Duizend grassen 1903 - 1904

Editor: We're looking at "Thousand Grasses," a woodblock print made around 1903-1904 by Kamisaka Sekka. The subdued colors and the abstract shapes of the birds create a calm, almost dreamlike atmosphere for me. What do you see in this piece? Curator: It whispers of old stories, doesn't it? Sekka’s delicate lines and that hazy, almost monochromatic palette, feel so profoundly Japanese, but with a twist. He's straddling the line between traditional Ukiyo-e and a much more modern sensibility, almost a pre-Art Deco feel, wouldn’t you say? What does that central panel evoke for you? A scroll unfurling, perhaps? Or a pathway… Editor: I hadn’t thought about it as a pathway. It does guide your eye though. Curator: Exactly! It’s like an invitation. Sekka’s playing with space, making it breathe, not just replicating reality but reimagining it. Notice the subtle textures in the ‘grasses’ – are they grasses, clouds, dreams, even? It almost doesn’t matter. He's after something beyond the literal, more about feeling than seeing. Editor: I think the ambiguity adds to that dreamy quality. I initially saw birds, but the shapes could easily be interpreted as something else, leaving it open. Curator: That’s the genius, isn’t it? He lets *you* complete the picture. What a testament to seeing, not just looking. Art shouldn't always tell you everything. It can prompt introspection and a shared cultural reference through symbolism, or visual metaphor. Editor: I see it in a new way now; it’s like Sekka isn't just showing nature, but rather how he felt about nature. Curator: Precisely! It makes you wonder what whispers inspired him, and now what whispers it will inspire in each of us.