Kraai op besneeuwde paal 1925 - 1936

This woodcut by Ohara Koson captures a crow perched on a snow-covered post in icy blues and whites. I wonder what it was like for Koson to carve these blocks, each mark precise and intentional, mirroring the crow's steady gaze. I can almost feel the bite of the winter air as he worked, translating nature's stillness into a composition of simple forms. The black of the crow is velvety, yet it catches the light, almost shimmering against the stark, pale sky. Its beak angled upwards, as if it is breaking the silence. I imagine Koson thinking about Hiroshige's landscapes, about the ways a few well-placed lines can evoke an entire world. The snow clings to the branches, a heavy blanket muffling the sounds of the forest. A lot of Japanese artists were drawn to birds. I'm thinking of Hokusai's birds; a whole community of artists, engaging in a visual conversation across time. Koson's crow is not just a bird, but a symbol of resilience, a dark note against the muted landscape, showing us how much can be said with so little.