Narumi c. 1840 - 1842

Editor: So, this is "Narumi," a woodblock print by Utagawa Hiroshige, made around 1840. It's so serene! All those figures, nestled amidst the buildings, gives me a quiet sense of bustling life, captured almost photographically. How would you interpret Hiroshige's composition here? Curator: Ah, Hiroshige. I feel he's whispering stories of everyday journeys, isn't it? Notice how he tilts the ground plane; a subtle nudge, pulling us into that street. Each tiny figure under their umbrella becomes a character, right? It feels like peeking into their lives for a moment. I’d ask you – does the palette speak of a specific time of day or a certain emotional tenor? Editor: Hmm, I'd say the light feels like early evening – it's soft, but there are also deeper colors beginning to emerge. But that teal color, and that orange accent, I don’t quite know what to make of it… It feels artificial, even stylized. Curator: Artificial? Oh, I think it sings! Consider that "artificiality" is him composing memories rather than documenting moments. Does it not, then, strike you as all the more intimate a scene, to have the colors act as gentle, emotionally charged memory-enhancers? I feel Hiroshige is painting what Narumi _feels_ like. Editor: I never thought about color in that way. Framing color and place with memory makes it seem a very contemporary piece. It’s so strange that capturing that mood resonates through time. Curator: Absolutely, and it resonates because these travelers' lives, despite all our technological advances, can remind us of our own busy days and contemplative nights. I always get lost imagining who these little painted people may have been. Do you imagine their worries? Perhaps the hope in their hearts?