Boar 1767 - 1833

Editor: Here we have Tomotada's "Boar," crafted sometime between 1767 and 1833. It's a miniature sculpture, carved from wood and ivory, currently residing here at the Met. Isn't it darling? It just looks so peaceful, curled up like that. What strikes you most about this piece? Curator: Darling is definitely the word for it. And it makes you wonder, doesn't it, what sort of stories it could tell? This tiny sculpture isn't just about replicating nature; it's about encapsulating a feeling. It almost feels like a haiku, this boar asleep amongst…are those leaves and acorns? Perhaps the artist is hinting at autumn, a time of rest and preparation. The incredible skill lies not just in the carving but in making it feel so incredibly alive. Tell me, what kind of mood do you think it evokes? Editor: Definitely peaceful, maybe a bit melancholic, given the autumn imagery? I guess, reflecting on its historical context, is it possible this reflects a tension between the natural world and the rising urban environments in Japan at the time? Curator: Good thought! That tension you mention definitely resonated. Netsuke like this were functional—toggles to secure pouches and containers—but they also became miniature worlds, holding nature close, perhaps as a subtle resistance. It's easy to imagine someone finding a moment of quiet contemplation just holding this tiny boar. So, more than melancholy, I almost sense contentment. Editor: That's a perspective shift! Contentment feels more aligned. I never would have considered that so much meaning could be packed into something so small. Curator: And isn't that the magic of art? Size doesn't dictate impact. This little boar holds within it entire worlds, and it takes a little slow looking to unearth those, for sure.