Waaierblad met vliegende Koekoek 1796 - 1864

Editor: So, here we have Utagawa Kunisada’s "Fan leaf with a flying cuckoo," created sometime between 1796 and 1864. It’s a woodblock print on paper. I am really drawn to the stark simplicity. What feelings or deeper meanings do you find in such a minimal piece? Curator: It whispers of fleeting moments, doesn't it? Like catching a glimpse of something profound in the ordinary. The fan shape itself, so linked to a refreshing breeze, holds the bird aloft with its promise. The calligraphy, does it not read like the wind itself? Editor: It does have a breathy feel. I am not sure if I see it though, tell me more. Curator: For me it almost embodies *mono no aware*, that Japanese awareness of the impermanence of things. The cuckoo, caught mid-flight, never to land. The ink, faded just so… do you not feel the paper ache, whispering its age and story? It makes me wonder what hands this fanned and who pondered it? Editor: That’s a lovely image, the paper aching! I was so focused on the sparseness, I completely missed the passage of time. Curator: It's the power of suggestion, my dear! Utagawa gave us space to write our own story. Editor: I see it now! All that empty space, less empty than expectant, almost filled with possibility. I may start a woodblock myself, I think. Curator: Exactly! See what a little reflection—or a well-placed bird—can do?