Jurojin c. early 20th century

Tsuji Kakō painted this representation of Jurojin on silk, at an unknown date, and it’s like a whisper of a memory, isn't it? Imagine Kakō, sleeves rolled up, brush poised, carefully applying washes of pale greens and creams. It’s a dance between intention and chance, each stroke building on the last. The paint is so thin, it's almost translucent, allowing the silk's texture to peek through. The image feels like a fragment, a fleeting glimpse into a world of gods and mortals. I keep wondering about the gourd in Jurojin’s hand - is it a vessel of wisdom, or perhaps just a bit of sake for the journey? Kakō’s work reminds me of Hokusai; they both capture the ephemeral beauty of everyday life with such grace and simplicity. It's like they’re sharing secrets across time, inspiring each other. Ultimately, this painting is an invitation to slow down, breathe, and contemplate the mysteries of existence. Kakō gives us space to reflect, question, and find our own meaning within the delicate strokes of his brush.