Masters of Ukiyo-e Painting
Kanō Hideyori: Early Roots of Edo-Era Art
Kanō Hideyori worked in Kyoto and was part of the Kanō school, one of the most important painting schools in Japan. No one really knows when he was born or when he died, but he was active around the middle of the 1500s, right at the start of the Momoyama period. Most historians believe he was either the son or grandson of Kanō Motonobu, who was one of the key figures of the school.
Even though there’s not a lot of info about him, his work stands out. People often say his painting style tried to look like traditional Japanese yamato-e, but deep down it was heavily influenced by Chinese painting. That mix of styles made his work different from others of his time.
One of his most important paintings is Maple Viewers. This piece is either a major step toward what would later become ukiyo-e or possibly one of the very first examples of that entire movement. Either way, it’s a major turning point in Japanese art history and shows how early artists like Hideyori helped shape what ukiyo-e would eventually become.
Kaigetsudō Ando: The Face of Edo’s Courtesans
Kaigetsudō Ando, also known as Ando Yasunori, was born around 1671 and died in 1743. He founded the Kaigetsudō school, which focused on ukiyo-e paintings. Unlike most big names in ukiyo-e, Ando never made woodblock prints. He stuck to painting only, which sets him apart. Even though his name is on a lot of work, many of those pieces were probably painted by his students, not by him personally.
He lived in the Suwa-chō area of Asakusa, which was part of Edo, now Tokyo. His house was near Sensō-ji temple and sat on a busy road that led straight to the Yoshiwara pleasure district. He did most of his work between 1700 and 1714. Some researchers believe he may have gotten his start painting ema, which are wooden tablets sold at Shinto shrines. That theory makes sense, especially considering his paintings often leave a lot of empty space around the figures. That layout matches how ema were usually designed. And given his location on a major road, it’s likely he sold his art to travelers and pilgrims passing by every day.
Not everyone agrees with the ema theory, but there’s no doubt that Ando was deeply connected to the popular trends of his time. His style was shaped by the work of Hishikawa Moronobu, who is seen as the founder of ukiyo-e painting, and by illustrators like Yoshida Hanbei. You can see those influences clearly in how he built his compositions.
Ando mostly painted bijinga, which means portraits of beautiful women. His studio almost completely controlled the visual image of Yoshiwara courtesans during his peak years. His women stood out not just for their beauty but also for the intricate designs of their kimonos. The patterns were bold, colorful, and very detailed. These weren’t just paintings of real women. They also acted as style guides, showing off the latest trends or even Ando’s personal ideas of fashion.
His courtesans had a specific mood to them. They came across as distant, even a bit cold. This gave them a kind of quiet strength and made them more than just pretty faces or symbols of desire. They were like the Edo period’s version of fashion icons or stylized muses, not just objects to be looked at.
Because he started his own school, Ando's approach to painting was different and original. His unique style passed down through his students, many of whom were family members or close followers. Some of their work was so close to his that it’s been mistaken for the real thing.
His career ended suddenly in 1714 due to the Ejima-Ikushima affair. This was a big scandal that involved a court lady and a kabuki actor. Since kabuki actors were considered low class, this relationship was a serious offense. Everyone involved was punished and forced to leave Edo. It’s still unclear exactly what part Ando played in the affair, but whatever his role, he was also banished from the city. That put an end to his time in the spotlight.
Torii Kiyonobu I: Bold Visuals of Early Kabuki Culture
Torii Kiyonobu I was born around 1664 and died on August 22, 1729. He was a Japanese painter and printmaker known for his ukiyo-e works, especially those tied to kabuki theater. Alongside his father, Torii Kiyomoto, he helped shape what later became the Torii school of painting.
His childhood name was Shōbei. He was the second son of Kiyomoto, a kabuki actor and painter based in Osaka. At 24, Kiyonobu moved to Edo, now Tokyo, with his father. There, he became a major figure in the art scene. His style took strong cues from Hishikawa Moronobu, considered the founder of ukiyo-e. Like many artists of that time, Kiyonobu was also familiar with both the Kanō and Tosa schools of painting.
Kiyonobu put most of his effort into creating bold, eye-catching signboards and advertising for kabuki theaters in Edo. These theaters and the Torii school had a close connection, one that still exists today. His style leaned heavily into dramatic colors, expressive details, and thick black outlines that grabbed attention fast. His visuals were made to stand out in the crowded theater districts.
By the year 1700, Kiyonobu had already established himself as a respected and skilled artist. His works were praised by writers of the time, and some were even placed in Shintō shrines as offerings. That kind of recognition shows how much impact his art had on both culture and emotion. His portfolio included not only kabuki billboards but also book illustrations and individual woodblock prints based on kabuki plays.
Like many artists tied to the Torii school, Kiyonobu’s exact biography is hard to pin down. The dates of his life aren't confirmed, and the family tree of the Torii artists is full of confusion. The painting styles of Kiyonobu's students and relatives were so similar that it’s tough to tell who made what. It’s even possible that Torii Kiyonobu II and Torii Kiyomasu I were the same person as Kiyonobu I, or maybe even the same person as each other. Very few works from this group can be credited with certainty to any one individual.
Still, Torii Kiyonobu I left a major mark. His bold, expressive work became the look of kabuki advertising and shaped the style of a whole generation.
Nishikawa Sukenobu: Everyday Elegance of Women in Ukiyo-e
Nishikawa Sukenobu was born in Kyoto in 1671 and died there on August 20, 1750. He worked as a printmaker and was one of the rare ukiyo-e artists based in Kyoto rather than Edo. While he did produce prints of actors, he became best known for his portraits of women from all walks of life.
He studied painting under Kanō Einō of the Kanō school, and possibly also under Tosa Mitsusuke of the Tosa school. His first known works date back to 1699, and the first that he signed is Shin Kanninki, a seven-volume set whose title means “New Patience Story.” From the start, he showed an interest in books and illustrations rather than theater billboards or posters.
Sukenobu stood out for his focus on women in daily life. His most well-known project was Hyakunin joro shinasadame, which translates as “Appreciating 100 Women.” This two-volume work came out in 1723. It showed women from every social level; everything from empresses to sex workers. The series got good attention and helped define his career.
He painted women in a way that felt personal and respectful. You could see how they dressed, moved, and lived. His work didn’t glamorize them, but showed them in calm, natural moments. That grounded view made his art more relatable and helped it last.
But Sukenobu didn’t stop there. He also made books with kimono pattern designs, pictures of warriors known as musha-e, scenes from classical stories, and full paintings. His style blended the polished look of traditional schools with the clear, popular focus of ukiyo-e.
Sukenobu used many names over the years, including Uemon, Jitokusō, Jitokusai, Bunkado, Ukyō, and Saiō. His art had a long reach. You can see his influence in the work of later ukiyo-e artists like Suzuki Harunobu and Kitao Shigemasa.
His legacy lives on in major museum collections. His pieces are held in the Dallas Museum of Art, the Carnegie Museum of Art, the Indianapolis Museum of Art, the Harvard Art Museums, the University of Michigan Museum of Art, the Seattle Art Museum, the Suntory Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Sukenobu may have lived his whole life in Kyoto, but his impact on Japanese art stretched far beyond the city. His quiet portraits helped redefine how women were seen in ukiyo-e.
Miyagawa Chōshun: Founder of a Painter’s School in Ukiyo-e
Miyagawa Chōshun was born in 1683 in Miyagawa, part of Owari Province. He spent most of his later life in Edo, where he died on December 18, 1753. He was a painter known for his work in the ukiyo-e style, but unlike most artists in the genre, he never made woodblock prints. Instead, he founded the Miyagawa school of painting, and both he and his students focused entirely on hand-painted works.
He trained under artists from the Tosa and Kanō schools, and he also studied with Hishikawa Moronobu, one of the earliest ukiyo-e masters. Those influences show up clearly in his work, but Chōshun also developed his own way of painting. You can see touches of the Kaigetsudō school in some of his figures, but his style was distinct. As the founder of a new school, he took those influences and created something personal.
His subjects were almost always courtesans. He gave them a warmth and softness that stood out from the colder, more distant portrayals in other schools. His women weren’t stiff or overly stylized. They were full-bodied, rounded, and more lifelike. Richard Lane once called Chōshun’s use of color some of the best in all of ukiyo-e, and it’s easy to see why. His colors were rich but natural, and they gave his paintings a quiet glow.
Compared to artists like Harunobu, who came a little later, Chōshun’s figures looked more grounded and sensual. His style didn’t chase fashion or exaggeration. He showed women with calm expressions and real presence. Even when the work was suggestive, it felt more intimate than showy.
That said, Chōshun wasn’t only focused on graceful, elegant paintings. He and his students also created many shunga, or erotic works. These weren’t rare in ukiyo-e, but his take on them kept the same attention to softness, detail, and balance found in his other art.
Among his students were his son Shunsui, the painter Chōki (who may have also been his son), and Isshō. They carried his style forward, staying within the boundaries of painting rather than prints.
Near the end of his life, in 1751, Chōshun got pulled into a serious event. A member of the Kanō school hired him to do restoration work at the Nikkō Tōshō-gū shrine. When Chōshun wasn’t paid for the job, things escalated. A fight broke out, and his son ended up killing the Kanō artist. Chōshun was held responsible and was banished from Edo for a year.
Despite that trouble, Miyagawa Chōshun left a strong legacy. His work set a high standard for color, composition, and the human figure in ukiyo-e painting. He stayed away from woodblock prints and stuck with brush and pigment, choosing precision over mass production. That decision gave his work a unique place in the history of Japanese art.
Torii Kiyonaga: Master of Bijin-ga and Edo Theater Art
Torii Kiyonaga, born in 1752 as Sekiguchi Shinsuke, came from a bookselling family in Motozaimokuchō Itchōme, Edo. He wasn’t born into the famous Torii art family, but he became a central figure in it. After the death of Torii Kiyomitsu, his teacher and adoptive father, Kiyonaga became head of the Torii school. That move placed him in charge of one of the most well-known ukiyo-e schools in Japan.
Kiyomitsu passed away in 1785. His biological son had died young, and another senior student, Torii Kiyotsune, didn’t have the same artistic potential. That left Kiyonaga as the clear successor. But he waited two years before stepping into that role. Most likely, he used that time to focus on his own art and to think through what it would mean to lead the school. When he finally took over in 1787, he started managing the design and production of kabuki signboards, which the Torii school had a tight grip on. He also began training Kiyomitsu’s grandson, Torii Kiyomine, who was chosen to carry on the school after him.
Kiyonaga’s journey with art started in 1765, when he began learning under Kiyomitsu at the age of fourteen. But it’s very likely he studied with other ukiyo-e artists before that, including Isoda Koryūsai, Suzuki Harunobu, and Kitao Shigemasa. Their influence shows up all over his work. His early pieces often centered on kabuki actors and theater life, mostly inspired by what he saw around him in Edo’s entertainment districts.
What really made his name, though, was his bijin-ga. These were portraits of beautiful women, and Kiyonaga’s take on them became legendary. His style brought out a sense of grace and life that few others captured. In the 1780s, his work in this genre hit its peak. That period is widely seen as the height of his career. He also made shunga, or erotic images, and produced book illustrations and theater-related programs known as banzuke. His adaptations of Harunobu’s Zashiki Hakkei are still noted as standout examples of shunga.
Kiyonaga is often placed among the top ukiyo-e artists of his time, especially when it comes to full-color nishiki-e prints and depictions of elegant women. In bijin-ga, only a few artists (Harunobu being the most well-known) are considered close to his level. His portraits of women were not just beautiful. They also had a sense of detail, emotion, and presence that set them apart from the work of his peers.
What makes his accomplishments even more striking is his background. Kiyonaga wasn’t born into the samurai class or a world of refined art. His father owned rental housing near a fish market. His family probably lived comfortably, but not in luxury. Despite that, Kiyonaga’s paintings often had a level of grace and sophistication that rivaled, and in many cases surpassed, those made by samurai artists. These elite painters, who were supposed to have a natural eye for culture and refinement, didn’t always match the depth or balance Kiyonaga brought to his images.
In the early 1790s, Kiyonaga slowed down and nearly stopped producing new work. But by then, he had already made a major impact. His prints from the 1780s remain some of the strongest examples of what ukiyo-e could be: grounded in real life, shaped by popular culture, and crafted with serious skill.
The Signature Style of Torii Kiyonaga: Bold Figures and Expansive Scenes
Torii Kiyonaga’s women stood out. They looked taller, fuller, and more mature than the slender, youthful figures painted by his predecessor, Harunobu. This change in appearance was partly due to Kiyonaga’s style, but it also came from his choice of format. He used larger sheets of paper called ōban instead of the smaller chūban or hosoban formats. The extra space gave his figures more room to feel real and present, which made a strong visual impact.
Kiyonaga didn’t just paint differently; he thought bigger. Many of his prints came in diptychs or triptychs. These multi-panel works gave his art a larger, more commanding presence. In scenes featuring women, he often added deep background settings, using Western-style perspective. That created a sense of space and depth that hadn’t really been done in the same way before. His use of color was just as bold. Kiyonaga’s prints are known for their rich, varied color schemes, which brought even more life into each scene.
As his popularity grew, he took over from Harunobu as the top artist in bijin-ga, or images of beautiful women. But art trends don’t sit still. Eventually, Kiyonaga was replaced by Kitagawa Utamaro, who became the next major name in the genre. Utamaro’s women were even more voluptuous and mature than Kiyonaga’s, pushing the style in a new direction.
Kiyonaga also made a name for himself with his kabuki prints. These weren’t just pretty stage scenes. He aimed for accuracy and often showed actors in the middle of real performances. Unlike other artists who created idealized versions of kabuki roles, Kiyonaga let the viewer see that these were actors playing parts. He captured their costumes, movements, and set pieces with careful detail, though he didn’t try to show the specific facial features or personalities of the performers like the Katsukawa school did. Some experts see his work as a bridge between older kabuki prints and the dramatic, character-focused portraits made later by artists like Sharaku.
By 1794, as Utamaro took the lead in bijin-ga, Kiyonaga changed his focus. He moved into painting, making illustrations, and designing surimono, which were deluxe prints for private use. His last known print came out in 1813, just two years before he passed away.
Even after his death, Kiyonaga’s legacy remained strong. Japan’s post office featured his work on stamps several times; once in 1958 for Philatelic Week, again in 1982 with a se-tenant pair, and in 2003 to honor the 250th anniversary of his birth.
His influence reaches far beyond stamps. Kiyonaga’s work is preserved in top museum collections around the world. Institutions like the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, the Brooklyn Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and the British Museum all hold pieces by him. His art also lives on at places like Princeton, Harvard, the University of Michigan, and the Nelson-Atkins Museum. His prints continue to show what ukiyo-e could do when handled with precision, balance, and vision.
Kitagawa Utamaro: The Master of Bijin Portraiture
Kitagawa Utamaro was one of the most iconic artists in the ukiyo-e world. He was born around 1753 and died in 1806, but the details of his life are still mostly unknown. What is clear, though, is that his art made a huge impact in his own time and far beyond Japan.
Utamaro became famous in the 1790s for his bijin ōkubi-e portraits, meaning “large-headed pictures of beautiful women.” These prints focused closely on a woman’s face and upper body, showing subtle emotions, gestures, and moods in a way that no other artist had done before. His subjects often had exaggerated features: long necks, slim faces, and delicate fingers. These stylized figures came to define the look of feminine beauty during the late Edo period.
He started releasing work in the 1770s, and by the early 1790s, he had become one of the top names in Japanese art. His reach was rare; he wasn’t just popular in Edo. People across Japan knew his name, which was unusual for any ukiyo-e artist at the time. Over the years, he created more than 2,000 prints, most of them portraits of women, along with nature studies and illustrated books on insects.
His career hit a major roadblock in 1804. That year, Utamaro was arrested and shackled for making prints that showed Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a powerful military ruler from the 1500s. Portraying political or historical figures was forbidden under the strict censorship laws of the Tokugawa shogunate. As punishment, Utamaro was manacled for fifty days. He never fully recovered from this experience and died two years later.
Even though he died early in the 1800s, his work started to appear in Europe by the middle of the 19th century. In France, especially, collectors and artists admired his style. European Impressionists picked up on his use of framing, light, and negative space. His partial compositions and bold contrasts influenced painters like Degas and Monet. When people talk about the “Japanese influence” on European art, they often mean Utamaro’s prints.
Ukiyo-e itself had deep roots in Edo-period culture, from the 1600s through the 1800s. The genre focused on the so-called “floating world,” which meant the nightlife, pleasure districts, geisha, kabuki actors, and other parts of urban entertainment culture. Woodblock prints were the main way these scenes were captured and shared. They were affordable and mass-produced, meant for everyday townspeople, not elite collectors. Because of this, ukiyo-e was often looked down on as just popular decoration rather than real art.
That view didn’t stop the craft from evolving. In the mid-1700s, full-color prints called nishiki-e became standard. These used separate blocks for each color and required serious skill to produce. By the late 1700s, both the quality and quantity of ukiyo-e prints reached a high point. In the 1780s, Kiyonaga was the leading artist of beautiful women. His tall, poised courtesans made a big mark on younger artists like Utamaro, who followed in his footsteps but developed a more intimate and emotional style.
The ōkubi-e format that Utamaro used wasn’t his invention, though. It first showed up in the 1760s with Shunshō of the Katsukawa school. Shunshō and his followers, including Shunkō, made actor portraits in that large-headed style and added touches like mica backgrounds to make the images shimmer. This technique helped give the prints a polished, elegant finish, especially in the world of kabuki art.
Utamaro built on those ideas and pushed them further. He turned the same format into something more subtle and psychological, applying it to the world of women rather than actors. His portraits hinted at personality, mood, and movement.
As for Utamaro himself, not much is known. He was born with the name Kitagawa Ichitarō, though some later records also list his given names as Yūsuke or Yūki. Where he was born is still a mystery. Some say Kyoto, others suggest Osaka, Yoshiwara in Edo, or even Kawagoe in what is now Saitama Prefecture. Nothing has been confirmed. The names of his parents are also unknown. Some believe his father might have owned a teahouse in Yoshiwara. Others think he may have been the son or student of Toriyama Sekien, a well-known artist who once wrote about Utamaro playing in his garden as a child.
Whatever the truth of his background, what matters most is the work he left behind. Utamaro captured the mood and energy of Edo’s pleasure districts like no one else. His prints turned everyday figures into icons, and his influence didn’t stop at Japan’s borders. His eye for emotion, composition, and quiet beauty helped shape how the world sees Japanese art.
Utamaro’s Private Life and Career Breakthroughs
Not much is known about Utamaro’s personal life, but it’s believed he did get married. There’s no clear record of his wife’s identity, and it doesn’t seem like they had any children. Still, many of his prints show the same woman and child in quiet, everyday scenes, shown over a number of years. The way he returned to that pair again and again hints at a personal connection. Maybe they were his family. Maybe not. No one knows for sure, but the emotional weight of those images is hard to ignore.
As a child, Utamaro studied under Toriyama Sekien. Sekien trained in the formal Kanō school but changed later in life toward ukiyo-e, choosing to create work for the townspeople of Edo rather than the elite. He saw real potential in young Utamaro and described him as smart and focused. Sekien’s circle included poets and painters, and he mentored a range of creatives, including haiku writers and ukiyo-e artists like Eishōsai Chōki.
Utamaro’s first published work may have been a simple drawing of eggplants in a poetry book called Chiyo no Haru, released in 1770. His next known piece came out five years later in 1775. It was the cover of a kabuki script called Forty-eight Famous Love Scenes, distributed at the Nakamura-za theater in Edo. At that time, he used the name Kitagawa Toyoaki. He kept that name through the rest of the 1770s while doing book illustrations and actor portraits known as yakusha-e, though these were fewer in number.
Everything changed when he began working with a young publisher named Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Tsutaya saw talent in him and pushed him forward. In the fall of 1782, Utamaro hosted a formal banquet with a guest list that read like a who’s who of the art world. Big names like Kiyonaga, Kitao Shigemasa, Katsukawa Shunshō, and writers like Ōta Nanpo and Hōseidō Kisanji were all there. At that banquet, Utamaro revealed his new name. To mark the moment, he gave out a custom print showing himself bowing deeply in front of a screen that listed all his guests by name.
The first piece he made for Tsutaya came out in 1783. It was a picture book called The Fantastic Travels of a Playboy in the Land of Giants, created with his friend, the writer Shimizu Enjū. Tsutaya called it a debut work for both of them, showing how confident he was in their potential. The book stood out, and the partnership with Tsutaya helped Utamaro gain steady momentum.
Around 1783, Utamaro moved in with Tsutaya and stayed for about five years. During that time, he became one of the main artists for Tsutaya’s publishing house. Most of his work in those years was for poetry books, especially those filled with kyōka, which were funny or twisted takes on traditional waka poems. Not much from this period remains, and nothing at all has survived from 1790 to 1792.
Then, in 1791, he made a change. He stopped doing book illustrations and focused fully on single-sheet prints of women. Instead of group scenes, he started doing close, half-length portraits that highlighted each woman as an individual. These prints let him explore emotion, subtle movement, and delicate expression in a way that earlier formats didn’t allow.
By 1793, he was no longer tied exclusively to Tsutaya. His name was well known, and he had become a respected artist on his own. From that point on, Utamaro released a string of famous print series. These works focused mostly on the women of the Yoshiwara district, the pleasure quarter of Edo. His portraits from this era captured the style, mood, and presence of courtesans with unmatched precision. Each one told a story through posture, fashion, and expression, showing why Utamaro became one of the most influential figures in ukiyo-e history.
Utamaro’s Later Years, Censorship Battles, and Final Days
In addition to his portraits of women, Utamaro spent years creating illustrated books that focused on animals, insects, and scenes from nature. He also made shunga, a type of erotic art that was completely normal in Japanese culture at the time. Unlike in the West, where erotic imagery was often tied to shame or hidden away, shunga was accepted as a natural part of life in Japan. These prints were passed around freely, enjoyed by people from every social class, and weren’t seen as offensive or vulgar.
One of Utamaro’s closest allies was his publisher, Tsutaya Jūzaburō. Tsutaya supported his work and helped him rise to fame. When Tsutaya died in 1797, Utamaro moved from place to place; first to Kyūemon-chō, then Bakuro-chō, and finally to a house near the Benkei Bridge. The death of Tsutaya hit him hard. Some say that after losing this long-time friend and backer, Utamaro’s work lost the edge and quality it once had.
Around the same time, the laws around publishing began to tighten. In 1790, the government passed a rule that said all prints had to be stamped with a censor’s seal before they could be sold. As the years passed, censorship got stricter. By 1799, even rough sketches needed approval before being printed. Artists who broke the rules risked serious punishment. In 1801, several members of the Utagawa school, including Toyokuni, had their work banned. The government was serious about control, especially when it came to anything political or suggestive.
In 1804, Utamaro got caught in the same crackdown. He had created a group of prints showing samurai figures. Although he changed their names slightly, they were still clearly modeled after real historical figures. At the time, depicting samurai, military leaders, or their family crests was banned. The law was meant to stop public criticism of the ruling class or to avoid stirring up ideas about rebellion. While we don’t know exactly how Utamaro was punished, we know he was arrested, and the event marked a turning point in his life.
The prints that got him into trouble were tied to a series of artworks based on the Ehon Taikōki, a popular book that told the story of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a powerful leader from the 1500s. This book had been widely adapted into theater and other media, but when artists like Utamaro reinterpreted it using the flashy ukiyo-e style, it crossed a line for the government. Officials thought the way these leaders were portrayed, especially in sensual or undignified scenes, was disrespectful.
In what became one of the most well-known censorship cases of the Edo period, Utamaro was arrested along with other artists like Tsukimaro, Toyokuni, Shuntei, Shun'ei, and writer Jippensha Ikku. All of them were shackled for fifty days. Their publishers were hit with large fines. The records of the case have been lost, but what remains suggests that Utamaro was seen as the most important figure in the group.
What likely angered the authorities was how clearly the prints identified the samurai and their symbols. In one censored image, Utamaro showed the daimyo Katō Kiyomasa staring at a Korean dancer with lust at a party. Another shows Hideyoshi holding hands with his young page, Ishida Mitsunari, in a way that hinted at a sexual relationship. A third shows Hideyoshi with his five main consorts, all lounging under cherry blossoms at Daigo-ji temple in Kyoto. In this print, each woman is named and placed in poses similar to those of courtesans at a Yoshiwara party. The event was real, but the way Utamaro presented it, blending history with the world of the pleasure quarters, was considered too bold, maybe even insulting to authority.
Utamaro died not long after, on the 20th day of the 9th month in the year Bunka, which matches 31 October 1806. His Buddhist posthumous name was Shōen Ryōkō Shinshi. He had no known heirs. After he died, his grave at Senkōji Temple was left alone and fell into disrepair. Over a hundred years later, in 1917, a group of admirers stepped in and restored the site to honor his legacy.
Utamaro’s final years were shaped by censorship, personal loss, and pressure from the government. But even with these setbacks, his influence lasted long after his death. His work still stands as a defining part of ukiyo-e and the way Japan captured beauty, culture, and human emotion through print.
Utamaro’s Students and Artistic Legacy
Utamaro didn’t work alone. He had several students who studied under him and followed his lead. Some of the most well-known were Kikumaro, who later changed his name to Tsukimaro, along with Hidemaro and Takemaro. These pupils tried to copy Utamaro’s signature style, and while they came close, none of them reached his level of finesse. In some cases, Utamaro even allowed them to use his name to sign their works. One of his students, Koikawa Shunchō, married Utamaro’s widow after the artist died. He then adopted the name Utamaro II and continued creating art under that identity. After 1820, he worked using the name Kitagawa Tetsugorō.
What made Utamaro stand out was how he completely redefined female beauty in art. In his early portraits, the heads were more rounded and drawn to scale. But as time went on, especially by the mid-1790s, he stretched those proportions dramatically. His women had narrow, elongated heads set on very thin, graceful necks. Their shoulders were narrow, their robes hung loosely, and their features, like the mouth, nose, and eyes, became small slits and soft curves. Their hairstyles were so big they often seemed larger than the heads themselves. The look was delicate, dreamy, and almost unreal. These figures didn’t just represent beauty. They were a whole new visual idea of what elegance could be.
Only one official record of Utamaro’s life still exists. It’s a stone monument at Senkō-ji Temple. It gives the date of his death as the 20th day of the 9th month in the year Bunka, which works out to October 31, 1806. The inscription says he was 54 years old at the time, based on the East Asian age system where a child is considered one year old at birth. From that, we can place his birth around 1753.
Today, Utamaro is widely recognized as one of the greatest ukiyo-e artists of all time. While he was still active, an early list of ukiyo-e artists called Ukiyo-e Ruikō was being put together. Though it was never printed, many handwritten copies survive, some with notes added by later writers. The earliest version we still have is Ukiyo-e Kōshō, which includes an entry for Utamaro. It says he studied under Toriyama Sekien in the Kanō school tradition, later turned to pictures of men and women, lived for a time with the publisher Tsutaya Jūzaburō, and made many nishiki-e prints. At the time of the entry, he was said to be living near Benkeibashi.
Western critics were among the first to write detailed histories of ukiyo-e. At first, many of them didn’t give Utamaro much credit. Ernest Fenollosa’s Masters of Ukioye, published in 1896, was one of the earliest full studies of the art form. In it, Fenollosa argued that ukiyo-e had reached its peak before Utamaro and started to decline with him. He disliked the way Utamaro stretched and exaggerated the human figure and thought his emotional intensity was too extreme. He criticized Utamaro’s followers even more harshly, saying they pushed his dramatic style so far it became awkward and ugly.
Arthur Davison Ficke agreed. In Chats on Japanese Prints from 1915, he claimed that with Utamaro, the art became overly stylized and lost its balance. Laurence Binyon, who worked at the British Museum, demonstrated that view in Painting in the Far East (1908). He also saw the 1790s as a time of decline, but still gave Utamaro respect. He called him one of the world’s great artists, especially for how he handled human figures. He praised Utamaro’s talent for design and his endless creativity in composition.
By the mid-20th century, opinions had changed. In 1954, James A. Michener published The Floating World, where he named the 1790s as the high point of ukiyo-e and said Utamaro brought the grace of earlier artists like Sukenobu to its fullest form. In 1964, Seiichirō Takahashi wrote Traditional Woodblock Prints of Japan, which also placed Utamaro among the top names of the genre. He saw Utamaro, along with Kiyonaga and Sharaku, as part of ukiyo-e’s golden age. After their time, strict censorship laws came in, limiting what could be shown in art. This signaled the start of a decline.
Utamaro’s influence was strong enough that he became the subject of Europe’s first monograph on a Japanese artist. French art critic Edmond de Goncourt published Outamaro in 1891. He had help from Tadamasa Hayashi, a Japanese art dealer who played a major role in bringing ukiyo-e to the West. In 1961, British expert Jack Hillier released Utamaro: Colour Prints and Paintings, adding to the growing appreciation of Utamaro’s work and legacy.
Over time, Utamaro’s status has only grown. His delicate portrayals of women, his refined compositions, and his unique sense of proportion changed how Japanese beauty was seen in art. Whether praised or criticized, his style left a mark that no one could ignore.
Tōshūsai Sharaku: The Vanishing Genius of Ukiyo-e
Tōshūsai Sharaku came and went like a ghost. No one knows his real name, when he was born, or when he died. What we do know is this: he worked for just ten months between 1794 and 1795 and during that short time, he produced over 140 woodblock prints that changed the way people saw ukiyo-e.
Most of his prints were portraits of kabuki actors, known as yakusha-e. His work wasn’t soft or flattering. He captured every detail: wrinkles, grimaces, tired eyes, awkward gestures. His actors looked real. And that’s probably why the public didn’t like it. At the time, people preferred idealized beauty, like the smooth, graceful images Utamaro was making. Sharaku, on the other hand, didn’t smooth anything over.
His prints were bold and packed with energy. The expressions were intense. The poses were full of movement. That level of realism was rare in woodblock prints then. But after a sudden burst of work, Sharaku disappeared just as quickly as he arrived. No one really knows why. Maybe people didn’t buy enough of his prints. Maybe he was someone working under a fake name. Some think he might have been a Noh actor. Others say he was actually Hokusai, the master behind The Great Wave. A few even think he was just a forgotten poet.
The bulk of Sharaku’s known prints were done in four distinct phases. Each phase shows a clear change in size, layout, and emotional intensity. In the first two phases, his prints were signed “Tōshūsai Sharaku.” The last two used only “Sharaku.”
His early works were mostly ōban prints, about 25 by 36 centimeters. These were large and allowed for more detail. As time went on, he moved into smaller formats like hosoban and aiban, which were about 15 by 33 centimeters and 23 by 33 centimeters, respectively. The later prints started focusing on full-body figures instead of dramatic close-ups. They also became more restrained and less expressive.
The timeline of his work is pretty tight. In the fifth month of Kansei 6 (late May to late June 1794), he produced 28 large ōban prints. Then between late July and late September, he made 8 more ōban and 30 hosoban prints. From late November to late January, he produced 47 hosoban, 13 aiban, and 4 more ōban. In his final batch, from mid-February to mid-March 1795, he put out 10 hosoban and 5 aiban prints. After that, he was gone.
Some later works like picture calendars from 1789 and decorated fans from 1803 have been linked to him, but none of these are confirmed. His reputation stands mostly on his first wave of prints. Those early works, especially from late 1794, are the ones people remember. The ones that really pushed the limits of ukiyo-e.
Sharaku’s short career left a long shadow. He didn’t follow the rules. He didn’t make his subjects pretty. He made them human. That’s what makes his work stand out, even today.
Sharaku’s First Period: Bold Faces, Big Prints, and Pure Emotion
Sharaku’s first period includes 28 known prints, all made in ōban size. These were large, about 25 by 36 centimeters. He released them between May 29 and June 26, 1794, during the fifth month of the sixth year of Kansei. Every one of these prints captures actors in character from kabuki plays that were on stage at the time. The titles include Hana-ayame Bunroku Soga, Katakiuchi Noriai-banashi, Koi Nyōbō Somewake Tazuna, and Yoshitsune Senbon-zakura.
These prints mark Sharaku’s most expressive work. Each portrait focuses on a close-up bust of the actor. His subjects are caught mid-scene, showing shock, anger, pride, or fear. The details are intense. Every crease in the forehead, every glare or grimace, gets carved into the wood and printed with full force. These were not gentle images. They were harsh, striking, and unforgettable. They were also too much for many viewers of the time, who expected something smoother and more polished.
After this period, Sharaku's prints began to change. The sizes got smaller. He started switching from bust portraits to full-length figures. The emotions became more restrained. The work grew more conventional and less daring. While he kept producing until early 1795, his strongest reputation still hangs on this first wave of prints. Later attempts to connect other works to him, like calendars from 1789 or fans from 1803, have never been confirmed. His legacy is rooted in what he did during those first few months.
The Revenge Play: Hana-ayame Bunroku Soga
One of the plays featured in Sharaku’s early series is Hana-ayame Bunroku Soga, written by Matsui Yūsuke. The title means "Blooming Iris, Soga of the Bunroku Era." It’s based on a real revenge story from early 1700s Japan, known as the Kameyama Vengeance. In that tale, two brothers, Ishii Hanzō and Ishii Genzō, spend 28 years tracking down the man who killed their father, Uemon. The story had been adapted for the stage many times and was popular with Edo audiences.
The version Sharaku captured debuted at the Miyako-za theater in the same month his prints were released. Most of the script is lost now, but some of the plot is known. Genzō tries to take out Fujikawa Mizuemon, the villain. But instead, Mizuemon ends up killing Genzō and his wife. Genzō’s loyal retainer, Tanabe Bunzō, and his young son then continue the mission to take revenge. Along the way, a noble samurai named Ōgishi Kurando helps them. Bunzō’s own servant, Sodesuke, adds a little comic relief. There’s also a woman, Hakujin Onayo, whose exact role isn’t clear, but she probably plays a part in the revenge.
Ōtani Tokuji I as the Servant Sodesuke
One of the standout prints from this series shows the actor Ōtani Tokuji I playing Sodesuke, a loyal footman to the Ishii family. In the first scene of the play, Sodesuke shows up late at a shrine in Hamamatsu, in Tōtōmi Province. He’s there to meet his master, Ishii Hyōei. But he arrives just in time to see a gang led by Fujikawa Mizuemon ambush and murder Hyōei under the cover of night. Sodesuke takes the body to Hyōei’s son, Genzō, who is in the middle of his wedding, and tells him what happened.
Sharaku catches Sodesuke at that moment of horror and disbelief. His eyes are wide. His posture is tense. The image shows the raw emotional shock of someone who’s just witnessed a brutal killing and now has to deliver the terrible news.
There are 18 known copies of this ōban print. They’re scattered across the globe, held in collections like the Tokyo National Museum, the British Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and many others. One more is privately owned.
Sakata Hangorō III as Fujikawa Mizuemon
Another key print from this same play shows Sakata Hangorō III playing Fujikawa Mizuemon, the main villain. Mizuemon had lost a duel to his superior, Ishii Hyōei. Humiliated, he later kills Hyōei and steals a secret sword manual from him. Genzō, Hyōei’s son, tries to get revenge. But in the third act of the play, Mizuemon murders both Genzō and his wife near the Abe River in Suruga Province.
Sharaku captures Mizuemon at the moment of that double murder. His face is full of malice. He stands firm, confident, and cold. This print was made to pair with one showing Bandō Mitsugorō II as Ishii Genzō. Together, the two prints show both sides of the same scene: the killer and the victim.
Sakata Hangorō III as Fujikawa Mizuemon
There are only 13 known copies of the ōban-format woodblock print showing Sakata Hangorō III in the role of Fujikawa Mizuemon. These prints are held by major museums and collections worldwide. You'll find one in the Tokyo National Museum, another in the Ukiyo-e Ōta Memorial Museum of Art, and others in places like the Yamatane Museum, the British Museum, the Rijksmuseum, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Some are in American collections too, like the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco through the Achenbach Foundation for Graphic Arts. One is also held by the Galerie Berès in Paris, and another by the Guimet Museum. There’s even one in a private collection.
This portrait captures a kabuki scene where Mizuemon becomes the central villain. He’s the man who murders Genzō’s father, setting off a spiral of revenge that forms the core of the drama. The print, like many by Sharaku, focuses on the actor’s expression and dramatic presence. It’s a striking example of how ukiyo-e artists captured the essence of kabuki characters.
Bandō Mitsugorō II as Ishii Genzō
Bandō Mitsugorō II appears as Ishii Genzō in the companion print to the one of Hangorō as Mizuemon. Genzō finds out his father has been murdered right in the middle of his wedding. Driven by that shock, he swears to get revenge. In act two, he attacks Mizuemon’s father. Then in act three, he tries to kill Mizuemon at the Abe River in Suruga Province. But the plan backfires. Mizuemon turns the fight around and ends up killing both Genzō and his wife. This moment is what Sharaku captures: Genzō face-to-face with Mizuemon, just before things turn fatal.
There are 9 surviving copies of this print. They’re held in collections at the Tokyo National Museum, the Nara Prefectural Museum of Art, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Guimet Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels, and the Galerie Berès. Like the Mizuemon print, this one shows how artists portrayed intense emotions through subtle visual cues.
Sanogawa Ichimatsu III and Ichikawa Tomiemon in Gion
This print shows Sanogawa Ichimatsu III as Hakujin Onayo, a prostitute in Gion, alongside Ichikawa Tomiemon as Kanisaka Tōma. In the fourth act of the story, Tōma has hit rock bottom financially. He takes a job as a gidayū reciter for bunraku puppet theater. That’s when he gets involved with Onayo. She’s working in the Gion red-light district, and their lives intersect at this low point in Tōma’s life. The scene is quiet but emotional, and the print captures that delicate moment.
Only 6 copies of this ōban print are known. One is in the Tokyo National Museum, and others are housed in the Rijksmuseum, the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Museum of Asian Art, and the Art Institute of Chicago. One is in a private collection. This print shows both the drama and the sadness behind the characters' fates.
Sanogawa Ichimatsu III as Hakujin Onayo of Gion
Onayo, played by Ichimatsu, is a prostitute from Gion. Ichimatsu was an onnagata, a male actor who played female roles. The details of her place in the revenge plot aren’t fully clear, but many think she helped in some way. Her role might have been like Okaru from the famous Kanadehon Chūshingura story. In that tale, Okaru sells herself into prostitution to help fund a revenge mission. Onayo might have done something similar.
She wears a symbol on her clothing: the hiragana character “い” in a circle. That same crest shows up on the clothes of Ōgishi Kurando, a karō (senior retainer), which links her to the broader story and hints at deeper connections between the characters.
Sanogawa Ichimatsu III as Hakujin Onayo of Gion
There are 10 surviving copies of the ōban woodblock print showing Sanogawa Ichimatsu III as Hakujin Onayo, a prostitute from the Gion district. One copy is held at each of the following: Tokyo National Museum, Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, British Museum, Museum of Fine Arts Boston, Guimet Museum, Edoardo Chiossone Museum of Oriental Art, Art Institute of Chicago, Royal Museums of Art and History, and the Achenbach Foundation for Graphic Arts at the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco. One is also held privately.
This version of the Onayo portrait focuses solely on her, separate from her appearance alongside Kanisaka Tōma. Ichimatsu, known for his onnagata roles playing women, brings emotional weight to the character. Onayo’s presence in the story isn’t completely explained, but she seems to support the revenge effort. Some believe she might mirror Okaru from Kanadehon Chūshingura, who sold herself to fund a vendetta. The crest on her clothing: a simple hiragana “い” inside a circle, ties her to other characters in the plot, hinting at her deeper involvement.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Ōgishi Kurando
Ōgishi Kurando is the house elder for the Momoi clan at Kameyama Castle. He’s a senior retainer and sides with the Ishii brothers, whose story centers on vengeance. Kurando wears the same “い” mon crest that others mistake for the Ishii family symbol. In act five, Mizuemon attacks him at a teahouse in Gion, thinking he’s one of the Ishiis. During the fight, Kurando realizes who Mizuemon really is, and that he carries the secret swordsmanship book. Kurando later helps the Ishii brothers in their revenge during Act Seven.
Sharaku’s print shows Kurando at the teahouse scene, just before the misunderstanding turns violent. There are 11 known copies of this print. You’ll find one each in the Tokyo National Museum, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Honolulu Museum of Art, and the Harvard Art Museums. Two more are at the Guimet Museum, and two are held privately.
Segawa Kikunojō III as Oshizu, Wife of Tanabe Bunzō
Oshizu is married to Tanabe Bunzō, a low-ranking foot soldier serving the Ishii family. In trying to support their household and stay loyal to the Ishii cause, the couple runs out of money. In act six, facing debt, they make the devastating decision to prostitute their daughter, Omitsu. Sharaku’s print shows Oshizu during this desperate time.
She wears a yamai hachimaki, a silk crepe headband worn in kabuki to signal illness or emotional suffering. It’s purple, tied low, and sits under a yellow comb in her hair. Her white kimono has a subtle violet pattern. Under it, layers of green and rose peek through, all held together by a black obi sash. The background of the print is dark with a layer of mica, which also appears on the collar, adding texture and depth.
There are 16 known copies of this print. They’re in the collections of the Tokyo National Museum, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts Boston, the Guimet Museum, the Harvard Art Museums, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Edoardo Chiossone Museum of Oriental Art, the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, the Hagi Uragami Museum, the Bibliothèque nationale de France, the Museum of Applied Arts in Vienna, and the Museum Five Continents. Three more are held in private collections.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Tanabe Bunzō: The Fallen Retainer
Tanabe Bunzō is a loyal servant of the Ishii family, caught up in a bitter story of revenge. In the play’s third act, at the Abe River in Suruga Province, he joins the fight to support the brothers seeking vengeance. That scene ends in tragedy. Mizuemon’s group overpowers Genzō’s allies, killing Genzō and his wife and badly injuring Bunzō, leaving him with a serious leg wound.
By the sixth act, we see Bunzō again, this time at Ishibe-juku in Ōmi Province. He’s no longer a proud retainer. Now, he’s a worn-down rōnin, broke and struggling. The print shows this change. His poverty and quiet suffering stand out.
Only 11 original copies of this ōban print survive. One is held by the Tokyo National Museum. The others are in collections at the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Grabhorn Collection at San Francisco’s Asian Art Museum, the Guimet Museum in Paris, the Honolulu Museum of Art, the Harvard Art Museums, and a single known private collection.
Arashi Ryūzō II as Ishibe Kinkichi: The Heartless Moneylender
The character Ishibe Kinkichi became more than just a role in a play. In Japanese, the name is now used to describe someone cold, rigid, and lacking compassion. Kinkichi is a ruthless lender in the sixth act, based in Ishibe-juku, Ōmi Province. He shows no pity when Bunzō and his wife Oshizu fall behind on a loan. Instead of mercy, he forces them to sell their daughter, Omitsu, into prostitution to cover their debt.
Arashi Ryūzō II, known for playing villains, captures this cruelty perfectly. Sharaku’s print locks in the hardness of Kinkichi’s face, showing a man who doesn’t feel for others.
There are 22 surviving copies of this ōban print. They’re scattered across major museum collections. You’ll find one each in the Tokyo National Museum, Jōsai University, the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, the Yamatane Museum, the British Museum, the Brooklyn Museum, the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Guimet Museum, the Honolulu Museum of Art, the Harvard Art Museums, the Museum of East Asian Art in Cologne, the Minneapolis Institute of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Yale University Art Gallery. Two more are at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Four others are in private hands.
This print set a record price at auction for a Sharaku work. It sold for €389,000 at Piasa in Paris in 2009. Before that, it went for $25,000 at Sotheby’s in 1975, and later sold at Christie’s in 1989 for £22,000.
Segawa Tomisaburō II and Nakamura Man’yo: Contrast in Character
In this scene from the seventh act, we’re inside the manor of Ōgishi Kurando, near Kameyama Castle. Two characters take the stage: Yadorigi, Kurando’s wife, played by Segawa Tomisaburō II, and Wakakusa, the chambermaid, played by Nakamura Man’yo.
Sharaku’s print doesn’t just show the two women. It draws a clear contrast between them. Tomisaburō’s face is slim and elegant. Man’yo’s is rounder and more full. The difference adds tension to the scene, showing two very different personalities in one quiet moment.
Only 7 known copies of this ōban print exist. They’re held by the Tokyo National Museum, the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, the Rijksmuseum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Dutch National Museum of Ethnology, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Segawa Tomisaburō II as Yadorigi: Elegance with a Hidden Edge
Segawa Tomisaburō II trained under the famous onnagata actor Segawa Kikunojō III and followed his master’s style closely. He was well known for playing young women and high-class courtesans on stage. While skilled in those parts, he had a reputation offstage for being rough around the edges. His blunt behavior earned him the nicknames “Iya-Tomi” and “Niku-Tomi,” both mocking references to his lack of polish.
The print shows Tomisaburō as Yadorigi, the wife of Ōgishi Kurando. But the exact scene it’s based on isn’t clear. It’s likely not the same moment shown in Sharaku’s other portrait of Yadorigi, since her costume is completely different here. Some believe this image may come from the fifth act of the play, though that’s only speculation.
There are only 10 known copies of this particular ōban print. One each is preserved at the Tokyo National Museum, the Hagi Uragami Museum, Jōsai University, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Two more are held by the Guimet Museum in Paris.
Katakiuchi Noriai-banashi: A Blended Tale of Revenge
Katakiuchi Noriai-banashi, meaning “A Medley of Tales of Revenge,” was written by Sakurada Jisuke and first performed in the fifth month of 1794 at the Kiri-za theater. The story weaves together two revenge plots: Ganryūjima Revenge and The Tale of Shiroishi and the Taihei Chronicles. At the heart of the play is a brutal killing. The villain, Shiga Daishichi, murders a poor rōnin named Matsushita Mikinoshin. Mikinoshin’s daughters, Miyagino and Shinobu, spend years planning revenge. A fishmonger from San’ya named Gorobē helps them carry it out.
Onoe Matsusuke I as Matsushita Mikinoshin: The Broken Father
Matsushita Mikinoshin is a sick, impoverished rōnin. He’s the father of Miyagino and Shinobu. In the third act, he’s ambushed and killed by Shiga Daishichi and his accomplice. Sharaku captures him in that exact moment. The expression, the posture, everything about the image shows a man already broken down, not just by illness or poverty, but by the knowledge that death is coming. What makes this role stand out is that Onoe Matsusuke I, who was famous for playing villains, takes on the part of the tragic lead here instead.
This ōban print of Onoe Matsusuke I as Matsushita Mikinoshin is rare and highly regarded for its emotional depth.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Shiga Daishichi: Cold and Calculating
Shiga Daishichi is the central villain in Katakiuchi Noriai-banashi. He’s the one who murders Mikinoshin and sets the revenge plot in motion. Ichikawa Komazō III plays him with a sharp, cruel edge. Sharaku’s ōban print of Komazō as Daishichi captures that menace. His face is drawn tight with intention. It’s not just a portrait; it’s a moment frozen in time.
This print is one of the defining images of Sharaku’s skill in showing personality through expression.
Morita Kan'ya VIII as Uguisu no Jirōsaku: Dance in the Shadows
Uguisu no Jirōsaku is a palanquin-bearer who plays a strange but poetic part in this story. He takes Miyagino to the red-light district to visit her daughter, a girl who has already been sold into prostitution. In the fourth act, during the dance segment “Iris Headdress of Remembrance,” Jirōsaku appears in a more symbolic form. He becomes a bush warbler, performing opposite another character, Jūrō, who is dressed as a lesser cuckoo. That dance layers meaning over the revenge tale, pulling in elements of loyalty, sacrifice, and sorrow.
Nine copies of the ōban print of Morita Kan’ya VIII as Jirōsaku are known today. They’re kept in the Tokyo National Museum, the Yamatane Museum, the Museum of Asian Art, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Guimet Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Allen Memorial Art Museum.
Matsumoto Yonesaburō I as Kewaizaka no Shōshō (Actually Shinobu)
In this ōban print, Matsumoto Yonesaburō I is shown as Kewaizaka no Shōshō. But the twist is that the character is actually Shinobu in disguise. This kind of hidden identity was common in kabuki plots, where characters often masked their true selves. Sharaku’s portrait captures that layered tension. The print shows Yonesaburō in full costume, striking a classic pose that signals something more is going on beneath the surface. That’s what made Sharaku’s actor portraits different. They didn’t just show costumes. They showed what the actors were really performing: the emotion and complexity of the role.
Nakayama Tomisaburō I as Miyagino
Only eight copies of the ōban print of Nakayama Tomisaburō I as Miyagino are known to exist. One is held at the Tokyo National Museum. Others are spread across places like the Nara Prefectural Museum of Art, the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Edoardo Chiossone Museum, the Harvard Art Museums, the Met, and one is in private hands. That makes this a rare piece, and its survival in these major collections shows just how valuable it is. Miyagino is a tragic, emotional character, and Tomisaburō’s expression in the print reflects that depth. Sharaku's attention to facial details shows through in the sharp lines and subtle tension across the actor’s brow and jaw.
Matsumoto Kōshirō IV as San’ya no Sakanaya Gorobē
Sharaku also created an ōban portrait of Matsumoto Kōshirō IV playing San’ya no Sakanaya Gorobē. This role, a fish seller from San’ya, might not sound dramatic on its own, but Kōshirō brought energy and presence to the character. Sharaku’s print catches that moment. The actor’s look is firm, and his posture is balanced but alert. You get a sense of who Gorobē is just by the way Kōshirō stands: he’s tough, local, and probably not someone to mess with. These kinds of everyday characters gave kabuki its bite, and Sharaku knew exactly how to make them come alive.
Nakajima Wadaemon I as Bōdara Chōzaemon and Nakamura Konozō I as Gon of the Kanagawaya
Sharaku also made a double portrait showing Nakajima Wadaemon I as Bōdara Chōzaemon and Nakamura Konozō I as Gon of the Kanagawaya. These two were minor characters in the play Katakiuchi Noriai-banashi. There’s not much known about them outside of this print. Still, Sharaku treated them with the same care he gave to lead roles. Every detail, from the folds in their clothes to the expressions on their faces, shows the same level of focus and control. Sharaku wasn’t just capturing actors. He was capturing performances. Even side characters had a story to tell, and he made sure their presence counted.
Koi Nyōbō Somewake Tazuna: Kabuki Adaptation of a Bunraku Classic
The kabuki play Koi Nyōbō Somewake Tazuna, which means The Loving Wife’s Particolored Reins, first appeared in Osaka in 1751 as a bunraku puppet performance. That same year, it was adapted into a kabuki production and staged at the Nakamura-za in Edo, which was later renamed the Miyako-za.
The plot follows Date no Yosaku, a retainer for the Yurugi clan in Tanba Province. He falls into an affair with Shigenoi, a woman-in-waiting. Things quickly spiral. A corrupt retainer named Washizuka Happeiji has a servant, Edobei, steal public funds from Yosaku. Meanwhile, Shigenoi gives birth to Yosaku’s child. Her father, Takemura Sadanoshin, is a Noh performer. When he learns about the scandal, he commits ritual suicide to take responsibility.
The Yurugi lord brings Shigenoi into his household as a wet nurse for his daughter Shirabe-hime. That forces her to separate from Yosaku and their baby. Along the way, other characters enter the story, including a house messenger named Sagisaka Sanai, and Yosaku’s loyal manservant Ippei. There's also Osagawa Tsuneyo II, who likely played Ippei’s sister Osan. The story blends family drama with betrayal, loyalty, and tragedy - everything that made kabuki powerful.
Ichikawa Omezō I as the Manservant Ippei
Sharaku’s ōban print of Ichikawa Omezō I captures him as Ippei, Yosaku’s manservant. The character is labeled a yakko, which refers to a lower servant rank, usually with comic or bold traits. Omezō’s version of Ippei carries tension in his pose. He’s both loyal and caught up in events far beyond his control. Sharaku draws him with intensity, giving the figure a mix of grit and nervous energy. The lines are sharp, the expression focused, and the presence undeniable.
Ōtani Oniji III as the Manservant Edobei
Another ōban print shows Ōtani Oniji III as Edobei, the manservant who steals funds at the request of the villain Washizuka. This role is dark, and Oniji plays Edobei as calculating and cold. Sharaku’s portrayal of him is one of the most famous kabuki prints ever made. You can see the scowl, the tense hands, the glare. Everything about the figure suggests danger. The way Edobei holds himself shows a mix of menace and control. It’s a freeze-frame of the character in action.
Later that same year, Ōtani Oniji III changed his stage name. He became Nakamura Nakazō II, taking over the name from a previous performer. After that, he starred in a production titled Uruō Toshi Meika no Homare, where he played Saizō Saiwaka. Sharaku also made a print of him in that role, showing the transition between personas. It was another layer in how actors in Edo changed identities both on stage and off.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as the Wet Nurse Shigenoi
Sharaku’s ōban print of Iwai Hanshirō IV shows him in the role of Shigenoi, a wet nurse caught in a tragic story. Her son is taken from her, and the man she loves, Yosaku, is lost to scandal. This role is a woman weighed down by loss, duty, and deep emotion. Hanshirō’s pose in the print reflects that sadness. The way Sharaku draws her, you see the quiet strength in her face and the heaviness in her eyes. The costume is rich, but the expression is what stays with you. That’s the heart of kabuki, and Sharaku captures it.
Ichikawa Monnosuke II as Date no Yosaku
The print of Ichikawa Monnosuke II as Date no Yosaku shows a character at the center of it all. Yosaku is a retainer, but his affair with Shigenoi and the theft committed in his name set everything off. His story is full of shame, betrayal, and grief. Sharaku draws Monnosuke with tension in the shoulders and tight focus in the face. You can see a man trying to hold it together while the world around him crumbles. The role is layered, and the print gets that across without needing anything more than posture and expression.
Bandō Hikosaburō III as Sagisaka Sanai
In the ōban portrait of Bandō Hikosaburō III, we see him as Sagisaka Sanai, the messenger for the Yurugi household. He’s not a lead, but he plays a key role. Sanai brings news that moves the story forward. Hikosaburō’s stance is alert, ready, almost formal. The face is controlled, showing a man who knows the weight of what he’s carrying. Even in a small part, Sharaku gives him presence. The way the robe hangs and the eyes narrow tells you this messenger understands everything that’s at stake.
Tanimura Torazō I as Washizuka Happeiji
Washizuka Happeiji is the villain. He pulls the strings that ruin Yosaku’s life. In the ōban print of Tanimura Torazō I as Happeiji, Sharaku makes that clear. The actor’s face is tight, with a hard scowl and piercing eyes. He leans slightly forward, like he’s always plotting something. The lines in the face are sharp. The eyebrows angle down just enough to show malice. Even the hands are tense. This is how you show danger without any action at all.
Ichikawa Ebizō I as Takemura Sadanoshin
Takemura Sadanoshin is the Noh master who kills himself to preserve honor. Ichikawa Ebizō I takes on this heavy role. Sharaku draws him in a quiet, dignified pose. The expression is calm but worn. You can see a man who has accepted his fate. The folds in his robe and the stillness in his eyes say everything. He’s not begging for sympathy. He’s showing what duty costs. Sharaku’s print doesn’t overplay it. It just lets the character speak through the actor’s stillness.
Osagawa Tsuneyo II as Osan, Ippei’s Sister
In the print of Osagawa Tsuneyo II, she appears as Osan, who may be Ippei’s sister. The role isn’t fully confirmed, but the presence in the image is strong. Osan’s face is drawn with care, her look slightly downcast, suggesting worry or sadness. The detail in the hair and clothing is exact. Even if the part was small, Sharaku gave it weight. Every person in these prints, no matter how minor their role, is given real emotion.
Iwai Kiyotarō I as Fujinami and Bandō Zenji I as Kozasa
One print combines two women: Fujinami, the wife of Sagisaka Sanai, and Kozasa, the wife of Washizuka Kandayū. Iwai Kiyotarō I and Bandō Zenji I play these parts. The pairing is interesting. Fujinami is tied to a loyal messenger, while Kozasa is married to a man tied to corruption. The expressions are subtle but telling. Fujinami’s face is soft, calm, and slightly weary. Kozasa’s is a little tighter, with sharper eyes. The costumes contrast too; rich in detail but with clear differences. It’s a quiet statement about two women living in two very different households.
Yoshitsune Senbon-zakura: Sharaku’s Other Kabuki Portraits
One of Sharaku’s prints shows a scene from Yoshitsune Senbon-zakura. In it, Sawamura Yodogorō II plays Kawatsura Hōgen, and Bandō Zenji I plays Oni Sadobō. These are not gentle characters. Oni Sadobō literally means “Demon Sadobō.” Hōgen is a priest, but with a sharp and dangerous presence. The print captures them as they are: eyes focused, mouths tight, energy locked in. It’s a dramatic moment that holds even in still form.
Shinozuka Uraemon I as the Miyako-za Announcer
The final print in this series shows Shinozuka Uraemon I giving a kōjō, a formal on-stage announcement. This was a regular part of kabuki theater. It happened before the play began or during transitions, where a stagehand or actor would speak to the crowd about name changes or promotions.
In this print, Uraemon stands in front of the audience wearing the crest of the Miyako-za on his sleeve. He holds a scroll, and the writing on it bleeds through the paper. The message is simple: Part two of the new actor portrait series is now being shown. Seven copies of this print are known, with originals in places like the Tokyo National Museum, the British Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Met, and a few other major collections. There’s another version of this print without the writing on the scroll. Both versions show how kabuki wasn’t just about the performance, for it was also about the spectacle and the connection with the crowd. Even announcements became part of the art.
Yamashina Shirōjūrō as Nagoya Sanzaemon
Only three known copies exist of the hosoban print showing Yamashina Shirōjūrō as Nagoya Sanzaemon. One is at the Art Institute of Chicago. Another sits in the Grabhorn Collection at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. The third belongs to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This image is a strong example of actor portraiture in Edo-period woodblock art. It reflects how kabuki roles were captured in narrow vertical prints and preserved as visual records of live performance.
Sanokawa Ichimatsu III as Sekinoto, Wife of Fuwa Benzaemon
This hosoban print shows Sanokawa Ichimatsu III playing Sekinoto, the wife of Fuwa Benzaemon. It’s only known through a black-and-white reproduction that appeared in Fritz Rumpf’s 1932 book on Sharaku. No one knows where that print is today. It remains one of the more elusive ukiyo-e actor images. Its disappearance highlights how fragile and scattered the legacy of early kabuki prints can be.
Ichikawa Danjūrō VI as Fuwa no Bansaku
There are four known copies of this hosoban print of Ichikawa Danjūrō VI in the role of Fuwa no Bansaku. One belongs to the Achenbach Foundation for Graphic Arts in San Francisco. The others are kept at the Art Institute of Chicago, the Honolulu Museum of Art, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Danjūrō VI was a well-known name in the Ichikawa acting line, and his image was often captured in dynamic kabuki roles like this one. These prints show how artists and publishers helped preserve stage performances through detailed character portrayals.
Arashi Ryūzō II as the Servant Ukiyo Matabei
Three copies survive of this hosoban print of Arashi Ryūzō II as the servant Ukiyo Matabei. One is at the Tokyo National Museum. Another belongs to Jōsai University. The third is held by the Art Institute of Chicago. In kabuki, servant characters often brought both comic relief and emotional depth, and prints like this one reveal how artists brought those roles to life on paper.
Arashi Ryūzō II and Ōtani Hiroji III as the Servants Ukiyo Matabei and Tosa no Matabei
Four copies are known of this ōban print that features two actors: Arashi Ryūzō II as Ukiyo Matabei, and Ōtani Hiroji III as Tosa no Matabei. One copy is at the Tokyo National Museum. Another is housed at the Japan Ukiyo-e Museum. A third is in the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation. The fourth is held in a private collection. This larger-format print captures both characters side by side. It’s rare to see dual actor portraits of this kind in this size, and it shows how publishers aimed to draw attention with dramatic pairings.
Ōtani Hiroji III as the Servant Tosa no Matabei
Only two copies exist of this hosoban print of Ōtani Hiroji III in the role of Tosa no Matabei. One is at the Tokyo National Museum, and the other is in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Ōtani Hiroji III was a prominent stage actor, and prints like this helped define his public image. The servant role he played here likely involved a mix of loyalty, wit, and tension - traits that often made these characters memorable on stage and in print.
Bandō Mitsugorō II as the Farmer Fukakusa no Jirōsaku
This hosoban print of Bandō Mitsugorō II as the farmer Fukakusa no Jirōsaku survives in four known copies. One is at the Tokyo National Museum. Another is at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. A third is kept at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. One more is held in a private collection. Mitsugorō II, known for his bold and emotional stage presence, appears here in a rural role. These kinds of character portraits gave common people visual access to kabuki culture and the popular actors of the time.
Ichikawa Tomiemon I as Inokuma Monbei
Seven known copies exist of the hosoban print showing Ichikawa Tomiemon I in the role of Inokuma Monbei. These prints are held at major institutions worldwide. You’ll find them at the Tokyo National Museum, the Rijksmuseum, the M. Walter Amstutz Collection, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Guimet Museum, and the Honolulu Museum of Art. This wide distribution shows just how valuable and collectible this print has become over time. It also highlights Tomiemon’s standing as a notable actor in Edo kabuki.
Ōtani Tokuji I as Monokusa Tarō
There are four known copies of the hosoban print featuring Ōtani Tokuji I as Monokusa Tarō. One is kept at the Tokyo National Museum. The others are in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Edoardo Chiossone Museum of Oriental Art, and a private collection. Monokusa Tarō was likely a comic or eccentric role, and prints like this one show how kabuki actors embodied a wide range of characters, from noble warriors to quirky townsfolk.
Sakata Hangorō III as Kosodate Kannonbō
Only two known copies of this hosoban print survive. They show Sakata Hangorō III playing Kosodate Kannonbō. One print is in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and the other belongs to the Art Institute of Chicago. Hangorō was a versatile actor known for both tragic and comic parts. The role of Kannonbō likely had a sentimental edge, possibly tied to themes of parenthood or redemption, as hinted by the name "Kosodate," which means "child-raising."
Segawa Tomisaburō II as the Courtesan Tōyama, and Ichikawa Kurizō as Higashiyama Yoshiwakamaru
Two copies of this hosoban print are known. They show Segawa Tomisaburō II as the courtesan Tōyama and Ichikawa Kurizō as Higashiyama Yoshiwakamaru. One is in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The other is at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Pairing a courtesan with a youthful male character was a common visual theme in kabuki prints, often reflecting dramatic storylines full of emotion and conflict.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Fuwa Banzaemon Shigekatsu
This hosoban print shows Ichikawa Yaozō III in the role of Fuwa Banzaemon Shigekatsu. It stands out for its bold portrayal of a strong kabuki character. Though the print’s copies are not listed, its presence in multiple roles and paired compositions suggests it circulated widely and was likely admired during its time.
Segawa Kikunojō III as the Courtesan Katsuragi
Segawa Kikunojō III, active in the late 1700s, is shown here as the courtesan Katsuragi. This hosoban print captures the elegance and style that made Kikunojō a favorite in onnagata roles. His portrayals of high-ranking courtesans gave these prints a strong visual pull and helped define the fashion of the time. The exact number of surviving copies is unclear, but the image remains tied to the golden age of ukiyo-e actor portraits.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Nagoya Sanza
In this hosoban print, Sawamura Sōjūrō III appears as Nagoya Sanza. Known for his refined acting and powerful stage presence, Sōjūrō was often portrayed in heroic roles. The role of Nagoya Sanza came with bold costume design and emotional depth, making this print a lasting example of Edo kabuki culture.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III and Segawa Kikunojō III as Nagoya Sanza and Courtesan Katsuragi
An ōban print exists showing Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Nagoya Sanza alongside Segawa Kikunojō III as the courtesan Katsuragi. This pairing brings together two major actors in a dramatic scene, captured on a larger format print. The ōban size allowed for more visual detail, especially in costume and expression, which adds emotional weight and theatrical flair to the piece.
Ichikawa Yaozō III and Sakata Hangorō III as Fuwa Banzaemon and Kosodate Kannonbō
Another ōban print presents Ichikawa Yaozō III as Fuwa Banzaemon next to Sakata Hangorō III as Kosodate Kannonbō. The dual composition lets us see the contrast between two very different characters. It highlights the tension and drama found in kabuki plots. These larger prints were often collected by fans who wanted to remember the performances or admire the actors’ signature poses.
Nakayama Tomisaburō I as Tsukuba Gozen
Only four copies exist of the hosoban woodblock print showing Nakayama Tomisaburō I playing Tsukuba Gozen, the wife of Yoshioki. These prints are extremely rare and held in select collections. One is at the Hagi Uragami Museum. Another is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. A third is part of the Art Institute of Chicago’s collection. The last one is privately owned. Each version captures this kabuki role with a level of detail that shows how actors were immortalized through print.
Nakamura Kumetarō II as Minato
There are three known copies of the hosoban print showing Nakamura Kumetarō II in the role of Minato, wife of Yura Hyōgonosuke. One is kept at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The other two are preserved at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. These prints show how kabuki art documented even supporting roles with care and style, giving viewers a look into Edo-period theater costumes and performance traditions.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Minase Rokurō Munezumi in Kamishimo
Only one known copy survives of the print showing Ichikawa Komazō III dressed as Minase Rokurō Munezumi in kamishimo, which is formal samurai attire. This lone example is stored in the Guimet Museum. It captures the actor in a strong, upright pose, dressed in the classic style worn by high-ranking samurai during formal occasions.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Minase Rokurō Munezumi as a Pilgrim
Two known copies exist of another print featuring the same actor, Ichikawa Komazō III, again as Minase Rokurō Munezumi but this time dressed as a pilgrim. One is part of the Tokyo National Museum collection. The other is kept at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. This version of the character in simple pilgrim robes contrasts sharply with the more formal kamishimo version, showing the range of roles played and costumes worn by kabuki performers.
Nakajima Kanzō II as Negoto no Chōzō
Three known copies remain of the hosoban print that shows Nakajima Kanzō II playing Negoto no Chōzō, a packhorse driver. One is held by the Tokyo National Museum. Two others are part of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston’s collection. This print shows a working-class figure, offering a rare glimpse into characters outside the samurai and aristocratic class, which were more common in kabuki stories.
Morita Kan'ya VIII as Yura Hyōgonosuke
There are five surviving copies of the hosoban print of Morita Kan'ya VIII as Yura Hyōgonosuke. One is at Jōsai University. Another is kept at the Art Institute of Chicago. The rest belong to private collectors. This widespread survival across both public and private hands reflects the popularity of both the actor and the role during his time on the stage.
Yomo no Nishiki Kokyō no Tabi-ji Premiere
The kabuki play Yomo no Nishiki Kokyō no Tabi-ji premiered in the 8th month of Kansei 6 at the Kiri-za theater. That places its debut sometime in 1794. This play added another layer to Edo-period kabuki with its mix of travel themes and nostalgic storytelling, common elements in stage performances of that era.
Matsumoto Yonesaburō I as Otsuyu
Two known copies remain of the hosoban print featuring Matsumoto Yonesaburō I as the maid Otsuyu. One is in the Tokyo National Museum’s collection. The other is stored at the Museum of Asian Art. The character of Otsuyu, portrayed as a maid, represents the everyday lives and quiet strength of women in kabuki drama. These prints hold both historical and artistic value.
Nakajima Wadaemon I as Tanbaya Hachiemon
Only one copy exists of the hosoban print showing Nakajima Wadaemon I in the role of Tanbaya Hachiemon. That single print is held in a private collection. Like many rare kabuki prints, this piece is a valuable snapshot of theater history, capturing one moment in a now-lost performance.
Matsumoto Kōshirō IV as a Yamato Hick, Really Ninokuchimura Magoemon
Only one copy is known of the hosoban print showing Matsumoto Kōshirō IV as a flashy, clueless spender from Yamato, who is actually Ninokuchimura Magoemon in disguise. That print is kept in the Art Institute of Chicago. The image reflects a common kabuki plot twist, where identity and class are blurred for dramatic effect. It also shows how kabuki used comedy and deception to explore social roles.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Kameya Chūbei and Nakayama Tomisaburō as Umegawa
Six copies of this ōban print exist. It features Ichikawa Komazō III as Kameya Chūbei and Nakayama Tomisaburō as Umegawa. These are tragic lovers from a well-known kabuki play. One print is held by the Tokyo National Museum. Others are in the collections of the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation, the British Museum, and the Bibliothèque nationale de France. Two more are at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The print captures an emotional moment between the characters, highlighting the romantic and dramatic side of Edo theater.
Matsumoto Kōshirō IV as Ninokuchimura Magoemon and Nakayama Tomisaburō as Umegawa
This ōban print also exists in six copies. It shows Matsumoto Kōshirō IV playing Ninokuchimura Magoemon, with Nakayama Tomisaburō as Umegawa. The print represents another version of the Umegawa story, this time showing her with a different male lead. One copy is in the Tokyo National Museum. Others are in the collections of the Baur Foundation, the Royal Museums of Art and History, and the Harvard Art Museums. Two are at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. These multiple versions reflect how kabuki reimagined characters through different actors and interpretations.
Ōtani Oniji II as Kawashima Jibugorō
Two known hosoban prints show Ōtani Oniji II as Kawashima Jibugorō. One is part of the Tokyo National Museum's collection. The other belongs to a private collector. The character is likely a bold and sharp-tongued figure, typical of the roles that Oniji specialized in. His intense stage presence often showed through in prints, making even a limited copy like this one an important piece of kabuki visual history.
Ichikawa Omezō I as Tomita Hyōtarō
Only one copy remains of the hosoban print showing Ichikawa Omezō I as Tomita Hyōtarō. That single print is kept in the Art Institute of Chicago. It likely shows the actor in a strong, composed pose, which fits many of the male leads from that period’s plays. These rare prints offer a window into how actors shaped their characters visually for fans and followers of the theater.
Ichikawa Omezō I and Ōtani Oniji III Together
There are eight surviving copies of the ōban print featuring Ichikawa Omezō I as Tomita Hyōtarō and Ōtani Oniji III as Kawashima Jibugorō. These prints are spread across major collections. One is at the Tokyo National Museum. Others are kept by the British Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Guimet Museum, the Honolulu Museum of Art, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
This print once caused confusion. It was originally thought to show Omezō I as the sumo wrestler Sekitori Ikazuchi Tsurunosuke and Oniji III as Ukiyo Tsuchihei. That mistake reflects how tricky it can be to correctly identify kabuki roles in old prints, especially when costume styles overlap or when actor names repeat across generations.
The pairing of Omezō and Oniji in this print captures the energy of two powerhouse performers in a shared scene. It shows how kabuki prints didn’t just document performances. They also celebrated the actors as celebrities of their time.
Nihon-matsu Michinoku Sodachi Niban-me: A Rare Title with Few Clues
There isn’t much information available about Nihon-matsu Michinoku Sodachi Niban-me. The title itself suggests a regional link, possibly pointing to Nihonmatsu in the Michinoku area. It may belong to a series, with “Niban-me” indicating it’s the second part. The work remains obscure, and without more records, it's hard to pin down its significance or context within Sharaku’s known catalog.
Bandō Hikosaburō III as Obiya Chōemon: Two Surviving Hosoban Prints
Only two copies of this hosoban print still exist. Both show Bandō Hikosaburō III in the role of Obiya Chōemon. One is held by the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The other is part of the Grabhorn Collection at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. This print is one of many actor portraits from Sharaku’s time, focused on kabuki performers in key dramatic roles. The artwork captures a moment from the Edo stage, preserving not only the actor’s likeness but also a piece of theater history.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as O-Han of the Shinanoya: A Single Known Example
This hosoban portrait of Iwai Hanshirō IV playing O-Han of the Shinanoya is even rarer. Only one copy is known, held in the collection of the Museum of Asian Art. The print is another example of Sharaku’s or a contemporary artist’s interest in kabuki and its actors, offering a close-up look at performance culture in 18th-century Edo.
Iwai Kiyotarō II as O-Sode, Daughter of Futamiya: A Singular Print
Another sole-surviving hosoban print features Iwai Kiyotarō II in the role of O-Sode, the daughter of Futamiya. It’s housed in the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation. Like the other prints from this era, it puts the spotlight on a specific kabuki character, adding to the archive of actor portraits that shaped much of Edo visual culture.
Tanimura Torazō I as Kataoka Kōemon: Preserved in Tokyo
One known print shows Tanimura Torazō I as Kataoka Kōemon. The Tokyo National Museum holds the only surviving copy. As with others from this group, this print likely served both as a souvenir for fans and as a piece of performance memory, capturing the actor in full character.
Ichikawa Ebizō I as Ranmyaku no Kichi: Another Rare Portrait
This hosoban print, showing Ichikawa Ebizō I as Ranmyaku no Kichi, also exists in just one known copy. It is preserved at the Tokyo National Museum. These single-copy prints suggest very limited runs or poor survival rates, but each one holds unique value for tracing kabuki’s visual history.
Osagawa Tsuneyo II as Okinu, Wife of Chōemon: Found in the Rijksmuseum
One more rare hosoban print shows Osagawa Tsuneyo II in the role of Okinu, the wife of Chōemon. The Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam holds the only known copy. This print, like the others, highlights the popularity of female character portrayals and the actors who played them, especially in stylized or emotional scenes.
A Double Portrait: Bandō Hikosaburō III and Iwai Hanshirō IV
There are three surviving copies of an ōban print that features both Bandō Hikosaburō III as Obiya Chōemon and Iwai Hanshirō IV as O-Han of the Shinanoya. These are located in the Art Institute of Chicago, the Grabhorn Collection at the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This larger format allowed for more detail and possibly marked a more dramatic or memorable scene. These dual portraits give viewers a broader glimpse of stage interaction and character dynamics.
The Third Period: 1794 to 1795 and a New Phase in Actor Portraits
The third period of production, spanning from 1794 to 1795, includes 47 hosoban, 13 aiban, and 4 ōban prints. These works came out in the eleventh month of Kansei Year 6, which marks a clear phase in style and presentation. Among the 13 aiban prints, 11 are ōkubi-e yakusha-e. That means they focus tightly on the actor's face, showing dramatic expressions in close-up.
What makes these 11 prints stand out are the small details. Each one includes a crest in the corner, and five of them feature ears drawn with six lines instead of the five lines seen in Sharaku’s earlier and later pieces. That might not seem like much, but in ukiyo-e, these line changes signal a different hand or approach.
This has led to speculation about authorship. Some scholars believe these 11 prints weren’t made by Sharaku but by another artist named Kabukidō Enkyō. Enkyō is a mystery. We only know of seven prints by him, all dated around 1796. He’s also the only other ukiyo-e artist from the Edo period known to make aiban-sized ōkubi-e yakusha-e prints. The similarities suggest a strong link between Enkyō’s work and these unsigned or uncertain prints from the third period.
Whether Sharaku created them or not, these prints remain a critical part of the ukiyo-e timeline. They show how small changes in linework and format can raise bigger questions about authorship, identity, and influence during one of the most visually rich eras in Japanese art.
The Debut of Uruō Toshi Meika no Homare
The title Uruō Toshi Meika no Homare first appeared on stage at the Miyako-za theater in the eleventh month of Gansei Year 6. This was around 1794, deep in the Edo period, when kabuki was at its peak and ukiyo-e artists were capturing its stars in portrait prints. The title, which roughly translates to “Honor of the Famous Names of the Year,” signals a grand theme likely tied to notable characters and dramatic stories from the kabuki stage.
Arashi Ryūzō II as Ōtomo Yamanushi: Four Surviving Prints
This hosoban print features Arashi Ryūzō II in the role of Ōtomo Yamanushi. Four copies are known to exist. They are housed in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Grabhorn Collection at the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, the Guimet Museum in Paris, and the Minneapolis Institute of Art. The print showcases the actor in a poised moment, giving us a glimpse into Edo-period performance style and the visual culture surrounding kabuki legends.
Sanokawa Ichimatsu III as Ihohata: Preserved in Two Museums
Two copies exist of the print showing Sanokawa Ichimatsu III as Ihohata. One is kept at the Tokyo National Museum. The other is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Like other actor prints from this period, the artwork freezes a single dramatic moment, preserving the costume, makeup, and emotional tone that defined the role.
Bandō Mitsugorō III as Katsura Kokingo Haruhisa: A Rare Print in Boston
Only one known print features Bandō Mitsugorō III as Katsura Kokingo Haruhisa. It belongs to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. This hosoban portrait captures a kabuki figure whose role might have involved samurai drama, intrigue, or family honor - common themes in Edo-period theater.
Segawa Kikunojō III as Hisakata Disguised as Yamato Manzai: Three Copies Known
This print shows Segawa Kikunojō III as the shirabyōshi dancer Hisakata, who appears disguised as Yamato Manzai. Three copies of this rare print exist. They are kept in the Tokyo National Museum, the Museum of Asian Art, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
This portrait is part of the fourth act of Uruō Toshi Meika no Homare, specifically from Ōshukubai Koi no Hatsune, a kabuki play layered with deception, hidden identities, and romance. In the scene, Manzai and another character named Saiwaka emerge from the hanamichi, the side walkway used for dramatic entrances. Together, they perform a seated dance with three others. Later, Manzai becomes a go-between in a love affair between Princess Konohana and Munesada, helping the story unfold behind a web of mistaken identities and romantic schemes.
Nakamura Nakazō II as Saizō Saiwaka: A Hidden Identity Revealed
One surviving print shows Nakamura Nakazō II in disguise as Saizō Saiwaka. His true identity in the play is Aramaki Mimishirō Taketora. This print is housed in the Art Institute of Chicago and is the companion piece to the print of Segawa Kikunojō III as Hisakata.
The two prints work together, both coming from the same fourth act of Uruō Toshi Meika no Homare. In the play, Saiwaka and Manzai perform together in a stylized dance, then both take part in carrying out a love affair between Princess Konohana and Munesada. Eventually, the disguise falls away and Saiwaka reveals himself as Aramaki Mimishirō in front of Hatano Daizen Taketora. This layered narrative of hidden motives, changing roles, and emotional tension was common in kabuki, and prints like these helped solidify those moments in visual memory.
The Legacy of Nakamura Nakazō II and His Past as Ōtani Oniji III
Nakamura Nakazō II officially took on his new stage name in the eleventh month of Kansei Year 6. Before that, he was known as Ōtani Oniji III, a name familiar to anyone who’s seen Sharaku’s most iconic works. One of the most well-known prints shows him as the manservant Edobei, captured with an intense, claw-like gesture. That print remains one of Sharaku’s most recognizable images, and it adds context to Nakazō’s long and varied career in kabuki.
These hosoban actor prints from Uruō Toshi Meika no Homare reflect a complex chapter in Edo art, where identity, performance, and visual storytelling overlapped. Each print acts like a frozen moment from the stage, giving us insight into the actors, roles, and layered plots that made kabuki the cultural force it was in late 18th-century Japan.
Nakamura Nakazō II as Aramaki Mimishirō Kanetora
Only two known copies exist of the hosoban print showing Nakamura Nakazō II in the role of Aramaki Mimishirō Kanetora. One is kept at the Art Institute of Chicago. The other is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Both prints show the actor captured in full costume, likely during a kabuki performance that brought the character to life on stage.
Nakamura Noshio II as Konohana, Daughter of Ki no Tsurayuki
There’s just one known copy of the hosoban print of Nakamura Noshio II playing Konohana, the daughter of the poet Ki no Tsurayuki. That single copy is preserved at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The print reflects the delicate character of Konohana and stands as a rare example of Noshio II’s portrayal of women in poetic roles.
Segawa Kikunojō III as Hisakata, the Shirabyōshi of Miyako Kujō
Only one known copy exists of the print showing Segawa Kikunojō III as Hisakata, a shirabyōshi from Miyako Kujō. That copy is held by the Art Institute of Chicago. The character Hisakata represents a court dancer from medieval Japan, and the print captures both elegance and drama in the actor’s pose.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Kujaku Saburō Narihira
Four copies of the hosoban print featuring Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Kujaku Saburō Narihira have been recorded. These are held at the Tokyo National Museum, the Ukiyo-e Ōta Memorial Museum of Art, the Royal Library of Belgium, and the Art Institute of Chicago. The role blends historical storytelling with theatrical flair, and the prints show the actor in detailed costume with a dramatic stance.
Kataoka Nizaemon VII as Ki no Natora
There’s only one known copy of the print showing Kataoka Nizaemon VII in the role of Ki no Natora. This single piece is housed at the Ukiyo-e Ōta Memorial Museum of Art. The image likely captures the actor mid-performance, locked into a moment of classical kabuki expression.
Segawa Kikunojō III as Hanazono, Wife of Ōtomo no Kuronushi
Only one known print exists of Segawa Kikunojō III as Hanazono, the wife of Ōtomo no Kuronushi. That copy belongs to a private collection. Hanazono, a poetic and noble character, is shown with quiet dignity in the print, framed in the refined style typical of Kikunojō III’s female roles.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Ōtomo no Kuronushi
Six copies are known of the hosoban print featuring Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Ōtomo no Kuronushi, a poet from classical Japanese literature. These copies are kept at the Tokyo National Museum, the Ukiyo-e Ōta Memorial Museum of Art, the Edoardo Chiossone Museum of Oriental Art, the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, and two are held by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The role blends poetry and performance, and the prints show the actor in a rich costume, exuding literary depth.
Nakamura Noshio II as Ono no Komachi
Three copies survive of the print showing Nakamura Noshio II as the poet Ono no Komachi, one of Japan’s most famous classical poets. These prints are in the Tokyo National Museum, the Ukiyo-e Ōta Memorial Museum of Art, and one remains in a private collection. The role highlights Komachi’s beauty and poetic charm, and the actor’s pose reflects this through grace and calm.
Bandō Hikosaburō III as Godai Saburō Chikatada
Two known prints exist of Bandō Hikosaburō III in the role of Godai Saburō Chikatada. One is held by the Art Institute of Chicago, and the other is part of the Grabhorn Collection at the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco. The prints capture the energy and presence Hikosaburō III was known for, showing Chikatada in a strong and commanding pose.
Segawa Tomisaburō II as Prince Koretaka Disguised as Wakakusa
Three copies survive of the hosoban print showing Segawa Tomisaburō II as Prince Koretaka, disguised as Wakakusa, the maid of the Ōtomo family. These prints can be found at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This role, involving hidden identity and layered emotion, is portrayed with subtle tension in the actor’s expression and body language.
Ōtani Hiroji III as Hata no Daizen Taketora
A single known copy exists of the hosoban print showing Ōtani Hiroji III in the role of Hata no Daizen Taketora. That rare piece is part of the Tokyo National Museum's collection. It captures the actor in a strong, bold pose typical of heroic kabuki figures.
Nakamura Nakazō II as Prince Koretaka Disguised as Farmer Tsuchizō
There are three known copies of the aiban-format print of Nakamura Nakazō II as Prince Koretaka, hiding his identity as the humble farmer Tsuchizō. These can be found at the Tokyo National Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The dual nature of the character, both noble and commoner, is expressed clearly in the posture and costume captured in each version.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Kujaku Saburō Narihira (Kinokuniya Tosshi)
Two surviving copies exist of the aiban print featuring Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Kujaku Saburō Narihira, also known as Kinokuniya Tosshi. These are located in the Tokyo National Museum and the Art Institute of Chicago. The role combines elegance with flair, and the actor’s striking appearance in the print makes this one of the standout images from his career.
Otokoyama Oedo no Ishizue: A Stage Debut
The kabuki play Otokoyama Oedo no Ishizue premiered at the Kiri-za in the eleventh month of the sixth year of Gansei. This marks its first appearance on stage and places it squarely in the heart of the Edo kabuki calendar, at a time when new plays were often released at the end of the year.
Ichikawa Ebizō I as Kamakura Gongorō Kagemasa
Two copies are known of the hosoban print featuring Ichikawa Ebizō I as Kamakura Gongorō Kagemasa. These prints are held in the collections of the Kunsthalle Bremen and the Arthur M. Sackler Museum at Harvard. The character is a classic warrior role, and Ebizō I's portrayal adds a dramatic edge to this historical figure.
Sakakiyama Sangorō II as Princess Odae, Daughter of Michinaga
Three prints survive of Sakakiyama Sangorō II in the role of Princess Odae, the daughter of Fujiwara no Michinaga. These prints are held by the Royal Museums of Art and History, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The role reflects courtly grace and refined expression, captured in the actor's pose and costume.
Ichikawa Danjūrō VI as Mimana Yukinori
Three copies are known of the hosoban print of Ichikawa Danjūrō VI in the role of Mimana Yukinori. These are in the collections of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Kunsthalle Bremen, and the Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe Hamburg. Known for his commanding stage presence, Danjūrō VI appears here in full theatrical form.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Chūzō Sanekata Disguised as Sparrow Seller Bunji Yasukata
Only one known copy exists of the print showing Ichikawa Yaozō III as Chūzō Sanekata, hiding under the identity of Bunji Yasukata, a sparrow seller. This rare piece is kept at the Art Institute of Chicago. The character involves hidden status and dramatic disguise, elements often explored in kabuki roles.
Sakata Hangorō III as Yahazu no Yahatei
There is only one known copy of the hosoban print of Sakata Hangorō III as Yahazu no Yahatei. It is housed at the Art Institute of Chicago. The print captures Hangorō III in a role that likely drew from physical comedy or dramatic flair, traits he was known for in his career.
Nakayama Tomisaburō I as the Cowherd Ofude
Only two known prints exist that show Nakayama Tomisaburō I in the role of the cowherd Ofude. Both are hosoban format. One copy is kept at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and the other is held by the Portland Art Museum. These rare pieces give a glimpse into early kabuki portraiture and the way actors were celebrated in visual art.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as a Kamuro Doing the Lion Dance
There are only two known copies of the hosoban print showing Ichikawa Yaozō III dressed as a kamuro while performing a Lion Dance. One is in Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, and the other is at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This print is the right side of a diptych. The left half features Nakayama Tomisaburō I in the same dance, creating a full scene when placed together.
Nakayama Tomisaburō I as a Kamuro Doing the Lion Dance
Three known copies show Nakayama Tomisaburō I as a kamuro performing the Lion Dance. Two are in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and one is at the Met. This image completes the diptych alongside the Ichikawa Yaozō III version. Together, they capture a staged performance with matching energy and motion from both actors.
Ichikawa Ebizō I as the Monk Ryōzan, Actually Abe no Sadatō in Disguise
There are five known copies of the hosoban print showing Ichikawa Ebizō I as Abe no Sadatō in disguise as the traveling monk Ryōzan. These prints are spread across some of the world’s top collections. You can find them at the Tokyo National Museum, the Rijksmuseum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, and one is privately owned. This character mix of warrior and monk made for a complex kabuki role, and the print shows that layered identity clearly.
Morita Kan'ya VIII as Genkaibō Ajari
Only one known copy exists of the hosoban print showing Morita Kan'ya VIII as Genkaibō Ajari. That single piece is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There's still some confusion about this role, and it might need more research to fully understand the context. But the print itself holds value just for its rarity.
Nakayama Tomisaburō I as Teriha, Disguised as Ohisa (Hosoban Version)
A single known hosoban print shows Nakayama Tomisaburō I playing Teriha, the younger sister of Abe Sadatō. In the story, she’s disguised as Ohisa, wife of Sazanami Tatsugorō. That copy is kept at the Tokyo National Museum. The role blends family loyalty, deception, and drama, which made it a compelling kabuki plot.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Hachiman Tarō Minamoto no Yoshiie
Two aiban format prints exist of Ichikawa Yaozō III as the legendary warrior Hachiman Tarō Minamoto no Yoshiie. One is at the Tokyo National Museum, and the other is in the Art Institute of Chicago. The role connected the actor to a major historical figure, which gave the print lasting appeal.
Ichikawa Danjūrō VI as Arakawa Tarō Takesada
Three known prints show Ichikawa Danjūrō VI in the role of Arakawa Tarō Takesada. All are in aiban format. You can find these at the Tokyo National Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe in Hamburg. These prints showcase the bold look and strong presence Danjūrō VI brought to warrior roles.
Nakayama Tomisaburō I as Teriha, Disguised as Ohisa (Aiban Version)
There are three aiban versions of the print showing Nakayama Tomisaburō I as Teriha in disguise as Ohisa, the wife of Sazanami Tatsugorō. One is held by the Tokyo National Museum, another is in Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, and the third is at the Art Institute of Chicago. This version, larger than the hosoban, gives more space to highlight the layered identity of the character and the actor’s detailed costume.
Ichikawa Ebizō I as Kamakura Gondayū, Disguised as Abe no Sadatō
Only one known hosoban print shows Ichikawa Ebizō I in the role of Kamakura Gondayū, who is secretly Abe no Sadatō in disguise. This rare print is housed in the Harvard Arthur M. Sackler Museum. It’s another example of how kabuki stories often used hidden identities and dramatic reveals to build tension on stage.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Hachiman Tarō Yoshiie
There’s only a single known hosoban print of Ichikawa Yaozō III as the legendary military hero Hachiman Tarō Yoshiie. That one copy belongs to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This print captures the actor in a powerful pose, playing one of Japan’s most iconic warriors.
Otokoyama Oedo no Ishizue Niban-me Performance
The kabuki play Otokoyama Oedo no Ishizue Niban-me premiered at the Kiri-za theater during the 11th month of the 6th year of Gansei. That places its debut in the Edo calendar system, pointing to a rich theatrical history that tied kabuki to political themes and social stories of the time.
Yamashita Kinsaku II as Ebizō Okane, Disguised as Iwate Gozen (Tennōjiya Rikō)
Seven known copies exist of the aiban print showing Yamashita Kinsaku II in the role of Iwate Gozen, the wife of Abe Sadatō, while in disguise as the maid Ebizō Okane, also known as Tennōjiya Rikō. These are held across top collections, including the Tokyo National Museum, Japan Ukiyo-e Museum, British Museum, Art Institute of Chicago, and Philadelphia Museum of Art. The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston holds two copies. The layered identity and emotional depth of this role made it a standout in kabuki storytelling.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Saeki Kurando Tsunenori
A single known hosoban print shows Ichikawa Yaozō III as Saeki Kurando Tsunenori. This print is part of the Art Institute of Chicago’s collection. It’s a lesser-known role, but it adds to the broader picture of kabuki’s range in portraying loyal retainers and historic figures.
Yamashita Kinsaku II as Ebizō Okane, Disguised as Iwate Gozen (Plum-Tree Background)
Two known hosoban prints show Yamashita Kinsaku II in the same role as before: Abe Sadatō's wife Iwate Gozen in disguise as the maid Ebizō Okane; but this time with a background showing a plum tree. These two versions are in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the private collection of M. Walter Anstutz. The added seasonal element adds emotional texture to the character’s hidden sorrow and strength.
Yamashita Kinsaku II as Iwate Gozen, Holding an Umbrella
Two known hosoban prints show Yamashita Kinsaku II as Iwate Gozen, wife of Abe Sadatō, this time holding an umbrella. These prints are found in the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The umbrella adds a small but expressive prop to the portrait, giving it a quiet, reflective tone that matches the character’s emotional weight.
Sakata Hangorō III as Kurisaka Tarō Tomonori in Disguise
There’s only one known copy of the hosoban print that shows Sakata Hangorō III in the role of Kurisaka Tarō Tomonori, who’s pretending to be a groom named Abumizuri no Iwazō in the play Koriyama. This print is rare and held by the Art Institute of Chicago. The scene blends mistaken identity with layered storytelling, which was common in kabuki plays of that time. This print captures a moment full of hidden meaning and dramatic weight.
“Matsu wa Misao Onna Kusunoki” Debuts at Kawarazaki-za
The play Matsu wa Misao Onna Kusunoki, which translates to “As Steadfast as the Pine Tree is the Woman of the Kusunoki Clan,” premiered at the Kawarazaki-za theater. This was during the eleventh month of Gansei year six. The story centers on female loyalty and honor, linking it to the long-standing samurai values of the Kusunoki family. The title alone reflects the theme of inner strength and unshakable devotion, which were big draws for Edo period audiences.
Onoe Matsusuke I as Ashikaga Takauji
A single known print exists of Onoe Matsusuke I portraying Ashikaga Takauji, the founder of the Ashikaga shogunate. That print is kept in the Toledo Museum of Art. This role highlights the actor’s skill in bringing historical figures to life. Ashikaga Takauji was a major political force in medieval Japan, and this depiction adds depth to the way kabuki handled power, betrayal, and legacy.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Shinozuka Gorō (Sadatsuna)
Only three copies are known of the hosoban print featuring Ichikawa Komazō III as Shinozuka Gorō, also called Sadatsuna. One is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, another at the Minneapolis Institute of Art, and the last is in a private collection. This role connects to stories of loyalty and revenge, and the character of Sadatsuna often appears in tales of samurai courage. The scarcity of the print makes it a key piece for understanding kabuki’s portrayal of warrior culture.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as Kōtō no Naishi
There are three known prints of Iwai Hanshirō IV playing the court lady Kōtō no Naishi, also known as the emperor’s handmaid. These prints are held at the Tokyo National Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and one remains privately owned. The print was once thought to show Osagawa Tsuneyo II as Kojima, the wife of Bingo Saburō, but that has since been corrected. This mix-up shows how hard it can be to trace accurate performance records from early kabuki. Still, the role of Kōtō no Naishi shows how kabuki honored women from the imperial court, often highlighting their intelligence, poise, and grace.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Oyamada Tarō Takaie Disguised as Nitta Yoshisada
Two prints survive of Ichikawa Komazō III playing Oyamada Tarō Takaie, a character who’s pretending to be the historical figure Nitta Yoshisada. One copy is at the Hagi Uragami Museum, while the other is privately held. The character switch reflects the kabuki theme of hidden identity and changing allegiances, which made these stories suspenseful and engaging. Nitta Yoshisada is remembered for opposing the Kamakura shogunate, so this role would have carried strong political undertones at the time.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as Chihaya, Sister of Kenkō
Three copies exist of the hosoban print showing Iwai Hanshirō IV as Chihaya, the younger sister of Kenkō, a Shintō priest. One print is kept at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, another at the New York Public Library, and the third is in private hands. This role touches on themes of spiritual duty and family ties. The priest Kenkō is usually seen as a wise and disciplined figure, so a sister character would likely offer a softer or more emotional counterpoint. These contrasts were a big part of kabuki's power to reflect the emotional range of human relationships.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as O-Toma, the Pilgrim from Kamakura
There are three known prints of Iwai Hanshirō IV playing O-Toma, a pilgrim and daughter of O-Hina from Inamuragasaki in Kamakura. One print is held at the Tokyo National Museum, another at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and the third at the Art Institute of Chicago. The role reflects themes of journey, faith, and devotion, all wrapped in the visual drama of Edo-period kabuki. The character’s pilgrim attire adds depth, hinting at both spiritual intent and hidden backstory.
Onoe Matsusuke I as Yuasa Magoroku, the Lay Priest
Only one copy exists of the hosoban print showing Onoe Matsusuke I as Yuasa Magoroku, a lay priest. It’s part of the collection at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. This role represents the mix of spiritual and secular life, with the character likely portrayed as both wise and cunning. Lay priests in kabuki often held knowledge and influence while navigating between worlds, both sacred and ordinary.
Ichikawa Komazō III as the Monk Saihō no Mida Jirō, Actually Sagami Jirō Tokiyuki
There’s a single known print of Ichikawa Komazō III in the role of Saihō no Mida Jirō, a wandering monk who is secretly Sagami Jirō Tokiyuki. This hosoban print is housed in the Royal Museums of Art and History. The character double identity tells a story of concealment, duty, and revelation. Such roles were designed to create tension and emotional depth, revealing truths in dramatic ways that kept the audience engaged.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as Kikusui, Disguised as O-Toma from Kamakura
Only one copy exists of the print showing Iwai Hanshirō IV as Kikusui, the wife of Kusunoki Masashige, disguised as O-Toma, the daughter of O-Hina from Inamuragasaki. This rare image is part of the Royal Library of Belgium’s collection. The disguise adds a new layer to the already complex kabuki tradition of gender and identity role play. Here, a loyal wife hides under the guise of a young woman, evoking themes of sacrifice and resilience.
Matsu wa Misao Onna Kusunoki Niban-me Premieres
Matsu wa Misao Onna Kusunoki Niban-me debuted at the Kawarazaki-za in the eleventh month of Gansei year six. This was the second part of a story centered on the women of the Kusunoki clan. The title again highlights female loyalty, drawing on the image of the pine tree, a symbol of endurance and strength in Japanese culture. These plays honored the unseen emotional labor and quiet courage of women tied to samurai lineages.
The Five-Print Pentaptych
These five kabuki prints come together to form a pentaptych. Each print tells its own story, but together they create a fuller scene that reflects the complexity of the play and the interconnected roles of the characters. This format was rare and required precise coordination across prints, making the full set especially valuable to both collectors and scholars.
Osagawa Tsuneyo II as O-Roku, the Hairdresser
There are three known copies of the hosoban print showing Osagawa Tsuneyo II as O-Roku, a hairdresser. One is at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, another at the Guimet Museum, and the last is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. O-Roku is described as sukigushi, meaning someone skilled in combing and hair arrangement. This role shows the quiet importance of tradeswomen in kabuki stories, often seen as clever and resourceful figures behind the scenes.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Oyamada Tarō Takaie
Only one known print shows Ichikawa Komazō III as Oyamada Tarō Takaie. It’s kept in the Art Institute of Chicago. This role often appears in historical dramas involving clan loyalty and political struggle. Characters like Takaie are drawn from real records and transformed through kabuki into moral figures wrestling with power, trust, and fate.
Another Copy of Iwai Hanshirō IV as O-Toma
Another print exists of Iwai Hanshirō IV as O-Toma, the daughter of O-Hina from Inamuragasaki. This one is also in the Art Institute of Chicago’s collection. While similar in subject to the other known prints, each version may capture slight differences in costume, pose, or expression, showing how actors and artists reimagined familiar roles in fresh ways.
Matsumoto Kōshirō IV as the Boatman Minagawa Shin'emon
There are six known copies of the hosoban print showing Matsumoto Kōshirō IV playing the role of Hata Rokurōzaemon Tokiyoshi. In the story, he’s disguised as the boatman Minagawa Shin'emon at Reisengasaki in Kamakura. The print captures the moment of this hidden identity. Today, one copy is held at the Tsubouchi Memorial Theatre Museum at Waseda University. Others are kept at the Art Institute of Chicago and the Portland Art Museum. The remaining three are in private hands.
Nakajima Wadaemon I as Migawari no Jizō
Three copies exist of the hosoban print showing Nakajima Wadaemon I in the role of Migawari no Jizō, a householder. The print shows the character known as the master of the house. These prints are preserved at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Brooklyn Museum, and the Art Institute of Chicago.
Matsu ha Misao Onna Kusunoki Shin Kyōgen at Kawarazaki-za
The kabuki play Matsu ha Misao Onna Kusunoki Shin Kyōgen had its debut in the eleventh month of the sixth year of Gansei, which places the premiere in late 1809. It was first staged at the Kawarazaki-za theater, a key venue for kabuki performances in Edo.
Ichikawa Komazō III as Ōdate Sabanosuke Terukado
There are three known aiban prints of Ichikawa Komazō III playing the character Ōdate Sabanosuke Terukado. These prints are located at the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Museum in Kraków, and the Portland Art Museum. At one point, this print was thought to show Komazō III as a different character, Oyamada Tarō, but later research corrected the identification.
Iwai Hanshirō IV as Saeda Disguised as San
Only one known copy exists of the aiban print showing Iwai Hanshirō IV playing Saeda, who is Sabanosuke’s younger sister. In the story, she appears disguised as San, the maid of Ukiyonosuke. This print is housed at the Art Institute of Chicago. It gives us a look at the layered identities and disguise roles common in kabuki dramas.
Hana no Miyako Kuruwa no Nawabari at Miyako-za
The kabuki production Hana no Miyako Kuruwa no Nawabari premiered at the Miyako-za theater. Like the earlier play, this one also opened in the eleventh month of Gansei 6, placing the debut in 1809. It added to the season’s rich lineup of new kabuki shows in Edo.
Bandō Mitsugorō II as the Manservant Kugahei
Two aiban prints are known of Bandō Mitsugorō II playing the servant Kugahei. One copy is in the collection of the Tokyo National Museum, while the other remains in private hands. This role is another example of how kabuki actors often played lower-class characters with humor, energy, and strong stage presence.
Segawa Kikunojō III as the Maid O-Hama, Actually the Wife of Inanami Rukurōdayū
Four copies exist of the aiban print showing Segawa Kikunojō III playing O-Hama, a maid who is later revealed to be the wife of Inanami Rukurōdayū. This print highlights the kabuki theme of concealed identities and hidden motives. These four prints are now in the Tokyo National Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Guimet Museum.
Arashi Ryūzō II as the Manservant Namihei
Only one copy is known of the aiban print of Arashi Ryūzō II in the role of Namihei, a manservant. Also called Toraya Toramaru, the print is preserved at the Royal Museums of Art and History. This portrayal adds to the list of kabuki characters from the lower class who were often brought to life with bold gestures and strong emotional presence.
The Fourth Period of Prints: Start of Kansei 7
The fourth period of actor prints begins in the first month of Kansei 7, which is 1795. This group includes 10 hosoban prints and 5 aiban prints. Among them, three are linked to the play Nido no Kake Katsuiro Soga, staged at the Kiri-za. Seven others come from two plays, Edo Sunago Kichirei Soga and Godairiki Koi no Fūjime; both performed at the Miyako-za. There’s also a sumo print, two warrior-themed musha-e prints, and one print of the lucky deity Ebisu. This period marks a strong blend of kabuki, folk religion, and warrior culture in ukiyo-e.
Edo Sunago Kichirei Soga at the Miyako-za
The play Edo Sunago Kichirei Soga premiered at the Miyako-za theater in the first month of Gansei 7. It was part of a popular kabuki tradition that dramatized the Soga brothers’ revenge story, often performed in the new year.
Bandō Hikosaburō III as Kudōzaemon Suketsune
Two copies exist of the hosoban print showing Bandō Hikosaburō III as Kudōzaemon Suketsune. These are kept in the Tokyo National Museum and the National Museum of Ethnology. Kudōzaemon is a central figure in the Soga story, often depicted as the antagonist whose actions set off the brothers’ mission for revenge.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Soga Jūrō Sukenari
Three known prints show Sawamura Sōjūrō III in the role of Soga Jūrō Sukenari, one of the two brothers in the legendary revenge tale. These are housed at the Tokyo National Museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and in the private M. Walter Amstutz Collection. This character is usually portrayed as the older, more composed sibling.
Bandō Mitsugorō II as Soga Gorō Tokimune
Only one known copy exists of Bandō Mitsugorō II portraying the younger brother, Soga Gorō Tokimune. The print is part of the Tokyo National Museum’s collection. Soga Gorō is typically played with more aggression and emotional intensity, making this role a favorite for kabuki actors known for their dynamic energy.
Second Staging of Edo Sunago Kichirei Soga (Later Titled Godairiki Koi no Fūjime)
The sequel Edo Sunago Kichirei Soga Niban-me also premiered at the Miyako-za in the first month of Gansei 7. Though it started with a different title, it was later renamed Godairiki Koi no Fūjime by 1800. The story is based on a violent real-life incident from 1742, when Hayata Hachiemon, a samurai from Satsuma, killed five people in Osaka. The Kyoto version debuted a year earlier, but the Edo version would eventually carry the more well-known title. This storyline blends true crime and kabuki theater into a powerful and bloody narrative.
Segawa Tomisaburō II as the Maid Ochiyo
Only one known copy exists of the hosoban print showing Segawa Tomisaburō II as the maid Ochiyo. This print is part of the collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At one point, it was misidentified as a portrait of the geisha Asaka, but later research clarified the role.
Segawa Yūjirō II as the Maid Otowa
One copy of the hosoban print of Segawa Yūjirō II as Otowa survives. In the story, Otowa is a maid. This print is in a private collection and is not currently available to the public. Still, it’s an important piece in documenting early kabuki roles played by onnagata actors.
Sawamura Sōjūrō III as Satsuma Gengobei
Two prints are known of Sawamura Sōjūrō III playing Satsuma Gengobei. These hosoban prints are part of the Tokyo National Museum and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston collections. The role of Gengobei is a strong samurai character, and Sōjūrō was known for playing men with power and depth.
Iwao Kumesaburō I as the Geisha Kumekichi
One hosoban print survives showing Iwao Kumesaburō I in the role of the geisha Kumekichi. This print is housed at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The role of Kumekichi highlights the refined and elegant side of kabuki’s female characters, usually played by male actors trained in onnagata style.
Nido no Kake Katsuiro Soga at Kiri-za
The kabuki play Nido no Kake Katsuiro Soga had its first performance at the Kiri-za theater. It debuted in the first month of the seventh year of Gansei, which places it in early 1810. The play drew from the long-standing Soga Brothers legend, a popular subject in kabuki.
Ichikawa Ebizō I as Kudōzaemon Suketsune
Three known hosoban prints show Ichikawa Ebizō I playing Kudōzaemon Suketsune. These prints are held in the collections of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Guimet Museum. Suketsune was a central figure in the Soga Brothers story, as their enemy and the reason for their quest for revenge.
Ichikawa Danjūrō VI as Soga Gōrō Tokimune
Two prints are known of Ichikawa Danjūrō VI portraying Soga Gōrō Tokimune, one of the famous Soga brothers. These hosoban prints are in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and the Art Institute of Chicago. The character of Gōrō Tokimune is known for his fiery nature and loyalty, which made him a favorite among kabuki fans.
Ichikawa Yaozō III as Soga Jūrō Sukenari
Only one known print shows Ichikawa Yaozō III as Soga Jūrō Sukenari, the older brother in the Soga revenge story. This hosoban print is preserved at the Art Institute of Chicago. Jūrō Sukenari was often portrayed as the calmer, more composed brother, balancing his younger sibling’s passionate energy.
Sumo Prints: Daidōzan Bungorō in Ukiyo-e Art
Daidōzan Bungorō was born in 1788 in what is now Yamagata Prefecture. By the time he was six, he already stood out. At just 117 centimeters tall, he weighed 83 kilograms. His size alone made him a spectacle, and people quickly took notice. He showed up at sumo events dressed as a wrestler and performed the ring-entering ceremony, which brought in even bigger crowds.
Between 1794 and 1798, Daidōzan appeared in at least 25 different prints. Big-name ukiyo-e artists, including Utamaro, featured him in their work. That kind of attention was rare, especially for someone who wasn’t a professional sumo wrestler but performed like one. His image became a popular subject across Japan during that time.
One of the most well-known depictions is a triptych titled Daidōzan Bungorō Enters the Sumo Ring. It's an aiban-size triptych that shows him stepping into the ring in full costume. Only two complete sets of this triptych are known today. One is at the MOA Museum of Art, and the other is in a private collection. The Sumo Museum in Tokyo holds a copy of the center panel from the same set.
There’s also a single-sheet aiban print that shows Daidōzan entering the ring. That version is in the collection of the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation. The text at the top of that print gives his age and measurements: seven years old, just over 19 kanme in weight, and seven shaku, seven sun, and nine bu in height. He was entering the sumo ring in Edo at the time the print was made.
Another print shows Daidōzan standing on the back of a blue oni, ready to strike it with a wooden mallet. According to the caption, by this time his weight had increased to 21 kan and 500 monme, which comes out to about 79 kilograms. His girth was also recorded as 3 shaku and 9 sun, or about 121 centimeters. These numbers were significantly larger than what was recorded the previous year, showing how fast he was growing.
Musha-e Warrior Prints: Sharaku’s Rare Take on Battle Scenes
Sharaku is best known for his actor portraits, but he also produced two rare musha-e, or warrior prints. These scenes show a different side of his work, one that breaks away from the kabuki themes he’s usually linked with. Some believe these warrior images were his way of proving he wasn’t limited to just actor prints.
One of these musha-e shows Soga Gorō locked in battle with Gosho Gorōmaru. Only one known copy of this aiban-size print survives, and it's held by the Hiraki Ukiyo-e Foundation. The image tells a real story from 1193, when the shōgun Minamoto no Yoritomo hosted a grand hunting event near Mount Fuji, called the Fuji no Makigari.
During this event, the Soga brothers, Jurō and Gorō, avenged their father’s death by killing Kudō Suketsune, a retainer of Yoritomo who was responsible for the murder. After the fight, Jurō was killed, and Gorō was captured by a palace guard named Gosho Gorōmaru, who also happened to be a sumo wrestler. Gorōmaru’s hair in the print is tied in the karawa-mage style, a topknot worn by young men during the Kamakura period.
Maple Leaf Viewing: Taira no Koremichi’s Fight with a Demon
Sharaku also created a print titled Momiji-gari, which means maple leaf-viewing. It’s based on the Momiji Densetsu, a well-known story that’s been adapted into plays and other forms of entertainment. Only one known copy of this aiban print exists, and it’s in the collection of the Art Institute of Chicago.
The story takes place during the Heian period. It follows the warrior Taira no Koremichi, who stumbles upon a woman and her attendants having a peaceful maple leaf-viewing party. He joins them and drinks until he passes out. When he wakes up, he realizes the women are actually demons in disguise.
The print shows the moment he fights back. One demon has grabbed him by the topknot while Koremichi struggles to break free. It’s a rare action scene in Sharaku’s body of work and stands out for its energy and sharp visual storytelling.
Ebisu: The Lucky God of Wealth in Ukiyo-e
There is one known copy of an aiban print of Ebisu, one of Japan’s Seven Lucky Gods. It belongs to the Japan Ukiyo-e Museum. Since the start of the Edo period, Ebisu has been especially popular with merchants. He’s seen as the god of good fortune, prosperity, long life, and overall happiness.
In the print, Ebisu wears a tall, pointed kazaori eboshi hat. He’s seated on a rock beside the water, fishing under a sacred Shinto shimenawa rope. His fishing line is tangled, but he keeps smiling. His ears are unusually large, which is part of how he’s often shown in Japanese art. That wide grin and relaxed pose show why he became such a beloved figure, especially among shop owners and traders who prayed to him for financial luck.
Otafuku and Other Faces on Folding Fans
A folding fan known as a sensu shows Otafuku, a cheerful female figure in Japanese folklore. The only known copy of this fan print is in the Art Institute of Chicago. The fan measures 21.2 by 40.8 centimeters and shows Otafuku throwing roasted soybeans to drive away oni demons. This scene takes place during Setsubun, a festival held at the Lunar New Year. Otafuku’s smiling face is a classic symbol of joy and good cheer, and her role in the print ties her to traditional customs that center around protection and renewal.
Old Man and Young Boy Fan Painting
Another sensu folding fan shows an old man on one side and a young boy on the other. The boy stands on top of a portrait originally done by Utagawa Toyokuni, a well-known ukiyo-e artist. This fan is not a printed work, but a nikuhitsu-ga, meaning it was painted by hand. The medium is chikushi bamboo paper, a traditional type used for fans. This fan was once owned by Handeishi Kawakita, a collector born in 1878. Today, it belongs to the Sekisui Museum.
Actors on Stage: Matsumoto Kōshiro IV and Matsumoto Yonesaburō
A third fan features actors from a kabuki play. The painting shows Matsumoto Kōshiro IV as the character Kakogawa Honzō and Matsumoto Yonesaburō as Konami. The fan is about 50 centimeters wide and is held by the Museum of Asian Art in Corfu. Experts confirmed in 2008 that the fan is a work by Sharaku.
Unlike woodblock prints, this piece is a nikuhitsu-ga painting, done by hand on chikushi bamboo paper. It carries Sharaku’s signature, written as “Tōshūsai Sharaku ga.” The scene most likely comes from a performance of Kanadehon Chūshingura that took place in May 1795. The fan captures a moment between two major characters and shows Sharaku’s sharp sense for theatrical detail.
Hanshita-e: The First Step in Ukiyo-e Printing
Before a print could be carved and pressed, it started as an ink drawing. The print artist would sketch the design, which was then transferred to a thin sheet of Mino paper. This sketch, known as a hanshita-e, was pasted face-down onto a woodblock. The lines were visible through the paper, and the carver used them to cut the key block that would be used in printing.
Sumo Hanshita-e: Tanikaze and Daidōzan
One surviving hanshita-e shows the sumo wrestlers Tanikaze and Daidōzan Bungorō. This piece is in a private collection. It’s believed to be part of a lost group of drawings once owned by Kobayashi Bunshichi, a collector who traveled outside Japan in the late 1800s and early 1900s, bringing back a large group of ukiyo-e.
Among his collection were seven sumo-themed hanshita-e signed “Sharaku Ga.” All of them, including this one, were thought to be original drawings by Sharaku. Sadly, the full collection was destroyed in a fire during the Great Kantō earthquake in 1923. This particular portrait is considered to be one of the few surviving links to that series.
Actor Hanshita-e: Rare Draft Drawings of Edo’s Stage Legends
Hanshita-e were working sketches made before a woodblock print was finalized. These drawings were key to the ukiyo-e printmaking process. They captured fine details before being carved onto blocks. Many hanshita-e featured kabuki actors, who were major public figures during the Edo period. Though some of these sketches are still around, many have been lost or sit in private collections, rarely seen by the public.
A hanshita-e once depicted the actors Onoe Matsusuke I and Ichikawa Ebizō I. Their sketch, like a few others from the same time, has vanished. No one knows where it ended up. Another missing sketch showed three other famous performers: Sanokawa Ichimatsu III, Sakata Hangorō III, and Ichikawa Tomizaemon I. These too have disappeared over time.
One drawing that still exists shows Segawa Tomisaburō II, Ichikawa Omezō I, and Ichikawa Komazō III. That piece is part of a private collection. While it’s not available for public viewing, we at least know where it is.
The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has a few surviving examples of actor hanshita-e. One shows Bandō Mitsugorō II, Ōtani Oniji III, and Segawa Kikunojō III. Another features Ichikawa Yaozō III, Sawamura Sōjūrō III, and Osagawa Tsuneyo II. These preserved sketches give us a closer look at the detailed planning behind the famous actor portraits seen in finished woodblock prints.
The Art Institute of Chicago also holds an important hanshita-e. It shows Arashi Ryūzō II and Morita Kan'ya VIII. The drawing captures their likenesses before the final printing process began.
Another rare piece, held in a private collection, includes Iwai Kiyotarō I, Nakamura Sukegorō II, and Bandō Hikosaburō III. These three actors were well-known in their time, and their features are carefully outlined in this preserved draft.
The Guimet Museum in Paris houses a few actor hanshita-e as well. One sketch shows Ichikawa Monnosuke II, Matsumoto Kōshirō IV, and Iwai Hanshirō IV. Another features Segawa Yūjirō II alongside Matsumoto Yonesaburō I. These drawings are more than rough drafts. They’re part of the creative process and offer a rare behind-the-scenes view of how Edo-era prints came to life.
Each of these hanshita-e is tied to Japan’s kabuki culture and ukiyo-e print history. Whether stored in museums or hidden in private hands, they hold quiet but lasting value. They show the early stages of artworks that shaped public image and celebrity in the Edo period, long before modern fame existed.
Sharaku’s Bold Take on Kabuki Portraiture
Sharaku’s portraits are not about soft beauty or ideal forms. Instead, they’re full of force and intensity. Unlike most ukiyo-e artists, who went for smooth features and stylized faces, Sharaku zoomed in on what others might avoid. He made no effort to hide flaws. If an actor had a big nose or deep wrinkles, he showed them clearly. That honesty gave his work a raw edge.
His prints usually focus on just one actor. But it’s not just a portrait. It’s the actor mid-performance, caught in a moment where expression says everything. Art critic Muneshige Narazaki once pointed out how Sharaku managed to capture different layers of a character in that one moment, like the actor, the role, and the emotion behind it all showing at once. That depth is rare.
Compared to other ukiyo-e artists of his time, like Katsukawa Shun'ei, Sharaku’s work was more psychological. Shun'ei tried to show the story. Sharaku showed the person. He pushed expressions to the edge. Faces stretched with emotion, gestures frozen in dramatic tension. His style leaned toward caricature but never lost its weight. Sometimes he included two figures, often to contrast them. He might place a striking beauty next to someone more plain, or set two very different face types side by side.
Sharaku’s Lack of Ties and Sudden Decline
Most ukiyo-e artists had connections. They worked under established schools like Utagawa or Torii, learning the trade and building networks. Sharaku didn’t. He worked outside the system. That may have hurt him. Without that backing, it was harder for him to reach an audience. Still, the technical skill in his prints is undeniable. Even though there’s no real proof that he had prior experience, his first works show clear mastery.
His early prints stood out for how real they looked. He used advanced methods too, like adding mica dust in the backgrounds to make them shimmer. These weren’t just portraits. They were intense studies of expression, mood, and energy. But as fast as he rose, the quality dropped just as fast. It’s not clear why, but the change is obvious.
Scholar Jack Ronald Hillier once said Sharaku seemed to struggle with his medium at times. He even compared him to Paul Cézanne, saying both artists were clearly talented but sometimes limited by their tools or their own technique. Sharaku’s prints had moments of brilliance, but not always consistency.
The Mystery of Sharaku’s Identity
Most ukiyo-e artists left behind very little personal information. But Sharaku’s case is unique. Nothing solid has ever turned up about who he was. Biographers have searched for years. No real leads have panned out. That mystery has only added to the appeal of his work. People get caught up in it; the less we know about him, the more we want to.
There have been more than fifty theories about his true identity. Almost none of them have stuck. In fact, not one has gained broad acceptance. A few scattered pieces of information have been suggested. A haiku book from 1776 includes two poems under the name Sharaku. Other poetry collections from 1776 and 1794 mention a poet from Nara with that name. But aside from the shared timing, there’s no hard link to the artist.
A Shinto document from 1790 names a Katayama Sharaku, the husband of a religious disciple in Osaka. But nothing more is known about him or the woman he was married to. That lead didn’t go anywhere either. Still, Sharaku’s art does look similar to works by Osaka-based artists like Ryūkōsai and Nichōsai. That resemblance has made some people think Sharaku may have been from the Osaka area.
There are also rare calendar prints from 1789 and 1790 signed "Sharakusai". No one has proven they were made by Sharaku, but they haven't been ruled out either. The problem is they don’t really look like his known works. Stylistically, they don’t match.
So we’re left with the work itself and not much else. No background. No confirmed name. Just a few intense years of bold, emotional portraits that still stand out today.
Was Sharaku a Noh Actor? The Theories Behind His Identity
Some people believe Sharaku’s portraits look like Noh masks. That idea has led to theories that he was actually a Noh performer himself, possibly serving under the lord of Awa Province, which is now part of Tokushima Prefecture. Several old records support this claim. One Meiji-era manuscript even gives a specific death date: the 17th day of the fifth month in 1806. It also says he was buried at Kaizenji Temple in Asakusa, in Edo.
Other similar theories claim Sharaku was actually a known Noh actor like Saitō Jūrōbei, Harutō Jizaemon, or Harutō Matazaemon. These claims, however, haven’t been proven and most have been dismissed over time.
Could Sharaku Have Been Hokusai?
In 1968, researcher Tetsuji Yura suggested that Sharaku and Hokusai were the same person. This idea isn’t new. It also shows up in a collection of writings called Ukiyo-e Ruikō, which includes notes and opinions about ukiyo-e art. There’s even a timing detail that adds weight: Sharaku’s short career began just when Hokusai’s actor portraits stopped, in 1794.
Before Hokusai became known for his famous landscape prints, he made over a hundred portraits of kabuki actors. Then suddenly, he stopped. If Hokusai had wanted to keep making actor prints without linking them to his name, the timing fits. Plus, Hokusai was known for switching art names throughout his life. With the government enforcing strict rules under the Kansei Reforms, it’s possible he used the name "Sharaku" to avoid trouble.
And since ukiyo-e artists usually didn’t carve their own blocks, a change in carver could explain why Sharaku’s prints look different. That would make it possible for the same artist to show two very different styles without being recognized.
Other Theories and Speculation
Many names have been tossed around over the years. Some say Sharaku was his publisher, Tsutaya, or Tsutaya’s father-in-law. Others think he was another artist altogether: Utamaro, Utagawa Toyokuni, Torii Kiyomasa, or even Maruyama Ōkyo. A few believe he was the painter and poet Tani Bunchō or the writer Tani Sogai. Some theories are more out there, like the idea he was a Dutch artist or not one person at all, but three.
One theory links him to author Santō Kyōden. Around the same time Sharaku appeared, Kyōden had stopped writing popular fiction. His wife had just died, and he took a break from his usual work. That pause matches the short window in which Sharaku’s prints came out, which has made some wonder if Kyōden was Sharaku during that quiet period.
The Public Reaction and Sharaku’s Disappearance
When Sharaku first released his prints, the Edo public didn’t really like them. His early works, the larger and more detailed ones, had more copies printed. That shows they had at least some success. But his later prints? Many of them exist in just a single copy. That’s a strong sign they didn’t sell.
Other artists like Utamaro also leaned toward realism, but they softened it. Utamaro made his subjects look graceful, even idealized. Sharaku didn’t. He went all in on raw honesty. To Ernest Fenollosa, a 19th-century art historian, Sharaku was simply “the arch-purveyor of vulgarities.” That kind of reaction wasn’t unusual. A portrait by Utamaro from 1803 includes a written line that seems to criticize Sharaku’s harsh style. And that was eight years after Sharaku had vanished, which means his work was still on people’s minds.
There were other signs, too. A print by Eishōsai Chōki shows a woman holding a fan decorated with a Sharaku portrait. And in 1796, a book by writer Jippensha Ikku features a kite with one of Sharaku’s actor images. The text around it is packed with double meanings and slang. Some think this was a subtle way of mocking Sharaku’s fading reputation, or even hinting at darker rumors, like the idea he had been arrested or jailed.
Ikku worked with Tsutaya, Sharaku’s publisher, starting in late 1794. That book is actually the earliest known printed reference to Sharaku. The Ukiyo-e Ruikō, the oldest written record about ukiyo-e art, gave one of the first direct reviews of his work:
“Sharaku designed likenesses of kabuki actors, but because he depicted them too truthfully, his prints do not conform to accepted ideas, and his career was short, ending after about a year.”
And that’s what we’re left with: a single explosive year of work, a trail of mysteries, and no clear answers.
Sharaku and the Ukiyo-e Ruikō
The Ukiyo-e Ruikō wasn’t a printed book. It was a handwritten manuscript, copied by hand across generations. Every version had its own set of changes, and those differences have kept debates alive about who Sharaku really was. One version even calls him “Hokusai II,” which has only added more questions about his identity.
Back in 1802, Shikitei Sanba included Sharaku in a map of ukiyo-e artists. He placed Sharaku alone, marked as an inactive artist on a small island with no followers. That said a lot: Sharaku had no students, no known school, and no artistic descendants. Essayist Katō Eibian, writing in the early 1800s, praised Sharaku for the power and grace of his lines. Even though people back then didn’t fully understand his work, some clearly recognized his skill.
Sharaku’s Rediscovery in the West
Sharaku’s art didn’t get much attention for over a century. But European collectors saw something in it. German art historian Julius Kurth published a book called Sharaku in 1910, and that changed everything. Kurth compared Sharaku to Rembrandt and Velázquez. He believed Sharaku was actually the Noh actor Saitō Jūrōbei. That theory is still debated, but the book put Sharaku back on the map.
After Kurth’s work came out, Sharaku’s reputation grew fast. By 1915, Arthur Davison Ficke wrote that Sharaku reached a kind of greatness no one else did. He called Sharaku’s genius "unique, sublime, and appalling." In 1939, Harold Gould Henderson and Louis Vernon Ledoux published The Surviving Works of Sharaku, the first detailed study of his art. That book helped confirm Sharaku’s place as one of the greats in Japanese printmaking.
Among his portraits, the image of Ōtani Oniji III remains one of the most famous and widely recognized.
Scarcity and Value of Sharaku’s Surviving Prints
There are just over 600 known Sharaku prints today. Only about 100 are still in Japan. Most are spread across private and museum collections worldwide. That split has made research difficult. Japanese scholars have more access to the historical context, but most of the physical prints are in Western collections. There are about 30 or so Sharaku prints where only a single copy is known to exist.
The mica backgrounds in his ōban prints made them more expensive to produce at the time. While exact prices from the Edo period aren’t recorded, some guesses have been made. In 1895, one of these prints in Japan might have sold for around 15 yen, which was about one-third of a starting banker’s monthly pay. By 1915, that price had jumped to 300 yen.
Sharaku’s art now brings in major money at auctions. His Arashi Ryūzō I as Ishibe Kinkichi sold for $25,000 at Sotheby’s in 1975, then for £22,000 at Christie’s in 1989. The record came in 2009, when it sold in Paris for €389,000.
Sharaku’s Active Years and Dating the Prints
Dating Sharaku’s prints has been tricky because they don’t have any printed dates. Early on, Kurth believed Sharaku was active from 1787 to 1795. Later, researcher Kazuo Inoue narrowed that window to just 17 months from 1794 to 1795. Henderson and Ledoux brought it down even more, to just 10 months in those same years. These shorter timelines came from digging into old theater records and performance schedules, comparing them to the subjects of Sharaku’s portraits.
Sharaku’s Style: Breaking with Realism
Soviet filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein admired Sharaku for not sticking to strict realism. He said Sharaku rejected normal rules and didn’t follow exact anatomy. Instead, he aimed for raw emotion and visual intensity. His work wasn’t about accurate faces. It was about expressing a feeling, a character, or a dramatic moment.
That break from realism is part of what makes his art so powerful. The sharp angles, intense expressions, and exaggerated features grab your attention and hold it. They also show how Sharaku was far ahead of his time.
Sharaku in Modern Culture and Fiction
In 1983, Sharaku showed up in fiction. Akiko Sugimoto’s novel Phantom Sharaku features Tsutaya, the publisher who may have released Sharaku’s work. That same year, The Case of the Sharaku Murders by Katsuhiko Takahashi added another layer of mystery to the story. Then in 1995, filmmaker Masahiro Shinoda brought Sharaku’s story to the screen with the movie Sharaku, a fictional take on the artist’s brief but intense career.
Utagawa Toyokuni: The Artist Who Captured Edo’s Stage
Utagawa Toyokuni, born in 1769 and died on February 24, 1825, was a major ukiyo-e artist best known for his kabuki actor portraits. He’s often called Toyokuni I to tell him apart from other artists in the Utagawa school who used the same name after him. He became the second leader of that school and was the one who turned it into a real powerhouse. After he took charge, the Utagawa school gained serious attention and stayed at the top through the rest of the 1800s.
Toyokuni came from a family that already worked with visual art. His father, Kurahashi Gorobei, carved dolls and puppets, including models of kabuki actors. That early exposure to performance figures clearly shaped Toyokuni’s path. Around age 14, he started studying under Utagawa Toyoharu, who led the school at the time and lived nearby. His father knew Toyoharu personally, so the connection made sense. Another student in that same studio was Toyohiro, who later taught Hiroshige, the famous landscape artist. After proving himself, Toyokuni took on his teacher’s name, following the usual tradition of using part of a master’s name as a sign of respect and lineage.
Like many artists of the Edo period, Toyokuni went by different names throughout his life. His family name was Kurahashi. As a child, he was called Kumakichi. Later, people also called him Kumaemon. His art names included Utagawa Toyokuni, Utagawa Ichiyōsai, and Ichiyōsai Toyokuni. After he died, he was given a Buddhist name, which was customary at the time. Even the characters used to write "Toyokuni" varied across different works and sources, though today it's almost always written as 豊国.
Toyokuni wasn’t the kind of artist who suddenly changed everything. He didn’t have some radical vision from the start. Instead, he looked closely at what earlier artists were doing and built his style from that. He studied painters like Utamaro, Chōbunsai Eishi, and Eishōsai Chōki. By working hard and practicing their techniques, he reached a point where he blended those influences into a style that was fully his own.
He focused most on yakusha-e, or kabuki actor prints. That genre became his signature. His images didn’t just show actors; they showed the actors in action - performing, moving, reacting. That’s what made his prints feel alive. Unlike Sharaku, another artist known for actor portraits, Toyokuni didn’t exaggerate facial features or emotions. He just drew what was there. If Sharaku was about sharp insight, Toyokuni was about direct observation. He gave people what they saw on stage, plain and clear. That made his work a big hit with theater fans, even if Sharaku later came to be seen as the deeper artist.
Still, Toyokuni wasn’t limited to one type of print. He also made musha-e, which were images of warriors, and he produced shunga, or erotic art. He had a solid hand at bijin-ga too, portraying women with elegance and style. But it was the kabuki portraits that defined him, both for the public and for the legacy he left behind. His way of capturing the stage helped shape how people viewed the theater, and by extension, the culture of Edo itself.
Toyokuni’s Later Years: Fame, Decline, and Influence
Utagawa Toyokuni had a long run of success, but that success may have worked against him. Between 1803 and 1817, his work became more rigid and predictable. Even though his popularity kept growing, and he kept producing prints in large numbers, most of them didn’t have the same spark as his earlier pieces. Every now and then, one of those prints would show a flash of his old skill, but overall, the energy had faded.
He died in Edo in 1825, surrounded by many of his students. His two most important pupils were Kunisada and Kuniyoshi. Both of them became big names in the world of ukiyo-e woodblock prints. But Toyokuni didn’t just train two famous artists; he left behind a whole school. The Utagawa name carried so much weight after his death that nearly every major Japanese printmaker either had the name “Toyo” or “Kuni” in their art name, or learned from someone who did. Even artists like Yoshitoshi, who came later, were shaped by the school Toyokuni built.
After Toyokuni died, his art name was passed down, starting with his son-in-law, Toyoshige, who became Toyokuni II. That practice continued, with each new head of the Utagawa school taking on the Toyokuni name. Kunisada, for example, is also known as Toyokuni III.
People have mixed opinions about Toyokuni’s legacy. He’s been criticized for relying too much on imitation, and many say his later works clearly show a drop in quality. Even Toyokuni himself once said, “My pictures - they are merely something that I draw, and nothing more than that.” That comment gives a sense of how he viewed his own role, not as a visionary, but as a skilled craftsman.
Still, there are things about his work that stand out. Some praise the strong, energetic design in his prints, calling it bold and striking. Others admire the loud, decorative style that made his work pop. He also introduced new formats to woodblock printing, including diptychs, triptychs, and even larger multi-panel works. These layouts gave more space to storytelling and let scenes unfold with more drama.
More than anything, Toyokuni’s work was rooted in the world around him. He brought the kabuki stage to the page with clarity and realism. His prints weren’t just art; they were records of popular culture. His commercial success also mattered. It gave woodblock prints more freedom by breaking away from the narrow rules that had limited older artists. He proved that these prints could sell, and that helped the whole medium grow.
Some of Toyokuni’s print series include Views of Actors on Stage from around 1793, Sketches of Seven Elegant Paragons of Beauty from about 1800, and Views of Elegant Geisha in Characteristic Poses from around 1801. One later piece, Tomimoto the Geisha, is dated between 1830 and 1844, though that may reflect later printing or studio work after his death.
Eishōsai Chōki: Master of Bijin-ga and Ukiyo-e Elegance
Eishōsai Chōki, sometimes called Momokawa Chōki, made his mark in Japanese ukiyo-e printmaking between 1786 and 1808. His name might not be as widely recognized as some of his peers, but his work speaks for itself. Chōki was known for his graceful depictions of women, often shown with dreamy, detailed backgrounds that gave his prints a quiet depth. His focus was always on beauty, but not in a flashy way. His women had a soft, almost delicate presence, and he knew how to create mood and atmosphere in every piece.
He studied under Toriyama Sekien, a well-known artist and teacher of the period. Sekien was also the mentor of Utamaro, who later became one of the giants of bijin-ga. There’s a strong chance Chōki wasn’t just a student, but may have been Sekien’s adopted son. While the full details of Chōki’s life are vague, that connection is widely believed. You can clearly see the influence in his style, especially when comparing it to Sekien’s other pupils.
Chōki usually signed his prints as Chōki, using the kanji 長喜. But at times he also used the names Eishōsai (栄松斎) or Shikō (子興).
Each name marked a slight change in his style. The works signed as Chōki often had the same refined, balanced feel you see in Kiyonaga’s prints, while the Shikō pieces leaned more toward the flowing, sensual style of Utamaro. This variety showed how well he adapted to different influences while still keeping his own voice.
He lived with Tsutaya Jūzaburō, one of the most important publishers of the time. Tsutaya published a good number of Chōki’s works and likely gave him access to top resources and exposure. This helped Chōki release several major print series that earned him lasting attention.
Two of his standout series were Eight Views of Lake Ōmi and Eight Views of the Treasury of Loyal Retainers. These prints took well-known themes and gave them a new twist through Chōki’s lens, blending classical subjects with his signature elegance. He also worked on hashira-e, which are tall, narrow prints designed for hanging on pillars. These vertical prints were often tricky to design, but Chōki handled them with skill. He made kachō-e as well, which are prints of birds and flowers, plus he illustrated books. His final known project was a set of illustrations for Nakoso Gate by Kanwatei Onitake, published in 1809. After that, there’s no further record of new work.
A few of Chōki’s most notable pieces include Most Splendid Entertainment of the Niwaka Festival in the Licensed Quarters and The Courtesan Tsuruno-o of the Tsuruya Brothel with her Attendants. He also painted The Courtesan Hinazuru of the Chojiya Brothel with her Kamuro Tsuruji and Tsuruno and Two Unidentified Shinzo, Cat’s Cradle, and New Year’s Parade of the Beauties of the Green Houses. These prints aren’t just portraits. They capture scenes from daily life, full of rich fabric patterns, gestures, and quiet emotion. His work froze moments that showed how beauty and culture blended together in Edo period Japan.
Even though not much is known about his personal life, Eishōsai Chōki left behind a solid body of work. His prints are a clear example of why bijin-ga became such a major part of ukiyo-e, and why artists like him still get studied and collected today.
Utagawa Kuniyoshi: Master of Warrior Prints and Edo Pop Culture
Utagawa Kuniyoshi was born on January 1, 1798. He died in 1861. He’s considered one of the last major figures in the ukiyo-e art world, especially known for his woodblock prints and paintings. He came from the Utagawa school, one of the strongest art collectives in Edo Japan. His work covered a wide mix of subjects. He painted famous landscapes, beautiful women, kabuki actors, cats, and legendary beasts. But what he’s most famous for are his bold, action-packed images of legendary samurai warriors in battle.
Kuniyoshi didn’t stick to traditional Japanese techniques. He mixed in Western ideas, especially when it came to landscape perspective and visual exaggeration. This gave his art a fresh feel and helped it stand out.
He was born as Yoshisaburō, the son of a silk-dyer named Yanagiya Kichiyemon. He likely helped his father in the shop, working on fabric patterns. That early exposure to textiles may explain why his art often features rich colors and detailed patterns. By the time he was around seven or eight, he was already fascinated by warrior prints and books showing everyday craftspeople. These early influences stuck with him throughout his life.
At just 12 years old, Yoshisaburō caught the attention of Utagawa Toyokuni, one of the top ukiyo-e artists of the time. By 1811, he joined Toyokuni’s studio and became one of his top students. He trained under him until 1814, when he launched his own career under the name Kuniyoshi.
That same year, Kuniyoshi released his first published work. It was a parody version of the classic Chūshingura tale, done as an illustrated book. Over the next few years, he kept producing book illustrations and started making colorful standalone prints of kabuki actors and samurai.
Even though he had talent, things didn’t take off right away. Between 1818 and 1827, he didn’t get many offers from publishers. Other artists from the Utagawa school had taken the spotlight. Still, he kept going. He tried painting bijinga (images of women), worked with big textile patterns, and even played with light and shadow effects taken from Western prints. These early efforts were more like practice runs than polished works, but they show how curious he was about new styles.
Money was tight during this time. At one point, he had to sell off used tatami mats just to get by. Things were so rough that running into Kunisada, a more successful former classmate, gave him a reality check. Kuniyoshi believed he had more raw talent than Kunisada, and that moment pushed him to try harder. Despite this, there was no bad blood. The two artists later worked together on several projects.
By the mid-1820s, Kuniyoshi had started to find his voice. He created large warrior triptychs that were packed with movement and drama. These pieces started to show what would become his signature style. Then in 1827, everything changed.
That year, he landed a big commission to illustrate One Hundred and Eight Heroes of the Popular Suikoden All Told. This series was based on the hit Chinese novel Shuihu Zhuan. He drew each hero on individual prints, showing them covered in tattoos, ready to fight. This was new. No one had done anything quite like it. And people in Edo loved it. The series exploded in popularity. The tattoos especially caught on, and soon you could see regular folks in the city copying the designs.
Thanks to this success, Kuniyoshi finally broke through. His name spread through the art world. His prints were now in high demand. He became part of Edo’s elite ukiyo-e and literary circles, where artists, writers, and publishers crossed paths and shared ideas.
Kuniyoshi’s Haunted Warriors, Censored Satire, and Scenic Prints
After the success of his Suikoden series, Kuniyoshi kept creating dynamic warrior prints. He pulled many of his stories from classic war epics like The Tale of the Heike and The Rise and Fall of the Minamoto and the Taira. What set his prints apart was how he handled the storytelling. He didn’t just show battles. He leaned into the supernatural. His warriors battled ghosts, saw visions, received strange omens, and pulled off impossible feats. The fights weren’t just about swords. They were about fear, fate, and forces beyond the human world.
You can see this clearly in The Ghost of Taira no Tomomori at Daimotsu Bay. In that piece, Kuniyoshi shows the drowned spirit of Tomomori haunting the sea, full of rage and unrest. Another key work is the 1839 triptych The Gōjō Bridge. It shows the legendary clash between the young warrior Yoshitsune and the monk Benkei. The scene is packed with motion. Kuniyoshi captures the energy of combat in a way that feels almost cinematic. This kind of storytelling hit a nerve with the public. People were craving wild, eerie, and exciting visuals. Kuniyoshi delivered.
But things changed during the Tenpō Reforms from 1841 to 1843. The government wanted to cut down on signs of wealth and extravagance. As part of that effort, they banned prints of courtesans and kabuki actors. These were popular ukiyo-e subjects at the time, so the crackdown hit artists hard. Instead of stopping, Kuniyoshi adjusted. He started making comic prints, or giga, which used symbols and humor to hide who the figures really were. These disguised actors and courtesans still made it to print, just in coded form.
Some of these comic prints went beyond clever disguises. They started mocking the government itself. One of the most famous examples is his 1843 print of Minamoto no Yorimitsu being haunted by the Earth Spider and a swarm of demons. On the surface, it looks like a myth. But to the public, it clearly poked fun at the shogunate. People who were frustrated with the government loved it. Kuniyoshi’s prints gave them a way to laugh at power when open criticism wasn’t allowed.
According to Timothy Clark from the British Museum, the strict rules didn’t shut Kuniyoshi down. They actually made him more inventive. Instead of being held back, he found new ways to push ideas forward using allegory and satire. The censorship made him more creative, not less.
While all of that was going on, Kuniyoshi also explored landscapes, which weren’t restricted by the censors. These landscape prints, called fūkeiga, became more popular as personal travel increased during late Edo Japan. People wanted souvenirs and visual records of famous places. Around 1828 to 1830, he created Famous Products of the Provinces. These prints stood out for their use of Western-style shading, deeper perspective, and rich pigments. Then in the early 1830s, he worked on Famous Views of the Eastern Capital. That series clearly shows influence from Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji, which had been released around the same time.
Kuniyoshi didn’t stop there. He also painted animals, birds, and fish. These nature prints drew on the techniques of traditional Japanese and Chinese painting. Unlike his warrior or political work, these prints were quiet, detailed, and focused on beauty in the natural world.
Kuniyoshi’s Late Work: Satire, Cats, and Changing Times
By the late 1840s, Utagawa Kuniyoshi changed focus again. He went back to making actor prints, but this time he approached them in a completely new way. With strict censorship rules in place, he avoided trouble by turning kabuki portraits into playful, almost childish cartoons. One of the most famous from this period is Scribbling on the Storehouse Wall (Nitakaragurakabe no mudagaki). In this piece, he used messy kana script that looked like it was scribbled by a child. It was a clever move. By making things look innocent and lighthearted, he was able to sneak sharp commentary past the censors.
He also brought cats into the spotlight. Kuniyoshi loved cats and often painted them in place of human figures in his satirical and kabuki-themed art. These prints were both humorous and imaginative, and they showed how flexible and playful his work had become in his later years.
Around the same time, Kuniyoshi began experimenting more with size and layout. He used dramatic, wide compositions and blew up key elements for impact. A good example is his print of Takiyasha the Witch, the daughter of Taira no Masakado, summoning a giant skeleton in the ruins of the old Soma palace. The scene is wild, exaggerated, and unforgettable. That kind of visual shock was part of what made his late-period work so distinct.
In 1856, his health took a turn. Kuniyoshi developed palsy, which made it hard for him to move. From this point forward, his prints lost some of their energy and sharpness. His lines weren’t as strong, and the details weren’t as bold. Still, he kept working as much as he could.
Just before his death, he witnessed Japan beginning to open to the outside world. Yokohama, a major port city, opened to foreigners, and in 1860, he made two prints based on this new chapter in Japanese history. These Yokohama-e prints showed scenes of the city and its pleasure quarters, with curious depictions of Western visitors. Even in old age and poor health, Kuniyoshi stayed plugged into the cultural changes happening around him.
He died in April 1861 at the age of 63, in his home in Genyadana. By then, he had already made a lasting mark on ukiyo-e.
Kuniyoshi was a great artist indeed. He was also a respected teacher. Many students studied under him and carried on his legacy within the Utagawa school. The list includes Yoshitoshi, Yoshitora, Yoshiiku, Yoshikazu, Yoshitsuya, and Yoshifuji. Most of them began by following his lead, making samurai prints in a style close to their teacher’s. But as they matured, many carved out unique paths and pushed the art in new directions.
Yoshitoshi was the most important of these students. Today, he’s known as the last true master of woodblock printing. He kept Kuniyoshi’s legacy alive but also moved the art forward in his own powerful way.
Kuniyoshi’s influence didn’t end with his own time. Later artists like Toyohara Chikanobu looked to his work for inspiration. Even modern artists like Takashi Murakami credit him as a key influence. That’s how far his reach has stretched, from the Edo period to the world of contemporary art.
Some of his most well-known print series include Illustrated Abridged Biography of the Founder (around 1831), Famous Views of the Eastern Capital (1834), and Heroes of Our Country's Suikoden (1836). Other standout works are Stories of Wise and Virtuous Women (1841 to 1842), Fifty-Three Parallels for the Tōkaidō (1843 to 1845), and Mirror of the Twenty-Four Paragons of Filial Piety (1844 to 1846). Between 1847 and 1848, he created Six Crystal Rivers, followed by Fidelity in Revenge and two versions of the Twenty-Four Paragons of Filial Piety. His later works include Sixty-Nine Stations along the Kisokaidō (1852), Portraits of Samurai of True Loyalty (1852), and 24 Generals of Kai Province (1853).
He also made powerful single pieces, like Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre and the Half-length Portrait of Goshaku Somegoro. These prints continue to define his legacy: bold, strange, sometimes funny, and always full of life.
Utagawa Hiroshige: The Last Master of Ukiyo-e Landscapes
Hiroshige’s Place in Japanese Art
Utagawa Hiroshige, also known as Andō Hiroshige, was born in 1797 and died on October 12, 1858. He’s often called the final true master of the ukiyo-e tradition. Unlike most ukiyo-e artists, who focused on portraits of actors, courtesans, or city nightlife, Hiroshige turned his attention to nature, scenery, and everyday travel.
Two of his most famous landscape series are The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō and One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. The first showed scenes along the Tōkaidō road, a key route between Edo and Kyoto. The second captured different spots around Edo, now Tokyo. Both became hugely popular and set him apart from earlier artists in the same field.
While Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji clearly influenced him, Hiroshige took a softer and more atmospheric approach. Where Hokusai’s style was bold and clear-cut, Hiroshige’s mood leaned more poetic. He used gentle color blends and layered impressions to bring out tone and texture. This subtle printing style, especially the use of bokashi (a fading color technique), was time-consuming and tricky, but it gave his prints their signature feel.
The Decline of Ukiyo-e and the Rise of Western Interest
When Hiroshige died in 1858, many felt it marked the start of ukiyo-e’s fall. That change sped up after the Meiji Restoration in 1868, when Japan opened up to the West and modernized quickly. Traditional woodblock printing started to fade, and newer forms of art took its place.
But even as ukiyo-e declined in Japan, Hiroshige’s influence only grew overseas. During the late 1800s, Western Europe became fascinated with Japanese art. This wave, known as Japonism, brought Hiroshige’s work to artists like Monet, Manet, and van Gogh. These painters collected his prints and studied his layouts closely. Van Gogh even painted direct copies of some of his works. Hiroshige’s use of space, color, and line had a big impact on the development of modern European painting.
Early Life in Edo and Samurai Roots
Hiroshige was born in the Yayosu Quay area of Edo, now part of central Tokyo. His birth name was Andō Tokutarō. His family came from a samurai background. His great-grandfather, Tanaka Tokuemon, had served under the Tsugaru clan in the northern Mutsu province. His grandfather, Mitsuemon, taught archery under the name Sairyūken. Hiroshige’s father, Gen’emon, was adopted into the Andō family and later became the fire warden of the Yayosu Quay district. When Gen’emon stepped down, he passed the job to his twelve-year-old son.
That fire warden role meant Hiroshige was responsible for fire prevention at Edo Castle. It was a serious position but didn’t take up all his time. The job gave him long hours of free time, which he used to start drawing and painting.
From Early Loss to Artistic Beginnings
Tragedy hit Hiroshige early. One of his sisters died when he was just three. His mother died in early 1809, and his father died later that same year. By then, Hiroshige was only twelve but had already taken over his father’s fire warden duties.
Around the age of fourteen, he began to take art seriously. He first tried to train under Toyokuni, a leading figure in the Utagawa school, but Toyokuni had too many students to accept him. Instead, Hiroshige was introduced to another artist in the same school, Toyohiro, who took him in. By 1812, Hiroshige had started signing his own work with his artist name. His early output included book illustrations and single-sheet prints of kabuki actors and women, common subjects for young ukiyo-e apprentices.
At different points in his youth, he used names like Jūemon, Tokubē, and Tetsuzō. He also went by Ichiyūsai and, later, Ichiryūsai when signing his art.
Hiroshige didn’t stop learning after joining Toyohiro. He studied techniques from other schools too. That included the Kanō school, known for its formality and control, the nanga style that came from Chinese painting, and the Shijō school, which leaned more toward realism. He also likely picked up techniques from Western perspective drawing and uki-e, a type of Japanese art that tried to show depth and space like Western prints did.
A Switch to Landscapes and Full Dedication to Art
By 1823, Hiroshige passed on his fire warden duties to his son, though he still stepped in from time to time. After the death of his teacher Toyohiro in 1828, Hiroshige was offered the chance to take over his position, but he declined.
From that point forward, he focused more on landscapes and nature scenes. These works were what truly set him apart and made his name last. His prints weren’t just images. They captured seasons, emotions, and the rhythm of everyday life in Japan. His attention to atmosphere and color helped turn simple travel scenes into lasting works of art.
Hiroshige’s Peak Years and the Rise of His Landscape Prints
Hiroshige didn’t begin creating the landscapes he became famous for until around 1829 or 1830. That’s when he released the Eight Views of Ōmi, one of his early scenic series. Around the same time, he also started making more prints featuring birds and flowers. These subjects gave him room to experiment with mood and subtle color, something he became known for later.
By 1831, he published Ten Famous Places in the Eastern Capital. This series clearly shows the influence of Hokusai, especially since Hokusai’s Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji had just come out and was widely admired. Hiroshige’s work from this period began to move away from actor portraits and beauties and focused more on nature, seasons, and travel.
In 1832, Hiroshige joined an official delegation on a journey from Edo to Kyoto. It was a major event in his life. That trip along the Tōkaidō road gave him the chance to sketch landscapes and small towns as he traveled. When he returned, he turned those sketches into The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō. This series became one of his most recognized and loved bodies of work. Its success led him to produce even more landscape series, including Illustrated Places of Naniwa in 1834, Famous Places of Kyoto in 1835, and a second Eight Views of Ōmi also in 1834. Since Hiroshige had never traveled beyond Kyoto, he had to rely on existing artwork and books for his depictions of areas farther west, like Naniwa and Ōmi.
Travel, Loss, and New Work
His first wife played a major role in helping him travel for his art. She even sold personal belongings, including some of her clothing and hair ornaments, to support his trips. She passed away in October 1838. Not long after, Hiroshige remarried. His second wife, Oyasu, was sixteen years younger and the daughter of a farmer named Kaemon from Tōtōmi Province.
That same year, around 1838, Hiroshige released two Eight Views of the Edo Environs series. These prints each came with a kyōka, a kind of light, satirical poem. He also began work on The Sixty-nine Stations of the Kisokaidō, a series created with another ukiyo-e artist, Keisai Eisen. The series ran between 1835 and 1842, with Hiroshige completing forty-six of the seventy prints. The project was published by Takenouchi and Iseya Rihei.
Starting around 1848, during the last decade of his life, Hiroshige began his final major series: One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. He completed 118 sheets for the project. In this set, Hiroshige often used a new trick: placing oversized objects, animals, or people close to the front of the image to create depth. This idea was borrowed from Western art and helped add a fresh, three-dimensional look to the prints.
Legacy and Students of the Hiroshige Line
Hiroshige had a young apprentice named Chinpei Suzuki, who later married his daughter, Otatsu. After the marriage, Hiroshige gave him the artist name “Shigenobu” and chose him as his successor. When Hiroshige died in 1858, Shigenobu took the name “Hiroshige,” and became known as Hiroshige II.
However, the marriage between Shigenobu and Otatsu didn’t last. They separated in 1865. Otatsu later married another of Hiroshige’s former students, Shigemasa. He also took on the family name and is now remembered as Hiroshige III. Both Hiroshige II and III followed the master’s style closely, but neither reached the level of fame or skill their teacher had. Other students of the first Hiroshige included Utagawa Shigemaru, Utagawa Shigekiyo, and Utagawa Hirokage.
Later Years and Final Work
Even as he aged, Hiroshige kept producing prints. He created thousands of images to meet demand, though many of his late works didn’t match the quality of his earlier periods. Financial success never really came to him. He was paid poorly per series, which forced him to keep producing in high volume just to survive. Still, when conditions allowed, he was capable of brilliance.
His series One Hundred Famous Views of Edo is a good example. It was financed ahead of time by a wealthy Buddhist priest who was in love with the daughter of the publisher, Uoya Eikichi. Eikichi had once been a fishmonger, and this connection helped fund one of Hiroshige’s most iconic late works.
Hiroshige’s Final Years and Lasting Legacy
In 1856, Hiroshige stepped back from everyday life and became a Buddhist monk. That same year, he started working on one of his most well-known series, One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. Just two years later, in 1858, he died at the age of 62 during a major cholera outbreak in Edo. It's not clear if cholera was what killed him, but the epidemic was widespread and deadly. He was buried in a Zen temple in Asakusa.
Right before he died, Hiroshige wrote a farewell poem. It read:
I leave my brush in the East,
And set forth on my journey.
I shall see the famous places in the Western Land.
In the poem, "the Western Land" refers to the Tōkaidō region between Kyoto and Edo, but it also hints at something deeper: the Buddhist idea of paradise, where the Amida Buddha resides. So the poem speaks to both physical travel and a spiritual journey.
Even though Hiroshige was incredibly productive and widely admired, he never made much money. His pay was modest compared to other top ukiyo-e artists. In fact, when he died, he left behind debt and made sure his will included steps to settle it.
Over the course of his career, Hiroshige created more than 8,000 works. In his early years, he stuck to typical ukiyo-e subjects like women and kabuki actors. But things changed in 1831 after his teacher, Toyohiro, passed away. That same year, Hiroshige released his Famous Views of the Eastern Capital series. It marked a big change in both subject and style. People praised it for its bold use of color and smart composition. Since he signed this series under the name Ichiyūsai Hiroshige, it's sometimes called the Ichiyūsai Gakki set to tell it apart from his other Edo prints.
Then came his real breakthrough. Between 1833 and 1834, he published The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō. This series became a huge success. He based the designs on his own travels along the full 490-kilometer route between Edo and Kyoto. Each print included the name of the place, the time of year, and small stories from the road. People loved the detail and the way it captured the everyday experience of travel. It became so popular that Hiroshige released three different versions, including a collaboration with Kunisada.
After that, he kept building on that success. He made over 2,000 different views of Edo and the major post towns along the Tōkaidō. Some of his best-known sets include The Sixty-nine Stations of the Kisokaidō, made between 1834 and 1842, and his personal take on Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji, which he created from 1852 to 1858. Out of his estimated 5,000 total print designs, landscapes made up the largest part of his work.
What set Hiroshige apart was how he handled landscapes. His scenes had a more personal, close-up feel compared to the older style that came from Chinese landscape painting. His prints often showed travelers moving through different seasons and weather. They walked in the rain, trudged through snow, or passed blooming cherry trees, always heading somewhere along Japan’s famous roads.
In 1856, he teamed up with the publisher Uoya Eikichi to release a set of deluxe prints. These were done with high-end printing techniques. He used true color shading, mica for shimmer, embossing, fabric textures, and even a glitter-like ink made by mixing glue with color. The effect gave these prints a unique look and feel. Around the same time, Hiroshige also began using vertical layouts in his landscapes. This was a big switch from the usual horizontal formats and added something fresh to the style.
One of his last and most famous works was One Hundred Famous Views of Edo. He started this project in 1856, and it continued after his death. Most of the prints were made by Hiroshige himself, but two were added later by Hiroshige II. The series ran until 1859 and was a huge hit. Even unfinished, it captured the spirit of Edo life and the beauty of the city’s streets, rivers, and seasons.
Hiroshige and the Utagawa School’s Role in 19th Century Woodblock Prints
Hiroshige was part of the Utagawa school, along with Kunisada and Kuniyoshi. This school was packed with dozens of artists and led the way in woodblock printmaking during the 1800s. While they were best known for actor portraits and dramatic historical scenes, Utagawa artists could handle any popular subject. They moved easily between genres and helped shape what people expected from ukiyo-e art.
During Hiroshige’s lifetime, the print industry was booming. The audience for woodblock prints was growing fast. Earlier print sets were usually small, maybe ten or twelve images in a series. But that started to change. Demand kept rising, and artists responded with bigger and more ambitious sets. You can see this change clearly in Hiroshige’s work. His Sixty-nine Stations of the Kisokaidō and One Hundred Famous Views of Edo both reflect that growing appetite for larger, more detailed series.
Hiroshige’s style stood out. He often used odd perspectives and unexpected angles. He played with color in smart ways. He added seasonal touches that helped bring each scene to life. A lot of his work focused on meisho-e, or pictures of famous places. These kinds of prints tied directly into the growing travel culture of the Edo period.
At the time, more people were traveling than ever before. Travel guides were everywhere. Inns and new towns popped up along major roads like the Tōkaidō, which linked Edo and Kyoto. Hiroshige took inspiration from his own trips and also from popular stories about travel. In The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō, for example, he drew ideas from Travels on the Eastern Seaboard, a comic tale by Jippensha Ikku about two clueless travelers making their way along the same route. Hiroshige brought scenes like these to life with humor, detail, and strong visuals.
His work didn't just leave a mark in Japan. It had a huge impact on European art too. The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō and One Hundred Famous Views of Edo both made waves overseas. French Impressionists like Monet took cues from Hiroshige’s way of showing light, space, and everyday life. Vincent van Gogh admired his prints so much that he copied two from the One Hundred Famous Views of Edo series. He even kept them in his personal collection.
The influence didn’t stop with France. Hiroshige also shaped the work of artists in Russia’s Mir iskusstva group in the early 20th century. Ivan Bilibin and Mstislav Dobuzhinsky were two major names in that movement. Dobuzhinsky openly admitted that Hiroshige helped shape how he thought about composition. He said he always aimed for a bold and unusual view, and Hiroshige’s work gave him a clear model for how to do that.
Other big names like Cézanne and Whistler were influenced too. Louis Gonse, who ran the Gazette des Beaux-Arts and wrote L'Art Japonais in 1883, called Hiroshige the best landscape artist of the 19th century. That praise sums up just how far Hiroshige’s work reached, both in terms of style and global recognition.
