William (Will) Taylor

2025 Arrival, in Kume Matsuyama

Will is a second year ALT in Matsuyama’s best district, Kume. He can usually be found on his bike, heading to an onsen or to swim on one of Gogoshima’s beaches. Born and raised in London, this city boy has always yearned for the hills, rivers and prairies, so life in Matsuyama’s semi-rural eastern reaches suits him just fine. Other areas of interest include Kanji, flowers, and the life and work of British post-war artist Keith Vaughan.

            Every morning I wake up to a tinny rendition of Elton John’s Can You Feel the Love Tonight from a cheap alarm clock placed haphazardly on the tatami beside my futon. I stretch out the night’s stiffness. In the winter, I ration the warm air I’ve collected under the covers. In the summer, I blink away the dryness from fan-buffeted eyes and listen to the cicadas outside. I perform some variation on a morning routine: a shower; breakfast; tea; clothes, teeth-brushing. On clear days, I step outside and see Mt. Ishizuchi framed perfectly at the end of the corridor to my right. On hazy, cloudy, moody days I know it’s there, framed perfectly at the end of the corridor to my right. Capped in snow is my favourite outfit Ishizuchi wears. Somehow in white it looks bigger and more imposing. For most of the year, Ishizuchi blends in pretty well with the other mountains punctuating the Matsuyama Plain, but the colder months’ snow make its relative scale starkly obvious. Down at sea-level and in the hills, it rarely snows. It’s that contrast that feels so dramatic.

Azechi Umetarō, Mount Ishizuchi, 1936, Art Institute of Chicago.

            The peak’s elevation of 1,982m is also its topographic prominence, meaning no point on Shikoku or all of Japan to its west stands higher. That is to say, Ishizuchi is an impressive mountain. Of all Shikoku’s people, very few can claim to be as familiar with Ishizuchi’s many faces as the printmaker and ‘mountain man’, Azechi Umetarō (畦地梅太郎). Born in southern Ehime’s Kita-Uwa district, in a town now subsumed by Uwajima city, his art practice led him to Tokyo in 1920, where he began working at the National Printing Bureau. The NPB, a government agency charged with producing Japan’s currency, stamps, and official gazette, allowed Azechi to begin experimenting seriously with printmaking. Using lead sheets, nails, and other materials available to him, Azechi built upon his practice and started exhibiting, which eventually led him to leave the NPB and pursue printmaking exclusively. 

            Azechi’s appreciation for Ishizuchi and mountains more broadly is personal, but the draw to depict them in his work is part of a much larger cultural context. After Japan’s surrender and in the years that followed the Second World War, modernist printers who had often depicted urban life and scenery brought about a distinct shift to the depiction of rural scenes. Some part of this change can be attributed to the patronage of a growing foreign population during the American occupation of Japan, but, ultimately, an increasing attraction to rural scenes and communities was felt globally. Emerging from the horror and exhaustion of a world war, people from all corners of the world sought comfort in the perceived authenticity and simplicity of rural life. Whether for true healing or shorter-term escapism, this was an exodus. From cities experiencing the full scope of urban decay, postwar citizens enacted a return to leisure and a truly human appreciation for environments that felt both raw and universal. 

            The Machida City Museum of Graphic Arts’ Kōno Minoru (河野実) puts simply the essential appeal of Azechi’s work with this statement:

「版画家畦地梅太郎は、情感あふれる「山」「山男」を描き続けた作家としてよく知られている。畦地が描く「山」「山男」シリーズの作品は、私たちを和ませてくれるばかりか、優しく私たちを包んでくれる。しかし、畦地が描く「山」「山男」の中には凝縮されている強い意思表示がある。それは、人として生きていく中で係わってきた社会との間に横たわる矛盾を封じ込めているということである。そして、それを直截的に感じさせず、詩情豊かに描ききっているところに畦地の人柄と畦地芸術の魅力があるといえる。

‘Printmaker Azechi Umetarō’s well-known and passionate depictions of man and mountain are not only soothing, but also seem to gently embrace us. Despite this, the prints also manage to distill a powerful expression of the artist’s ideas. Without excessive force, Azechi’s mountains and ‘mountain men’ speak to an array of conflicts and contradictions that exist between man, nature, and the society we inhabit. However, it is his sensitive and poetic approach to expressing these themes that reifies such essential charm.’

Azechi Umetarō, 雪の中の男 (yuki no naka no otoko – Man in the Snow), 1958, Fukuoka Art Museum.

            Azechi’s oeuvre is also part of a larger movement known as the 創作版画 (sōsaku-hanga). Meaning ‘creative print’, the sōsaku-hanga – self-directed and highly individual works – can be seen as a natural successor to the 浮世絵 (ukiyo-e) tradition, whose division of artistic labour characterised previous centuries. Ukiyo or ‘floating world’ prints dealt heavily with themes of the modernisation, urbanity, and hedonism that accompanied rapid economic growth during the Edo period. In contrast, the works of sōsaku-hanga artists tended towards quieter, more reflective scenes. Following a broader, somewhat global shift towards abstraction, postwar Japanese printmaking approached a more international style. Though diverging stylistically from the aesthetics most associated with Japanese art, sōsaku-hanga remains firmly anchored in the ‘Japaneseness’ of its medium, the woodblock print.

            The relationship of Azechi’s postwar work to its medium is all-encompassing. As the artist began experimenting with greater degrees of abstraction, the figures and landscapes he depicts seem almost to take on the qualities of the wood they are printed with. Fully articulated human figures become looser, further simplified, as if built from wood themselves. In「雪の中の男」(yuki no naka no otoko, 1958) a ‘mountain man’ stands upright, his face emerging from a succinct and limbless body. We can make out the swell of his shoulders below the neck, but, ultimately, his form is concealed. His arms presumably obscured under warm winter clothing, the Man in the Snow’s limbless figure, itself rendered with wood-grain texture, becomes totemic. Upright posture, watchful eyes, and a neutral expression recall 埴輪 (haniwa) figures of the Kofun Period (4th-6th century CE). 

Left: Haniwa Warrior in “Keiko” Armor, 6th Century CE, Tokyo National Museum. Right: Haniwa figure, 5th-6th Century CE, Brooklyn Museum.

            A sense of familiarity pervades all of Azechi’s work. Mountains and ‘mountain men’ alike feel like something we might dream up ourselves – vast landscapes and their protectors, working men, small animals. I think Azechi possessed a unique ability to give form to thoughts, places and feelings so many of us know. He represents an immense and enduring history of man’s connection to nature, steward of a lineage far older than war or national borders.

Azechi Umetarō, 「石鎚霊峰」(ishizuchi reihou – Ishizuchi, Sacred Mountain), 1936, The Museum of Art, Ehime.

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Best, Justin

Edited by Justin Dobbs