Goat boy lives!

This is a rather special Meiji period carving in wood. I don't have much to say about it right now, perhaps I'm just feeling a little "goatish" myself, of late ;-). This is a handsome chap though and the artist has captured that slight snootiness that I admire in these fellows. The hair is beautifully rendered too, with so much gentleness...The artist, Ishikawa Komei, lived from 1851 until 1913 and was designated a Japanese Imperial Court Artist ( Teishitsu gigeiin ).

The carving is about 12 inches long and the wood is left with the "as carved" surface. I think the subtle effect of the almost invisible chisel cuts really adds a certain vitality to the form, it seems to me to bring the surface alive.

I've been a bit distracted from my blog for a few days now but I can feel a couple of late night rambles building up so who knows what might bubble out...I can hardly wait, it's always a surprise to me!

Dragonfly menuki

These don't belong to me but they are a lovely example of dragonfly menuki. The image was sent to me by my teachers good friend, a sword polisher by the name of Ikeda Nagamasa San. His late father was a great collector of sword fittings and had a particularly impressive collection of works by Kano Natsuo.

Dragonfly's are called tombo, in Japanese, and were a popular design motif with the warrior class. I imagine the swift and erratic flight of these insects could be seen as an inspiration to swordsmen and their precision attacks on their prey would have drawn much admiration. It's interesting to note how such humble, almost unassuming, creatures caught the attention of fighting men in this way, and how the beauty of nature was so sensitively appreciated.

The samurai called it katsumushi; "Invincible insect" and it can frequently be seen adorning the front of kabuto, Japanese warriors helmets.

An ancient Japanese name for dragonfly is akitsu. According to legend the first emperor, Jinmu, was once bitten by a mosquito which was then promptly eaten by a passing dragonfly. This apparently led to the land being known as Akitsushima; The Island of the Dragonfly.

I know Richard Turner likes them too...so these images are especially for you, Rich.
but you can't have them ;-)

back at the anvil...

I've been taking a bit of a break lately, from the steel rocks. I've been instead working out how best to render dragonfly wings in a convincing way. I don't mean hyper realistic...just convincing. There is a difference. Today, however, I need to get back to some hammering. Here's where the larger stone is, nearly there...maybe tomorrow. This image is just to mess with Simon ;-) and to leave him wondering how you actually hammer metal, which normally spreads and thins it, in a way that contacts the outer circumference. I'll reveal all soon...it's actually the basis of all real raising and the principle still amazes me. Intrigued?

Tagane Arts

In November of 2005, a week after returning from a month in Japan I was joined for 3 weeks, in my studio, by Patrick Hastings. Many of you will know him and his work but for those of you who don't, here's a link to his site.

I'd noticed him on-line, on various fora, and was impressed by his efforts to make some headway into the world of classical Japanese metalwork. I, somewhat presumptuously, contacted him with an offer of support in terms of technique and whatever else I might be able to add.

After many lengthy emails and phone calls I invited Patrick to visit us in England so that he could get more of a taste of what I was doing. He jumped at the chance and a short while later my family and I found ourselves at Bristol airport greeting a ridiculously large Californian ( he’s 6 foot 7, I think ) and wondering how we were going to squeeze him into my tiny studio.

Our very dear friend and neighbour Karen Todd ( a sophisticated collector of fine Kagamibuta ;-) ) had offered to put Patrick up for the duration of his stay, and so with him trapped nearby I was able to impose a gruelling training program that I'd devised. I hoped this would provide a solid grounding from which he could develop his already impressive skills.

He kept his complaining about the hardness of my stools and the lack of space to a minimum and applied himself the tasks I'd set him. We managed to cover a massive amount of material in those short, but intense, weeks. We kept at it 7 days a week and when not actually in the studio I kept the poor bloke up late into the night talking about all sorts of nonsense, some of it even related to Japanese art metalwork.

Patrick has written a very generous, and kind, account of this time we spent together and posted it on his website, and although I feel a little embarrassed to direct you there because of that, I never the less would like to continue to support his efforts by doing so.

If you have a look in his archive of past work you’ll be able to see the 3 tsuba he made in my studio. He arrived with blanks already prepared to my specifications so we were able to make the best use of the time we had. I think he did remarkably well to put up with my demanding ways and I’m very pleased to see how he has developed his art.

My own teacher, Izumi Koshiro Sensei

I have been very fortunate in my own journey to this point and have had the benefit of many talented and generous teachers. My own sensei in Japan, Izumi Koshiro quite literally changed my life by allowing me into this tradition and all but adopting me. It is almost entirely due to his generosity and friendship that I have anything at all to offer you.

I have never paid for the teaching I have been given, by Izumi Sensei, or any of his friends who added various aspects to my training. All that was ever asked of me was my commitment. I continue to devote myself to developing my own skills, and art, and in this small way hope to be able to repay the faith my teacher placed in me.

This photo was taken from a newspaper article at the time of my first visit in 1993. We're both a bit younger here ;-) I think I was working on a shibuichi tsuba with a number of muti-metal leaves in taka-zogan iroe.

My life has been enriched immeasurably though my involvement in this tradition and my “adoption” by Izumi Sensei and his family. I doubt that I’ll ever be able to adequately express my gratitude to all those who have given me so much.

What’s in a name?

Following the iron brush, or Zuiteppitsu in Japanese. A few words of explanation are probably in order as I'm sure you're wondering about this, seemingly whimsical, name.
When I was considering what to call my web-site, and indeed my studio, I had initially wanted to call it simply, Iron brush. This being a poetic, Edo Period (1615~1868) reference to the chisel we use. One occasionally finds inscriptions on sword fitting indicating that they came from the "iron brush" (teppitsu) of some, or other, artist. Unfortunately for me, another group of artists also use, what they regard as, an iron chisel. Naturally, I'd have to indignantly protest that claim. A brief search on the internet for "iron brush", delivered a host of tattoo artists!

It was then that I remembered the term "zui-hitsu"; this is a very old (9th cent. Heian Period) literary term meaning "following the brush". The term refers to a genre of writing characterised by "stream of consciousness" jottings and expressions of personal and intimate responses to the natural and sensual world. It also hints at a certain lack of choice in the matter. I have always felt that I didn't so much choose to follow “the way of the chisel” as it chose me. It seemed an obvious solution to combine these two, old expressions to coin my own, new one.

More hamered iron

This is also raised up from a sheet of iron, about 1mm thick to begin. This is by Kurose Sosei, 1886 ~ 1944, and is 14.7cm high. This artist was of a long line of armour makers from Kanazawa. This a bit like beating swords into plough shields; beating armour into art.

Is this an expression of wabi and sabi?

Hand raised tea kettle, with a silver liner, 20cm high Yamada Sobi. 1871 ~ 1916.

whew!

well it's been a heady couple of days...to say the least! The forum is up and running, or should I say speeding along like a runaway train. It seems we are in a constant state of evolving, behind the scenes.

I'm really grateful for all the encouragement and wholehearted support our members have shown.
I couldn't have hoped for a better start to our new project.

The essay I've posted below was part of an introduction I gave as a lecture in Japan. It is a very personal, and idiosyncratic view perhaps and as such I didn't feel it appropriate to post my philosophy on the ironbrush forum.

It might provoke some discussion though, so please feel free to have your say.

Some personal thoughts on traditional Japanese metalwork

With regard to my work as a metalworker I am often described as
being a traditionalist. While in most respects this is probably very accurate I feel that the term tradition or traditionalist ought to be defined a little more precisely. It often seems to me that the modern conception of a tradition is of something static and unchanging. The question must then be asked, if the tradition is unchanging how then did it evolve to its present form?

Even a very brief overview of the history of Japanese decorative metalwork will show very striking developments in all periods. This is not to say that the natural evolution of any artistic tradition occurs without resistance. There will always be, in all societies and at all times, those individuals who regard the new as being a threat to the established order. Thankfully for us, most truly creative individuals seem possessed of a tenacity which sustains them in the face of opposition or disregard.

When I'm described as a traditionalist I imagine what is meant is that I follow apparently old-fashioned methods and my techniques and tools are the same as those of my predecessors.
While superficially this may appear to be the case it does miss the point to my particular approach, which is my desire to achieve the kind of mastery exhibited in the works left to us by the great artists of this tradition. I've tried to study and understand the working methods and expressions
in metal that are in many cases the only evidence we have of the practicalities of the work of the past.

Naturally, this approach I've adopted does not mean that I reject
the very many helpful modern conveniences.
You'll be relieved to know that I don't work by candlelight and I'm
happy to use modern, jewellers magnifying glasses. I have been forced however,
to grow my own diakon, this is traditionally used in preparing metal for
colouring.

As a result of my own experience I have concluded that the methods employed in the past, while initially requiring effort and time to develop adequate skill and sensitivity, will always ultimately yield the finest results. I am well aware that my philosophy is very much at odds with contemporary attitudes towards skill in fields of arts and crafts. The predominant attitude seems to be that technique, or skill, can simply be acquired when it is needed. I think this misses the point. That being, that in acquiring a skill one develops a better understanding of the potential of various techniques and one is better able to express oneself using those techniques.

I think it fair to say that the general tendency among modern man is to continually strive for quicker and more efficient ways of doing things, however we would all generally agree, I'm sure, that some things simply take time. I believe very firmly that any attempt to learn from the past which ignores the ways of the past will result in a superficial, if not entirely inaccurate, conception. I have seen many attempts to replicate the effects and techniques of Japanese metalwork and I'm always struck by the tendency to look for shortcuts. If I'm honest I will confess that I find this approach to be both arrogant and ignorant.

From my very first encounter with fine Japanese metalwork I have experienced a genuine sense of reverence and awe. As I have progressed in my own investigations and studies of metalwork my respect and regard has grown. I feel a genuine sense of responsibility to those who have gone before me in this path. I am striving to produce work of my own which, I hope, will in some small way help to maintain the standards of the past from which I have learned so much.

Ford Hallam

Katsuyama, Japan

Autumn, 2006