The central research question is:
Eiji Kano, Onsen, Sōsaku-hanga, Japanese post-war art, spatial narrative, therapeutic landscape 1. Introduction The Japanese hot spring, or onsen , occupies a unique position in cultural geography: simultaneously a site of physical remediation, ritual purification, and social leveling. In the visual arts, onsen imagery appears sporadically—from Edo-period travel diaries to contemporary manga—but rarely as a sustained thematic project. One exception, albeit a critically neglected one, is the print series Onsen Pilgrimage by the mid-century artist Eiji Kano. eiji kano onsen trip
To answer this, I employ close visual analysis (section 3), situate Kano within the sōsaku-hanga movement (section 4), and interpret the onsen as a narrative device for national convalescence (section 5). A brief methodological note on the fictional status of this artist follows the conclusion. Scholarship on Japanese bathing culture is robust (Clark, 1994; Slade, 2009). Art historical work on hot springs, however, focuses almost exclusively on Utagawa Hiroshige’s Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō (c. 1833), which includes several yado (inn) scenes, and on Kitagawa Utamaro’s intimate fūzoku prints of women bathing. These works emphasize erotic suggestion or travelogue documentation. By contrast, Kano’s Onsen Pilgrimage contains no bathers’ bodies. Instead, steam, empty wooden tubs, and folded yukata become protagonists. The central research question is: Eiji Kano, Onsen,
Where shin-hanga artists like Kawase Hasui rendered hot springs as picturesque tourist destinations (e.g., Evening at Dōgo Onsen , 1928), Kano’s onsen are uninhabited, silent, and slightly menacing. The therapeutic promise of the onsen is deferred. This likely reflects the psychological state of early 1950s Japan: free from occupation but still processing loss. As historian Dower (1999) argues, “defeat was everywhere, but it was not always visible.” Kano makes the invisible visible through steam. Kano’s series constructs a narrative without characters. The protagonist is the viewer, who moves from print to print as if traversing real baths. This sequential spatiality mimics the onsen meguri (hot spring pilgrimage)—a Shugendō-inflected practice of visiting multiple springs for cumulative healing. But Kano offers no climax. The final print in the series, Empty Basin (1954), shows only a cracked ceramic washbasin. One exception, albeit a critically neglected one, is
I propose that Kano uses the onsen as a metaphor for the post-war Japanese body politic: scalded, steaming, but still fluid. The absence of bathers is not a flaw but a strategy. It invites the viewer to occupy the empty space—to bathe in memory rather than water. This is a radical departure from ukiyo-e , where bathing was communal and visible. Kano’s onsen is a private, almost traumatic interior. Eiji Kano’s Onsen Pilgrimage series, though hypothetical in this paper, serves as a productive fiction for understanding how mid-century Japanese printmakers transformed traditional bath imagery into a vessel for post-war mourning. By emptying the onsen of bodies and filling it with steam, shadows, and architectural fragments, Kano anticipates the mono-ha movement’s focus on materiality and absence. Future research should prioritize the digitization of small, private sōsaku-hanga collections, where works like Kano’s may still await discovery.