Discovering Gyotaku

Dwight Hwang teaches environmental awareness through the art of gyotaku.

By Niamh Houston

In the back corner of Sunrise Asian Food Market, I scan the freezers: mackerel, perch, catfish, and hundreds of other marine and freshwater species sit in plastic wrap. After some lengthy indecision, I carefully select a rainbow parrotfish, a pack of squid, and a common cuttlefish. At the checkout, I impulsively grab chocolate-filled Hello Panda biscuits and have an awkward exchange with the cheery cashier as I fumble for my cash.

With my arms full of fish, I head towards my car. Once inside, I cannot help but take a moment to admire my specimens. The vibrant colors of the parrotfish and the gelatinous tentacles of the cuttlefish make me begin to doubt my artistic ability. I open my box of biscuits and think, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Gyotaku is the ancient Japanese art of ink fish pressings, and I’m about to experiment with it myself.

Later, I cut through the plastic surrounding my fish and set it in a large bowl of warm water. The smell fills the house and overwhelms my senses. Outside, I take out the cuttlefish and attempt to dry its slippery skin off on a towel. I try my best to shape the arms and tentacles in a way that looks aesthetically pleasing. The ink easily applies to the skin of the fish, although it takes me an exceptionally long time to coat the entire surface. I grab my rice paper and set it over the cuttlefish and press down all over the body and then carefully lift it back off. The imprint of the cuttlefish is defined and elegant, as if time had frozen on the canvas. I cannot help but feel a connection to the animals I am handling.

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For centuries, people have used gyotaku to depict the naturally detailed forms of fish for bragging rights. Today, it is used to teach the importance of conservation and healthy environmental practices. California artist Dwight Hwang has mastered the process, and his unique gyotaku style has earned him credible recognition from historians and scholars of the art.

“I first came across gyotaku art pinned to the walls of a dusty fishing tackle shop in Tokyo,” says Hwang. “I fell in love with its simple aesthetic. What a wonderful way to commemorate a memorable catch, I thought.” From there, experimentation and countless YouTube tutorials led to a career that he now shares with his wife.

Originally, gyotaku was used by Japanese fishermen catering to an illiterate crowd in the mid 1800’s. “Instead of writing on wood displays of what the daily offerings were, the vendors would print one of the fish and display the print for those who would otherwise be unable to read,” says Hwang. “According to the archives and displayed historical pieces at the Honma Museum, a samurai lord… named Sakai who enjoyed fishing, would task his court calligrapher to document his catch. This continued until the calligrapher, rather than simply writing about it, took the ink and brushed the fish to create an undeniable record.”

The original gyotaku method is unique in its simplicity. Sumi, traditional calligraphy ink made from pine soot and water, is painted on a fish and then washi paper is rubbed over the surface to create an impression. “This method was what I first saw and fell in love with,” says Hwang.

Typically gyotaku artists catch the fish they use or find them already dead on beaches. The subjects of Hwang’s work are never put to waste.

“The vast majority of the fish we receive are from seafood wholesalers and directly from commercial boat captains,” says Hwang. “We also receive quite a few from marine biologists. After the print is created, if it is a rare species or something that would be difficult for me to attain again, I will store them carefully in a freezer to print again another day. If it is a fish that is delicious, I will wash off the ink and process the fish into fillets. And if it is a fish that is questionable to eat, then it will be boiled down to use in our garden or it will be released back into the sea for its nutrients to be recycled into the system it came from.” Using gyotaku as an educational gateway to teach the importance of conservation, sustainable practices, and environmental dilemmas has increased in popularity. It offers young kids an opportunity to engage with the environment and create art. Hwang has led a bevy of gyotaku conservation efforts.

“I had the honor to work alongside Patagonia, touring across North America conducting demonstrations and lectures,” he says. “In Toronto, Canada, there is a disturbing practice of catching female salmon on their way to their spawning grounds, removing their roe and discarding the corpses all along the river. This was done to sell the roe as bait to other fishermen. So we printed one of these victimized salmon (belly cut open, innards and broken roe sacks hanging out) in front of a large audience as a segway to their discussion about the problem.”

Through educational awareness, gyotaku has the potential to make a difference through various conservation efforts.

“At first, it was simply a neat way to create a record for a memorable fishing trip,” says Hwang. “As I became more comfortable and confident with my process, I began creating scenes or attempted to convey motion and emotions through my subjects. These days, I strive to have the art transcend its origins of documenting by conveying beauty and messages from nature that we as humans should be receptive to.”

To say the least, gyotaku has truly changed Hwang’s life. His success has allowed him to partner with organizations to encourage conservational efforts in one of the most creative ways possible.