HOKUSAI KATSUHIKA, One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji n. 72, 1836-1847

Splendid proof with good contrasts, attributable 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
This table is a true haiku painted, inspired by a famous verse by Bashō (1644-1694): "Kumo nani to / ne o nan to naku / aki no kaze" ("Hey, spider! how do you sing, in what tone? Autumn wind").
The entire composition is structured as a poetic visualization of the text: a very thin, almost imperceptible spider web extends across the image; a maple leaf, already decomposing, gets caught in it, while in a corner a small spider reaches out to sense the vibrations running along the taut threads. In the background, Fuji looms, reduced to a gray and transparent silhouette, a light and meditative presence rather than a realistic landscape element.
Here, the fragility of autumn, the almost musical vibration of the spider web evoked by Bashō's verses, and the quiet majesty of Fuji merge into a single image, suspended between visual minimalism and poetic depth.
As Calza writes in his curation of 1982, the table is "A masterpiece of essentiality. Fuji is nothing but a lighter shadow, standing out in transparency, as if it were a great sage observing with a slight smile, from the height of its boundless wisdom, the illusions of the beings of this world."