find it to be melancholic? It lacks a figure. Editor: It is a little… ghostly, now that you mention it. The absence makes you wonder who or what *should* be there. Like a lingering presence. Curator: Yes! Shinsai invites you to imagine who might have reveled in this space, in a home long vanished. Perhaps the impermanence of life, luxury's fleeting presence—food for contemplation. The tiger fur lasts longer in the woodblock than it does in life. Editor: That's… actually a little haunting, but also kind of beautiful. Seeing it that way changes everything. Curator: It’s often the quietest whispers in art that resonate the loudest, isn't it?