Ikegami is a third-generation native of Tokyo. Until 1980 he was a graphic designer specializing in corporate logos. On the side he tried Oil painting, but not until he discovered silkscreen printmaking did he feel at home. His abstracted imagery uses slick blacks with gradations of gray with highlights of brilliant red and a celestial shade of blue. He says of his work: “I want to create a moment in life.” (http://www.robynbuntin.com/ukiyo-e/MoreByArtist.asp?ArtistID=127)
Margaret Kennard Johnson has a B.F.A. from Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, NY; a Master of Design from The School of Architecture and Design, University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. She studied Basic Design with Josef Albers at Black Mountain College, Black Mountain, NC.
Johnson lived for 8 and 1/2 years in Japan where she co-authored the book “JAPANESE PRINTS TODAY: TRADITION WITH INNOVATION”. She has taught at Drake University, Texas State College for Women, Pratt Institute, and for more than 20 years at The Museum of Modern Art, NY, NY. In New Jersey she has taught at the Princeton Art Association; Princeton Adult School; Montgomery Center for the Arts; and Artworks in Trenton.
She is a Founding Member of the Princeton Artists Alliance. ( More)
Toko Shinoda (b. 1913), one of the foremost calligraphers in Japan, is known as a master of the intricate manner of writing tracing back 3000 years. Shinoda began creating abstract work in 1947. A two-year stay in New York in the 1950s introduced her to the work of abstract expressionists and inspired her to go beyond the traditional boundaries of controlled calligraphy and use expansive, dynamic brush strokes. Her work is bold and daring, slashing across the paper’s surface, carving out a landscape inhabited by both warrior and poet.(via)
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings, That appeared once, still wet As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn, And, touched, coddled, began to live In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up, Tribes on the march, planets in motion. “We are”, they said, even as their pages Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame Licked away their letters. So much more durable Than we are, whose frail warmth Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes. I imagine the earth when I am no more: Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant, Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born, Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.