HOKUSAI KATSUSHIKA, One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji no. 60, 1835

Beautiful proof with good contrasts, referable to the print run of Eirakuya Tōshirō (mid 19th century) from the original woods of the Egawa workshop. Printed on Japanese paper, in excellent condition, with original untrimmed margins beyond the marginal line.

Annotated Bibliography
H.D. Smith II, Hokusai: One Hundred Views of Mt. Fuji, New York: George Braziller, 1988
M. Forrer, Hokusai, London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1991
M. Forrer, Hokusai, New York: Rizzoli, 1988
M. Forrer, Hokusai: Prints and Drawings, Munich: Prestel, 1991
G.C. Calza, Hokusai: The Old Madman of Painting, Milan 1999-2000, London 2003
G.C. Calza, Hokusai: The One Hundred Views of Fuji, Milan: Editoriale Nuova, 1982
J. Hillier, The Art of Hokusai in Book Illustration, London: Sotheby Parke Bernet, 1980
J. Hillier, L. Smith, Japanese Prints: 300 Years of Albums and Books, London: British Museum Publications, 1980
R.S. Keyes, Ehon: The Artist and the Book in Japan, New York: George Braziller, 2006
T. Clark (ed.), Hokusai: Beyond the Great Wave, London: British Museum Press, 2017
M. Forrer, W.R. van Gulik, Hokusai and His School: Paintings, Drawings and Illustrated Books, Leiden: Society for Japanese Arts and Crafts, 1991
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/78803

Commentary
Mount Fuji, inscribed in a perfect circle visible through a window, dominates the scene as a visual and symbolic focal point. In the foreground, an old poet is seated at his desk: he has just paused his work and, setting aside his pipe, raises his arms in a gesture that combines tension and relaxation, allowing his gaze to wander towards the sacred mountain. His body forms an arc that echoes the silhouette of Fuji, while outside, in the sky, a flock of birds flies, probably returning geese, a traditional sign of the end of the day.
The poet's gesture has been interpreted in various ways: Western observers, starting with Dickins, have read it as an expression of ecstasy and wonder in front of the mountain, while the Japanese tradition rather recognizes a yawn, a simple daily act that reflects the difference in cultural codes of body language. By rotating the scene, in fact, the man's attitude clearly appears to be that of someone stretching after the concentration of work.
All Japanese commentators have emphasized Hokusai's probable inspiration from a homonymous view by Kawamura Minsetsu, although the approach is entirely different. Minsetsu's image is indeed purely architectural, devoid of human figures and with a small window, which barely reveals the distant and static Fuji. Hokusai, on the other hand, transforms the scene into a moment of life, a suspended instant in which the artist invites the viewer to construct their own narrative.
One might imagine that the poet, after finishing a difficult part of composition, allows himself a break: he stretches contentedly, ready to resume his pipe, when beyond the window he sees the geese crossing the sky in front of Fuji. The entire image thus becomes similar to a visual haiku, in which the simplicity of the human gesture and the grandeur of nature merge in a perfect balance of time, light, and contemplation.