Ford Hallam

Thanks very much for all the kind words and votes of confidence, Gents. This has made my week.

Jean, happy to share :-) and you're absolutely right, the text is 'quaint' to say the least.

I came across this series of Kindle books on Amazon this morning and thought they might be of interest here. They're certailny not going to break the bank. Photographer Ryota Mizukami has thus far produced 4 volumes of his planned series of 12. Here's a link to volume one. enjoy, Ford

Gentlemen, the lines outlining the various raised areas are in fact the edges of inlaid pieces (of the same material as the ground) that were inset to provide relief from which to carve the raised features of the design. This technique was in fact quite common but is usually very hard to spot. In this case I suspect that the original surface has suffered some corrosion or even been overcleaned by means of an acid pickle which has revealed the edges of the inlays. To my eyes it appears to be a perfectly legitimate late Edo piece but not in any way related the Kaneie workshops.

Hi Bruno the mei isn't inlaid (takabori zogan) but rather the background has been etched away with an acid. So the mei was painted with some type of resist and then the piece placed in the acid to attack the metal that wasn't protected. The apparently random, slightly raised, 'brush marks' were evidently created the same way. This is why you can also see the dendritic structure of the brass where the metal has been etched. I can't remember ever having seen this approach to creating a mei on tosogu and I have to say I'm a bit suspicious. Under the seppa that mei would recieve a bit of wear, which this example doesn't appear to have suffered. Does it look like it was ever mounted? Hope some of that helps.

I should also add that there is absolutely no evidence of any inlay work having being done in the area under discussion.

To my eyes this looks like some sort of later application and not the traces of something that was originally there. For starters whatever it is/was it impinges on to the seppa-dai area far too much to have allowed the tsuba to be properly mounted. There are also two slightly silvery 'blobs below the that rock-like outline. Those look suspiciouly like soft solder. They are certainly not meant to be part of the river bank and stream because the water appears not to be moving around them as one would expect it they were part of the scene. And there are two small blemishes at the top of the seppa-dai also. I think that at some point someone lead/soft soldered something to the seppa-dai area. A fuchi or kashira perhaps.

I would add that Goto Ichijo wasn't, despite the name, a recognised master of the Goto school.

A perfect example of the aforementioned Suruga school sekigane. Cheers Peter.

Brian, that's the tarty look Guido and i were referencing, yes

I think that in general, during the warring periods (pre 1600) , most swords built were done so with a fairly well organised division of labour. We see this all over the world where large numbers of any type of artefact was produced. It is inefficient for skilled blade-smiths to be wasting energy and time making anything other than the blades. Similarly if a workman concentrates only on the guard he will inevitably be far more efficient in the use of his time, materials and fuel. It's likely that there was only a little variation in the proportion of blades, uchigatana and then the katana proper, so that especially where it comes to the width of the blade at the machi a millimetre here or there wouldn't have seriously effected the size of the rest of the fittings. And it's all based off the habaki and the fuchi, which in turn determines the size of the tsuka. Assuming an average sized conscript with average hand size and we have a fair degree of conformity there too. So we do sometimes see early examples of tosho and katchushi guards (neither made by sword-smiths or armour-makers imo) that evidently never had seki-gane fitted. This suggests that when first made they were made to fit a particular blade quite neatly. It certainly makes sense to do that in the first instance as it saves time compared to faffing about with copper bits, which cost more money too. And on a brand new blade, possibly unsigned too, there was no need to protect the nakago with copper inserts either. So when we see guards long after their original manufacture, when they were probably made in a co-operative workshop/factory situation, and they now have had a fair degree of additional adjustment and fiddling done around the nakago I think it safe to simply regard that as evidence of numerous re-mounts on many different blades. On a guard made of non-ferrous metal it isn't absolutely necessary to fit copper seki-gane as the metal is already softer than the steel sword blade and it can easily be punched around the ha-machi and mune machi to displace metal and effectively shrink the nakago opening. Then a new, tight fit can be re-filed. Of course, later on in time, if yet another blade was to be fitted and there wasn't enough metal left to adequately push around then copper seki-gane would be fitted. Where we see extensive hollowing out within the seppa-dai area, towards the nakago-ana itself, I think this is simply the same process being carried out to close up the long sides of the nakago where previously there was much thicker blade fitted. In fact this is not confined to non-ferrous guards only. A quick flip though Sasano's Gold book will provides a very clear visual 'evolution' of the ways in which the metal around the nakago-ana was manipulated to adjust fitting, from the slightest bumps at top and bottom, a couple of thumps along the sides, to serious hollowed out dished seppa-dai spaces. In essence, what I'm trying to explain, is that the evidence of working around the nakago-ana is almost always merely the consequence of mechanical deformation done to effect a better fit of the guard on to a tang and done sometime after the guard was first made. As with all things Japanese sword there are exceptions. Higo province guards are notable for the use of decorative punch marks around the nakago. Variations in these punch mark patterns or arrangements are supposedly indicative of particular masters. A proposition I regard as something of a minefield as punch marks like this are quite probably the easiest thing to copy on a tsuba. And of course by the 17th century it became custom to fit copper seki-gane to new guards that would go on both old or new blades. Some schools made a real aesthetic feature of these copper additions. The Suruga group fitted a very distinctive shape of seki-gane when their tsuba were first made and by the mid 19th century the Tanaka school had gone all disco on their seki-gane.

Cheers Steve, I think we're singing from the same songsheet after all :-) Then again the few rambling discussions we've had would already suggest that and one day sake and good food might facilitate that a bit more.

Hi Steve ok, ya got me :-) I was being deliberately provocative with regard to the lumpy bits. I'll try and clarify what i was getting at. Firstly I should say we can't compare these two tsuba with each other because they represent different aesthetic considerations. While the design is similar I think only one is actually a Kamayama work. That one exhibits the characteristic 'lumpy bits' we expect to find in such works. So far so good. Really exceptional Kanayama pieces are superb and command very high prices, as you suggest $10K and upwards. The question for me then was how highly I would rate this, less than exceptional, example. Now I apprecitate that for some the tekkotsu in the mimi along with the tsuba's other aesthetic features is enough but to my eyes I found it uninspiring. And I say that holding in my minds-eye a number of far superior Kanayama tsuba I've enjoyed over the years. I'm thinking specifically of a number of superb examples that passed through the galleries of Patrick Syz in London from the Caldwell collection. One of these sold for close to $20K, the others ranged from $7K to $15K and that was 20 years ago. I can't afford 20 or even 10 thousand dollars on a tsuba . On the other hand two and a half is doable (if my wife lets me). But I couldn't ever be persuaded that the example we're discussing is worth that price. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that while I enjoy the full aesthetic experience a great Kanayama piece has to offer and I am completely in agreement with the huge prices the very finest pieces demand I simply don't get much at all in terms of aesthetic experience from lesser and cheaper versions. My problem is I have champaigne taste but only beer money. Turning to the first tsuba I don't think it is reasonable to evaluate it in the same way as one would a Kanayama piece because I'm not all that convinced it is one. Having said that I viewed it in it's own context. The surface is dry and dusty with areas of light rust. This doesn't concern me overmuch as I have an idea of what might lie benieth that 'dirt'. Like a painting restorer I think I can see more beneath the grime and neglected patina layer. This tsuba was very carefully crafted and seems to me to possess a subtle 'correctness' about it. The inner lines of the ryo-hitsu in particular caught my eye as being very sensitively shaped. And here I did compare that feature with the Kanayama tsuba's hitsu and personally found the Kanayama rendering to be less inspired. My feeling is that in their own ways, and addmittedly with a little TLC (which the Kanayama may already have recieved), the first tsuba represents far better value for money and is a better example of what it actually is. As you say, we're basing all of this on pretty poor images but I think the discussion, even if we agree that we're speaking only in the abstract, is of use in exploring our ideas on the broader subject anyway. As for the flash patination that is indistinguishable from a genuine 400 yo. deep and rich patina....you don't think I'm going to make that goose available commercially do you?

and as far as No: 2 goes....It looks over cleaned and somewhat over fininished/polished to my eyes. Apart from some very obvious lumpiness in the rim I see very little/to no texture or quality in the iron. The hitsu look awkward and stiff and the overall feeling I get is of blandness. As to the origonal/legitimate sellers asking price...$2500, I wouldn't pay that, but I expect a lot more from a potential Kanayama piece that's going to cost me serious cash. and when it comes to the vibrancy or quality of patina I like to think i can recognise where 30 minutes care can work wonders.

As someone who actually works with metal I'm perhaps less beguiled by lumpy bits in iron, lumps that no-one as yet has even as yet been able to explain or accurately decribe. OTOH I believe that anyone can pay whatever amount of money for whatever it is that resonates with them as being of value. This is less a matter of aesthetic value and more about market psychology....imo. A brief read about Dutch still life's, tulip mania, feet binding in old China and the comparative cost of glass window panes today and 200 years ago might provide a more lively (enlightened perhaps) consideration of old rust iron....

the cheeky bastard is using an image of mine too! Those are my work gnarled fingers holding the blank of the Katsuhira tiger tsuba. Someone is gonna get hurt now....

Well, imo, the numbers are a red herring. Vendors will ask whatever they think they can get, these prices don't actually signify any real meaning in terms of value. Something is worth what you are prepared to pay for it. $5K is quite a bit more than I would consider reasonable for either of these pieces. But the one one the left is the finer piece in my estimation. The second tsuba is probably 'worth' $200. Not that I would pay that nor buy it if it were $100 even. It simply doesn't interest me. But that's my personal evaluation, each to their own, of course.

John Compositional analyses of shakudo from almost any period, from the early 14th century until the Meiji Period, reveals no clear distinction in that we see the same varieties of alloy throughout that period. What I'm saying is that based on composition alone there is no way to confidantly establish the alloy's age. It follows then that attempts to judge age by patina colour and texture are equally risky as there are simply too many factors that can have an impact on the patina and it's condition. As far as unpatinated shakudo, of whatever composition and including so called 'yama-gane', they all appear to be exactly the same colour as plain copper. From what I can see in your images I would suggest the openings have merely been filed at some time to fit a new blade and perhaps accomodate a kozuka. Not all shakudo alloys will self patinate back to black. In fact I recently 'revived' a very chocolate coloured tsuba (thought to be 'yama-gane') to a rich ink black patina. An XRF analysis revealed the alloy to indeed be a true shakudo. I hope some of that helps clarify things. Ford

In my opinion both of these tsuba are historic artefacts. Neither is represenatative of art in the sense that art might be the personal creative expression of the maker. Both are essentially the same type of object and bear the same generic decoration. One has been better cared for or has been at some point been carefully restored. The other, the less well cared for one, looks presently to be in poor condition but were it to recieve suiatable restoration attention I see no obvious reason why it couldn't actually be a slightly more interesting example (than the other) of this type of tsuba.

Just heard this very sad news. It's always a shock when we lose someone who is aprt of our close community. My thoughts and condolences go out to all his friends and family.

According to Markus Sesko's Encyclopedia of Japanese Swords sora menuki are imitation/fake menuki or ornamental menuki, whereas actual menuki were the peg and called makoto menuki, true menuki. Sora menuki, also called kasari menuki, came in to fashion from the Nambokucho period onwards. To refer to Arai Hakuseki again (1657 - 1725) from his Honcho Gunkiko (Eighth Book). "menuki are things to put through the menuki hole (menuki ana) , to prevent the blade of the sword from coming out of the handle."

Curran, thank you kindly. It helps to have an understanding and appreciative audience :-) I'll keep on keeping on then. I do have some subversive ideas that may yet come to life Brian, Nicky's comment really made me grin :-) and Cheers, Ray.

Another little titbit to add to the story here. Something I happened on by accident this morning in the index of Henri Joly's Sword and Same. "Menuki: During the Fujiwara Period (presumably the Heian Period, 794–1185. ) rice bale shaped dummy rivets called sora menuki were placed on the haft (tsuka) , so that the lower edge of the nakago had to be notched to escape them."

Thank you gentlemen, your appreciation is massively encouraging.

Just to add to the present accepted understanding of what menuki are/were I will quote Arai Hakuseki (1657 - 1725) from his Honcho Gunkiko (Eighth Book). "menuki are things to put through the menuki hole (menuki ana) , to prevent the blade of the sword from coming out of the handle." [According to Japanese custom the term me (eye) is used to describe all sorts of holes, as, for instance, hikime (frog's eye), Inome (wild boar eye), etc.] 目 me = eye 貫 nuki = crosspiece (between pillars, etc.); penetrating tie beam, to penetrate, to brace. Hakuseki goes on to say; " At the present day (circa 1700?) a mekugi is used in place of a menuki (to hold the blade) , and the menuki has become of no (practical) use." So what actually happened was the name of the peg changed from menuki to mekugi. Then little ornaments were invented, with no practical function, and ended up being called menuki, which makes no sense at all. If you're interested in learning a little about this Edo period authority you'll find more on Wikipedia here. "Arai Hakuseki (新井 白石?, March 24, 1657 – June 29, 1725) was a Confucianist, scholar-bureaucrat, academic, administrator, writer and politician in Japan during the middle of the Edo Period, who advised the Shogun Tokugawa Ienobu.[1][2] His personal name was Kinmi or Kimiyoshi (君美). Hakuseki (白石) was his pen name. His father was a Kururi han samurai Arai Masazumi (新井 正済)."