Although as kids, my three sisters and I probably didn't realize it, almost every aspect of our day to day lives involved creativity and art. Today, I was with someone who commented: "wouldn't it be incredible to spend one day and see life as another person sees it?" My grandfather's past, present and future resolved around his wanting to put on paper his observations of life around him, and go through the entire process that--after sketching involved tracing his original sketch onto rice paper, pasting that onto a block of wood (he preferred tulip wood), carving the impression, then using thick ink, printing it on paper. Those of us who lived in the same household were the fortunate beneficiaries of his observations, artistic process and humanity.
My mother came to the US with my father in the early 1950's. My father worked with the Federal Government and the two of them settled in Washington DC. After a series of small rental homes, they purchased a federal townhouse on M Street in Georgetown. My sisters probably have a clearer recollection of life in old Georgetown, which at the time was filled with eclectic characters who had odd names (my mother spoke of "the miller", an old man who sat on a metal bucket on a street corner and smoked a pipe). My grandmother came to live with my parents in the late 1950's and shortly after that, my mother opened "The Hiratsuka Nippon Gallery" on the ground floor of their building.
Sited directly across from the old Woolworth's store and halfway down the block from the DC Tavern, the gallery was in a good location and in the late 1950's to the early 60's attracted a fairly good crowd, particularly at openings. While my mother favored my grandfather's artwork, of course, she wanted to introduce the Washington audience to the work of his students, Azechi, Munakata and others. I vaguely recall an opening when my grandmother, dressed in a formal kimono, helped my mother serve tea to guests. My sister, charged to take care of me during the show, took me in another room and used the opportunity to poke me and twisted my arm every which way!
The gallery was a family affair: my mother selected the artists and had their work shipped from Japan. My grandmother, who mowed our lawn with a manual push-mower until she was in her mid-80's, measured and cut all of the mats for the artwork and the two of them hung the pieces together. My father, who studied Asian art at Oxford, Yale and Middlebury, gave them running verbal commentary. Although my father didn't speak more than a few words of Japanese, the blend between the three of them was as good as one could expect given the cultural differences. My father took woodblock printing classes with my grandfather in Japan while he was stationed there after the war, and had asked my grandfather if he could marry my mother; They seemed to have an unspoken male comeraderie.
In the 1960's we "moved uptown", to Tenleytown by the District border, to a quiet street with a large front and backyard. My father, naive in real estate matters, asked the real estate agent not to sell to anyone who would turn the 4 story building into apartments. Within months of our moving out, apartments were created.
We were out of the downtown pipeline, but my mother created relationships with art galleries and museums which exhibited and sold my grandfather's artwork throughout his life. Near the White House, The Franz Bader Gallery had the exclusive sale rights. The Phillips Collections, The Corcoran and National Galleries all had exhibitions and his woodblock prints remain in their collections.
Shortly after we moved uptown, my grandfather came to get my grandmother to return to Japan with him. They had a thriving family business in Tokyo and he didn't want to deal with the business end of things alone. My grandmother was enjoying Washington DC and the United States--her parents had pulled her out of school in the 8th grade to get married and she told us that throughout her childhood, she had dreamed of moving to the United States and when she arrived here, she thought: "What an incredible country!".
I recall a half dozen silver steamer trunks being carted up the stairs to my grandfather's studio the day he arrived. He appeared to the eyes of my sisters and mine to be a particularly natty dresser, with tailored 3/4 length coats, a beanie with he wore for years, baggy wool tweed slacks with a cuff, and what he called "Gorky" tunics--in the vein of Maxim Gorky, a loosely fit tunic with a mock turtleneck and buttons running down one side, accompanied by a braided belt. We watched as he unpacked trunk after trunk, quietly and methodically. On his bureau he placed a comb made from bone and a soap case with some pungent sandelwood soap; I associated this scent with him for years.
Although there was no open conversation about returning to Japan, the idea was for my grandmother to pack up and go home. My parents introduced my grandfather to Washington DC....the cherry blossoms, Rock Creek Park, Key Bridge, hole in the wall bookstores, and the decidedly exotic culinary offerings in town during the early 60's--The Yenching Palace on Connecticut Avenue near the Cleveland Park Zoo, The Astor--a Greek restaurant on M Street, an Italian restaurant near Chinatown which recently went out of business, and more. He was getting ensconced.
My grandfather's studio, which was long and narrow in our attic, began to take shape. He had gone to a paper supplier near the canal in Georgetown and ordered a stack of mat material and the steamer trunks now served to keep them flat. He found a low Japanese table and a zabuton, and on the table set up pencils, paper, eraser, magnifying glass and a drafting light.. He was rarely seen for weeks on end while he sketched the things he had seen throughout the city. His family came from an architectural background and he loved structures and how natural elements played against them.
When he needed to clear his head, he walked around the front and backyard of our house and picked up flowers, branches and pods, all of which became subjects of his prints.
My mother invited interested artists to come to the house and study with my grandfather. Our dining room gradually went from a place we had dinner to a studio, covered with protective cloth and set up for artists to work. On the nights he held classes us kids were asked to stay out of sight. The house was a quiet place, with the only activity the comings and goings and tapping of a carving tool. At the end of the evening, Obachan got under the table and cleaned out the wood shavings from the oriental rugs.
People used to call and ask to come and see Ojichan. He would rise to every occasion, and although quiet, nodded, laughed and expressed an interest in what his guests had to say. My grandmother served tea, cookies and rice crackers and was very formal, polite and yet warm. Very few people left without a woodblock print as a token of appreciation.
After we moved "uptown", my grandfather continued from the early 1960's until the late 1970's to take the 30-line bus to Georgetown to explore new subjects for his artwork.
Occasionally, when he was in a patient mood, he took my sister or me, and brought a collapsable 3-legged stool, easel, and either canvasses or sketchpads. Usually when we accompanied him, it was with sketchpads. I don't know how he determined where to get off the bus, but after we disembarked, we usually walked for a while until he arrived at something that caught his imagination.
Montrose Park and Dumbarton Oaks, just off Wisconsin Ave at the top of Georgetown seemed to be the two places he adored, and which we as kids grew up exploring ourselves. As we swung on the swingsets near the wisteria covered arbors and tennis courts, Ojichan roamed acres of parks and woodland. During the 1960's, he produced approximately 2 dozen small prints that were from these trips; the bookshop near Key Bridge, the townhouse at Wisconsin and Q Streets which he once rented as a studio, the globe at the entry of Montrose Park, the gates at Dumbarton Oaks and the church at Georgetown University.
A friend I met through business and have grown very fond of--who is from Washington DC--went to visit her father who lives near the Cathedral. She called and mentioned her walks to places my family visited on a regular basis in the Cathedral Area, while we lived in McLean Gardens.
Sidwell Friends, Sullivan Toys, the Zebra Room, G.C. Murphy, Giant Foods, the Savings and Loan Bank which was recently a Starbucks, the Johnson Flower Shop...all of these were part of our weekly hauntings. My mother used to buy flowers at Johnson's for classes or for my grandfather to draw. There was a small old farmhouse next to the Flower Center, right across from the deep dish Chicago Pizzaria--This was a small shop that sold party goods, and given the absence of a sign or any palpable activity, I don't think they did much business. An old carousel horse on the porch had caught Ojichan's eye, and over a period of several hours, he sketched it with gusto and it became one of my favorite woodblocks.
In hearing my friend's experience visiting her family, it was the first time in my mind's eye that I had revisited this area. Ojichan, with his beenie cap, and artists' equipment stepping off the bus is as clear as day.
