the farmer's market

Mmmm. Just love these autumn colors and flavors. (top left) Japanese sweet potatoes (satsuma-imo); (top right) crane's neck squash (tsurukubi kabocha); (bottom center) Japanese pumpkin (kabocha).

bursting hearts

My father-in-law is ailing and may not have much longer to live. I stopped traveling overseas long ago, so I haven't seen him in twenty years-- but I try to communicate regularly by email and etegami. When I asked him if there was anything I could draw for him, he told me about the "bursting-heart" plant that ornamented the fall of the eastern United States. "It's an unbelievable sight this time of year," he told me, "Let me assure you it is impossible to exaggerate the purple of the seed pod or the orange of the attached seeds." So I searched the internet for photos and made an attempt to express this plant-- with its flaming color and lovely nickname-- in the context of etegami. I know it falls way short of the picture he has in his mind, but I was glad to have this chance to share something with him.

Euonymus americanus is a species of flowering plant in the family Celastraceae. Common names include strawberry bush, American strawberry bush, bursting-heart, and hearts-bustin’-with-love. (Wikipedia)

the drama of autumn (north seas series)

Autumn is full of drama in my part of northern Japan. Take salmon, for example. The way they are drawn irresistibly to the rivers where they were hatched, so they, in turn, can spawn the next generation of their kind. Though sea fishermen haul shiploads of this delicious fish to coastal markets, once they have entered the river, salmon are, for the most part, off-limits to humans.

But the salmon's drama has just begun. They must survive the body-crushing, skin-flaying, fin-nicking obstacle course of boulders and rapids as they defy the river current and push further and further inland. They must escape the claws of brown bears which are busy fattening themselves for winter hibernation. The females must survive these dangers while protecting a belly-full of eggs. The males must compete with other males to fertilize these eggs at the end of this exhausting journey. And, after that-- inevitably-- death. Their lives are exchanged for a chance that their offspring will survive to perform the drama all over again.

mini-exhibit (autumn)

Acorns by Mike Szwarc (USA)

Changeable Autumn Weather by Carole Marshall (Australia), Autumn Leaf by Yun Stouls (France)

Autumn Leaves by Katerina Nikoltsou (Greece)

Bursting Chestnut "under the spreading chestnut tree" by dosankodebbie (Japan), Autumn Leaf by Jennifer Kennedy (USA)

Persimmons Hung to Dry "getting sweeter by being hung and dried" by dosankodebbie, Horse Chestnuts (Psalm 51:2) by dosankodebbie

Chestnuts "good friends" by Michiko Shimizu (Japan), Hototogisu Flower (Tricyrtis) "to be among the autumn grasses" by Youko Ogawa (Japan)


Yellow Cosmos Flower "waving at a blue sky" by Michiko Shimizu (Japan), Pine Cone "fragrance of pine" by dosankodebbie, Pear "the color of autumn" by Takako Chida (Japan)


My warm thanks to all who responded to the Autumn-themed Etegami call, even though I gave you very little warning. The deadline was actually calculated to keep you from spending too much time on your submission. Etegami are best when they're drawn without too much self-conscious planning. Some additional pieces may still be on their way, but I've decided to go ahead and post what has already arrived. Any etegami arriving after today will be posted on my mailart gallery instead of here.

illustration friday (burning)

A branch of the shrub known as "Burning Bush" (aka Winged Euonymus or Spindle Tree): Euonymus alata "Compactus." Though unremarkable for most of the year, when Autumn comes, it appears as if it has burst into flames.

autumn-themed etegami call

You are invited to send me your hand-painted etegami on any subject associated with Autumn. Please abide by the basic definition of etegami, which is a simple image accompanied by suitable words. Postcard-sized submissions only, please. Choice of medium and style is up to you. Your etegami should be postmarked by November 10 in order to reach me in time to be included in the Autumn-themed Etegami Mini-Exhibit, which will be posted on this blog in mid-November. Your submissions will not be returned. My address is at the top of my mailart gallery blog. Have fun!

Attached is an etegami I drew of some kabosu, a tart, juicy citrus fruit that is used in Japan like lemon or vinegar, especially as a seasoning in autumn cuisine.

bursting chestnut

The awful, record-breaking hot and humid weather we've been suffering through has suddenly become fall-like. There isn't a whole lot of time for those of us in Hokkaido before the long winter comes 'round the corner, so I plan to wallow in the sights, sounds, smells, textures, and tastes of autumn while I can. Here's a chestnut for you. The words translate to "Under a Spreading Chestnut Tree," the first line in a popular Japanese children's song.

back to the basics

It's been a while since I posted a traditional etegami, so I thought it was time to review the basics. Etegami has very few rules, but there are certain characteristics that combine to make it what it is, and not some other kind of art.

Traditional etegami is: (1) hand-drawn artwork accompanied by hand-drawn words on postcards, and (2) usually depicts subjects from everyday life, especially those that reflect the changing of the seasons.

The equipment for traditional etegami usually includes: (1) absorbent washi postcards (2) ink brushes of various lengths and thickness (3) sumi ink (4) gansai paints (5) a name seal to affix to the work when it's finished.

The method for traditional etegami usually involves: (1) "living lines"~the wobbly, blotchy lines of inconsistent thickness that result from very, very slow strokes of the ink brush when forming the outline of the subject (2) a brief session of "living lines practice" every time you sit down to make etegami (3) "laying" the color on the card, rather than making strokes, and letting it spread naturally according to the character of the washi paper used (4) a limited selection of colors for each work, making the colors darker or lighter by judicious use of water, rather than by mixing different colors together (5) leaving areas of the drawing uncolored, rather than completely filling it in.

Having listed all these characteristics, I should say that etegami can be done on any kind of paper with any kind of tools, and if you use a paint brush on non-absorbent paper, you will have to use strokes to color it. Many etegami artists paint scenery, especially as a kind of picture-diary when they travel. But it isn't etegami without the addition of words. And it isn't really etegami unless it is meant to be posted to someone, or is at least in a form that can be posted at any time. Digital artwork accompanied by words and emailed to someone could be called etegami, as nontraditional as that form is. And you've seen my recent attempts to turn collage art into another nontraditional form of etegami.

The autumn-themed etegami I posted above depicts a kabocha, or Japanese pumpkin. And the accompanying words say exactly that: Japanese Kabocha. No humor, poetry, or delicate nuances on this one.

persimmons advise patience

How I love Autumn in Hokkaido! I love the sharpness in the air, the smells on the breeze, the colors on the trees, and the sardine-shaped clouds in a deep blue sky. I find myself looking upwards a lot. My joy is tinged with the bittersweet awareness of Winter lurking around the next corner, but that makes it all the more precious to me.

I draw persimmons every fall. I used to wait till they were ripe, and paint them in all their persimmon-orange glory. Later, I became intrigued by the green and yellow stages leading up to their fully-mature state. Then, last year, I became fascinated with dried persimmons, and I struggled to express the many sugar-dusted wrinkles on shrunken fruit that had faded to a salmon-pink. Maybe this year I'll focus on sliced fresh persimmons, with their flat black seeds and sticky juices. Ahh, persimmons!

The etegami I've posted here is of unripe persimmons on the branch. The greenish fruit is tinged with yellow, which I emphasized by gluing lacy yellow tissue paper (see earlier post on chigiri-e) over the green orbs. The accompanying words are an old Japanese proverb: Momo Kuri San-nen, Kaki Hachi-nen (Three years for Peach or Chestnut- Eight years for Persimmon) It is a reference to how long it takes for these trees to produce fruit. In other words: don't get upset if your efforts don't bear fruit right away. These things take time. The proverb advises patience.