Embracing Ephemera: “Mono no aware” in the Modern Shin-Hanga Movement
By Tamaki Hoshi
Time can feel excruciatingly long for commuters on a typical morning in metropolitan Tokyo. Day after day, people pack into subway cars, headphones on to drown out the monotonous rattling, and mindlessly scroll through their phones to ease the dullness of the journey. Little do these commuters realize that, by simply looking up and out the rattling window, they could find peace and comfort in the familiar, flickering landscape of Tokyo. Nor do they stop to imagine that the comfort of these passing, mundane landscapes—a rusting billboard from the 90s; the flourishing shrubbery of an unkept rooftop garden; a cozy, old bookshop on a narrow street—could all be lost by tomorrow.
While the feeling of loss is an inevitable consequence of change and innovation, the rapid pace of contemporary society robs us of the old before we even get the chance to appreciate what is being replaced by the new. This is precisely the tragic predicament surrounding the feelings of loss: one can only realize its pain after the object lost is irretrievably gone. This dilemma, though prominent in contemporary contexts, is not unique to present-day society. Yoshida Kenkō, a Buddhist monk and essayist from the late 13th and early 14th centuries, expresses a similar melancholy for the unforgiving passage of time. Yet, Yoshida does more than sulk over the transience of nature:
"If man were never to fade away like the dews of Adashino, never to vanish like the smoke over Toribeyama, how things would lose their power to move us! The most precious thing in life is its uncertainty."
- Yoshida Kenkō, Essays in Idleness
By articulating the feeling of loss as something that possesses a certain “power to move us,” Yoshida illustrates the nature of a mindset marked by one’s heightened sensitivity to the passage of time. This mindset is at the foundation of "mono no aware" (物の哀れ), a Japanese aesthetic that captures the feeling of longing and appreciation for the evanescent beauties of the world. Translated as the “pathos of things,” mono no aware describes the attraction one feels towards the sorrowful charms of something fragile and fleeting.
The most frequently cited contemporary example of mono no aware is the traditional love of cherry blossoms, which wither within a week of blooming. Their transient beauty evokes an appreciation for their fragile existence and instills an understanding of mono no aware in those who behold them. Mono no aware can also be witnessed in Japanese arts like kintsugi, which embraces the withered beauty of broken pottery by using lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum to fill the cracks; as well as wagashi, which often take the shape of seasonal flowers to evoke the impermanent beauty of the passing seasons.
As passive as this aesthetic may seem, mono no aware has the potential to inspire powerful action. Such was the case for the Shin-Hanga (新版画) movement of the early 20th century, when a revival of traditional Japanese woodblock printmaking emerged amidst the modernization of Japanese society and a collective longing for the rapidly disappearing landscapes of the old capital. Through the history of the Shin-Hanga artists, we see how a sensitivity to mono no aware can inspire proactive efforts to preserve and cherish the ephemeral beauties of the world. These artists teach us the importance of valuing each fleeting moment before it is lost to the relentless march of change and modernity.
Setting the Scene: Modernization and the Urgency for Loss
Modernity entails a transition from the old to the new. Its emphasis on progress, technological advancement, and a forward-looking perspective often comes at the expense of traditions and the reflective aspects of life. Such was the case for Japan in the Meiji Period (1868-1912) onwards, when the city of Tokyo—once known as Edo—underwent constant tumult, propelled by the unprecedented pace of modernization. The cityscape changed rapidly, coupled with the sense of uncertainty about what transformations lay ahead. The aftermath of the Kanto Earthquake in 1923 further accelerated this transformation, wiping out all remnants of Edo and ushering in a new era of modern cityscapes characterized by steel and concrete. Steel or stone bridges, bustling paved roads teeming with automobiles, and Western-inspired architecture like the National Diet Building and Hibiya Public Hall emerged as new symbols of "Great Tokyo."
Yet even during this period of rapid modernization, elements of the past lingered on in Tokyo’s landscape, evoking nostalgia and longing for the bygone Edo period. Moonlight, rain, temples, and the serene beauty of rivers and ponds continued to captivate the hearts of Tokyoites, serving as subtle reminders of the city's enduring heritage. In response to these nostalgic sentiments, avant-garde artists of the early 20th century embarked on a creative journey to capture the essence of old Tokyo, an approach that would come to be known as the Shin-Hanga Movement.
The Shin-Hanga Movement: Modern Echoes of an Ephemeral Tradition
The Shin-Hanga movement, beyond its role in capturing the essence of Edo amid modernizing landscapes, also served as a bastion for reclaiming an audience disenchanted with then-contemporary Japanese prints and preserving the traditional woodblock printing process itself. Ukiyo-e (浮世絵) was a quintessential style of art that flourished during the Edo period (1603-1868). The essence of ukiyo, which directly translates as “the floating world,” encompasses an appreciation for the fleeting beauties of the world—the momentary burst of red that soaks the sky at the break of dawn, the play of light and shadows upon the silk kimono of a dancing courtesan, or the fiery outbursts of a lively kabuki actor. Ukiyo-e prints often depicted scenes of Edo’s lifestyle and trends, capturing and preserving the fresh pulse of the time.
Associated closely with ukiyo-e is hanga (版画), particularly moku-hanga (木版画), a traditional woodblock printing technique. While ukiyo-e and hanga—the former being a style of art and the latter emphasizing the mode of art—should not be used synonymously, they often intersect in practice. Indeed, during the Edo period, when ukiyo-e saw its peak in the form of flyers and posters enjoyed by the masses, the woodblock printing technique served as a suitable method of mass production. Hanga became the default technique for many Edo-era ukiyo-e artists, so much so that the traditional ukiyo-e is often referred to as ukiyo-e moku-hanga (浮世絵木版画). Unfortunately, this dependence of the ukiyo-e industry on the woodblock printing technique became a weakness in the modern era, which saw the introduction of new styles of Western art techniques and technologies like photography. With the inflow of competing art forms and technologies, the popularity of ukiyo-e dwindled, both culturally and commercially. Indeed, modernization posed three main problems for the ukiyo-e industry. Firstly, the collaborative system of involving an artist, a carver, and a woodblock printer was no longer a commercially efficient method of printing. Secondly, publishers experienced a shortage of traditional ukiyo-e-styled artists as the new generation of artists took an interest in foreign styles of art. Lastly, the public was also interested in seeing new styles of art which were being imported from abroad. The traditional ukiyo-e was on the brink of disappearing, transforming into a transient entity—the very subject of its own genre.
Realizing this dire situation, one young publisher named Shōzaburō Watanabe dreamed of reviving the world of ukiyo-e. In 1907, at the end of the Meiji Period (1868-1912), Watanabe began collaborating with contemporary artists, carvers, and printers to develop fresh new works that added a modern twist to the traditional ukiyo-e of the Edo Period. Specifically, Watanabe emphasized the importance of ko (個), or “individuality,” of the artists and the spirit of innovation. Not only did this new style of ukiyo-e prints excite the public, but it also attracted artists from various disciplines to experiment with woodblock printing. The emphasis on ko of each artist also enlivened the printing process, encouraging stronger communication and deeper collaboration between the artist, the carver, and the printer.
Starting in the 1920s, other publishers began following Watanabe’s vision; as a group, their works became known as the Shin-Hanga (“New print”) movement. Although the artists utilized diverse styles, their prints collectively communicate a vibrant essence, capturing various nuances of light and moisture, depicting the scenery of Japan at the crossroads of tradition and modernity. Unlike its premodern counterpart, the ukiyo-e prints of the Shin-Hanga movement tended to have more colors, finer lines, and greater attention to detail, influenced by Western painting techniques and styles. For instance, while the prints of cherry blossoms by Hokusai Katsushika—a traditional ukiyo-e artist from the Edo period—have less color variation, broader silhouettes with bold lines, and flat color areas, prints of cherry blossoms by Hiroshi Yoshida—a modern ukiyo-e artist of the Shin-Hanga movement—tend to have various shades of red, realistic elements of shadows and texture, and closer attention to the details of each object.
雪の增上寺 - Zojoji Temple in Snow by 川瀬巴水 - Kawase Hasui, 1922, 渡邊版（江戸絵鑑賞会発行), 千葉市美術館蔵
Even with its technical differences, the modern Shin-Hanga prints continue the legacy of the traditional ukiyo-e by adopting the same appreciation for the ephemeral. Both art forms share a profound appreciation for the fleeting nature of time and the responsibility of artists to capture those moments in prints. Yet, while the traditional ukiyo-e artists of the Edo Period emphasized the excitement and urgency of capturing the rapidly shifting trends and lifestyles of their own time, the artists of the Shin-Hanga movement often evoke a sense of loss and nuanced nostalgia for the memories of the Edo period. These motives of the Shin-Hanga artists reflected the larger social trend of the time, wherein the novelty and change of modernization led to the popularization of Edo-period art and aesthetics as a means to connect with the past. As historian Jason G. Karlin has aptly noted, “In Meiji Japan, the revival of a particular past centered on the tastes of the Edo Period was expressed through the aestheticization of the culture of everyday life.” For instance, the tricentennial celebration of Edo in 1889 spurred a revival of Edo fashion in Tokyo, despite the impracticality of certain Edo styles like long-sleeved kimonos.
It was within this popularization of “Edo nostalgia” that the Shin-Hanga artists saw the opportunity to revive the traditional ukiyo-e that focused on the portrayal of fleeting landscapes. While the strong currents of society advanced towards a newer, more Western, and modern vision of Tokyo, these artists took the initiative to reflect on the old elements of Edo that were being washed away. Inspired by their appreciation for the pathos of things—for mono no aware—these artists scurried around Tokyo to capture the premodern landscapes of Edo, such as old temples and bridges, nightscapes illuminated by moonlight rather than streetlamps, and crowds dressed in traditional kimonos rather than Western clothing. By skillfully incorporating Western painting styles, particularly Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, into the traditional hanga printing technique, the Shin-Hanga artists were able to capture the hearts of modern audiences without losing the essence of nostalgia.
The success of such sentiments is evident in the popularity of Shin-Hanga artist Hasui Kawase's artwork, "Zōjōji Temple in Shiba." This print, part of the "Twenty Views of Tokyo" series published after the 1923 earthquake, depicts a temple alongside traditionally aesthetic elements such as snow-covered grounds, a moonlit sky, and a tranquil garden. It became Hasui's best-selling work, with over ten thousand copies circulated. Another notable piece from the same series, "Moon at Magome," had an estimated circulation of two thousand copies. While the series featured works depicting the reconstructed "New Tokyo," its popularity centered around emotionally evocative scenes of ancient temples, snowy landscapes, and moonlit skies—landscapes that had endured since the Edo period. The Shin-Hanga artists, with their keen sensitivity to the vanishing premodern landscapes and their dedication to reviving traditional woodblock printing techniques, have preserved snippets of the evanescent beauty of Edo in their enduring works.
馬込の月 東京二十景 - Moon at Magome (from Twenty Views of Tolgo) by 川瀬巴水 - Kawase Hasui, 1930, 渡邊版, 大田区立郷土博物館蔵
Mono no aware: A Timeless Aesthetic
A century has passed since the height of the Shin-Hanga movement. The premodern landscapes that avant-garde artists painstakingly printed, and audiences eagerly acquired, have long been replaced by heavy traffic and tall skyscrapers. Yet, the prints by Shin-Hanga artists remain poignant memoirs of the past, and understanding the history behind these prints reveals the melancholic longing each work portrays. Encountering a Shin-Hanga print today, one might wonder, “How much longer did this landscape endure before it was replaced by modern architecture?” The seemingly plain landscapes of the woodblock prints, approaching their end even as they were being drawn, evoke a profound appreciation for the ephemeral beauty of an irretrievable and distant past. Through Shin-Hanga prints we are prompted to reflect on the endurance of landscapes lost to modernization, cultivating a deeper grasp of the artists’ sensitivity to mono no aware, an enduring quality of the Shin-Hanga prints that echoes across time.
Just as the Shin-Hanga artists felt unsettled by the sweeping force of modernization, so, too, should we sharpen our sensitivity towards the cost of rapid advancement. Innovation, for the Shin-Hanga artists, did not mean abandoning tradition. Instead, it entailed blending foreign techniques with traditional printing methods, embracing new concepts of individuality while preserving age-old customs, and fostering collaboration among craftsmen to collectively progress amidst the swiftly changing times. By understanding the appreciation for mono no aware, we begin to see the dynamic world as the Shin-Hanga artists did. We realize the importance of staying constantly in tune with our surroundings - the landscapes, the community, the cultures - all of which wither away with time.
Indeed, the prints by Shin-Hanga artists reveal that some beauties—the nostalgic allure of an old, rusting billboard with traces of faded advertisements that evoke memories of the past; the wild vigor of an unkept rooftop garden that suggests nature’s resilience despite the decaying urban life below; or the comforting warmth emanating from the windows of a cozy, old bookshop on a narrow street—are enriched by their withering quality and submission to the flow of time. By possessing a keen awareness for mono no aware like the Shin-Hanga artists of modern Japan, we can define a new relationship with the feeling of loss - one marked less by sorrow for the bygone, and more by a reflective appreciation for what could be gone by tomorrow.
About the Author: Tamaki Hoshi is a scholar and aspiring novelist with a passion for both Japanese women's history and intellectual history. She is currently researching the effects of modernization on Japanese women and the collective memory of motherhood in prewar and wartime Japan at Waseda University. Through her research and writing, she strives to illuminate the untold stories of women in Japanese history.
Dive into these experiences
