You’ve seen the wave. Even if you don't know a thing about Japanese art history, you’ve seen that massive, claw-like crest of blue water threatening to swallow those tiny wooden boats. It’s everywhere—on tote bags, phone cases, and probably three different murals in your local ramen shop. But here’s the thing: Hokusai 36 Views of Fuji isn't actually about the ocean. It’s a massive, obsessive love letter to a volcano.
Katsushika Hokusai was seventy years old when he started this project. Think about that for a second. In the 1830s, being seventy was basically being ancient. Most people were long retired or, well, gone. But Hokusai? He was just getting started. He was obsessed with immortality, and he figured if he could just keep drawing the most permanent thing in Japan—Mount Fuji—maybe some of that permanence would rub off on him.
It’s kinda wild to think that this world-famous series wasn't even meant for museums. These were mass-produced woodblock prints. They were the posters of their day. You could buy one for the price of a double serving of noodles. They were souvenirs for pilgrims and travelers. Honestly, the fact that they are now worth millions is a twist Hokusai probably would have found hilarious, or maybe he’d just be annoyed he didn't get a cut of the royalties.
The Secret Geometry of the Hokusai 36 Views of Fuji
If you look closely at these prints, you start to see a pattern. Hokusai wasn't just drawing what he saw; he was engineering it. He had this deep, almost mathematical fascination with circles and triangles.
Take a look at The Great Wave off Kanagawa. Most people focus on the water. But look at the background. Mount Fuji is a tiny, static triangle sitting perfectly in the eye of the storm. The curve of the wave actually forms a circle that frames the mountain. This isn't an accident. Hokusai published a book called Quick Lessons in Simplified Drawing where he basically tells everyone that everything in the world can be drawn using a ruler and a compass. He was a geometry nerd hiding in an artist's body.
The series is technically a lie, too. It’s called "36 Views," but there are actually forty-six. The first thirty-six were so insanely popular that the publisher, Nishimuraya Yohachi, begged for more. Hokusai delivered ten extra prints. These "extra" ones are usually called the "Additional Ten" and they have a slightly different vibe—mostly because the outlines are printed in black ink instead of the "Aizuri-e" blue that defined the original set.
That Prussian Blue Obsession
We have to talk about the color. You see that deep, moody blue in the Hokusai 36 Views of Fuji? That’s Berlin Blue, also known as Prussian Blue. Before this, Japanese artists had to rely on organic dyes like indigo, which were fine but tended to fade or look a bit flat.
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Prussian Blue was a synthetic pigment coming in from Europe via Dutch traders. It was the "tech" of the 1830s. It was vivid, it was deep, and it gave the water and sky a depth that Japanese audiences had never seen before. Hokusai leaned into it hard. In some of the early prints, the entire image is basically just different shades of blue. It was a flex. He was showing off that he had the newest, coolest materials.
It Wasn't Just About Pretty Landscapes
Most people think of these as "nature" photos, but they're actually about people. This is where the series gets really interesting. Fuji is always there—sometimes it's huge, sometimes it's a tiny speck on the horizon—but the foreground is usually full of "regular" folks just trying to live their lives.
You see barrel makers at work. You see travelers struggling against a gust of wind that’s blowing their hats away. You see people hauling timber or crossing bridges.
- In Ejiri in Suruga Province, a group of people is caught in a sudden wind. Tissues and hats are flying everywhere. It’s funny. It’s human.
- In The Surface of the Water at Misaka, Hokusai does something weird: he shows the reflection of the mountain in the lake, but the reflection doesn't match the mountain itself. The real mountain is bare, but the reflection shows it capped with snow.
- Fine Wind, Clear Morning (often called Red Fuji) is one of the few where the mountain is the sole protagonist, turning a deep, earthy red in the early morning light.
Hokusai was capturing the tension between the eternal (the mountain) and the temporary (us). We're all just passing through, losing our hats and making barrels, while that giant rock just sits there. It’s a bit humbling, really.
Why Does This Series Still Rank So High in Our Brains?
It’s easy to dismiss old art as "classic" and move on. But Hokusai’s work changed everything. When Japan finally opened its borders in the mid-1800s, these prints flooded into Europe.
Claude Monet? He had a huge collection of Hokusai prints. Van Gogh? He was obsessed with them. You can trace a direct line from the Hokusai 36 Views of Fuji to the Impressionist movement. The way Hokusai cropped his images—cutting off objects at the edge of the frame—was revolutionary. It made the scenes feel like snapshots, like someone had just blinked and caught a moment in time. Before this, Western art was very much about "the center." Hokusai taught the West how to look at the edges.
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He also didn't care about "perfect" perspective. He used something called "shifted perspective," where your eye is pulled to different parts of the image at once. It’s why his prints feel so dynamic even though they’re static pieces of paper.
The Gritty Reality of the Woodblock Process
We shouldn't forget that Hokusai didn't actually make the final prints. He drew the designs, but then a whole team of craftsmen took over.
- A carver would paste Hokusai’s drawing onto a block of cherry wood.
- They would literally carve through the paper, destroying the original drawing to create the master block.
- A printer would then apply the inks—one block for every single color.
- The paper was rubbed onto the blocks by hand using a tool called a baren.
It was a grueling, industrial process. If the printer messed up the alignment by even a millimeter, the whole thing was ruined. When you look at a print today, you’re looking at the combined labor of a small village of artists.
What People Get Wrong About Hokusai
There’s this myth that Hokusai was a wealthy, respected master his whole life. Not even close. He was a bit of a disaster, honestly. He changed his name over 30 times. He moved houses constantly—apparently because he hated cleaning and would just move when the trash got too high.
He called himself "Gakyo Rojin Manji," which translates to "The Old Man Mad About Painting." He wasn't doing this for the fame; he was doing it because he literally couldn't stop. He famously said that nothing he drew before the age of seventy was any good. He believed that if he lived to be 110, every dot and line he made would come to life.
He died at 89, still practicing.
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How to Actually "See" These Prints Today
If you want to experience the Hokusai 36 Views of Fuji without just staring at a screen, you have to look for the details that aren't "beautiful."
Look at the faces of the boatmen in The Great Wave. They aren't heroic. They’re terrified. They’re huddled down, just trying to survive. Look at the smoke coming out of a chimney in a distant village. Hokusai was the king of the "Easter egg" before that was even a term. He wanted you to linger.
Actionable Ways to Explore Hokusai’s Legacy
If you’re interested in diving deeper into this world, don't just buy a poster. Do these things instead:
- Visit the Sumida Hokusai Museum: If you’re ever in Tokyo, this is a must. It’s located in the area where Hokusai spent most of his life. The architecture alone is worth the trip, but seeing the original prints (in rotation) is a spiritual experience.
- Compare the "Red Fuji" and "The Great Wave": These are the two most famous prints. One is about total stillness and heat; the other is about total chaos and cold. They are the yin and yang of the series.
- Look for the "Ghost" Prints: Many of the prints you see in museums are later editions. The very first pressings have subtle gradients (called bokashi) that later, cheaper versions lack. See if you can spot the difference in the sky’s color.
- Read "The Old Man Mad About Drawing": There are several great biographies and even manga (like Miss Hokusai, which focuses on his daughter O-Ei, who was an incredible artist in her own right) that give you a sense of the man behind the mountain.
The Hokusai 36 Views of Fuji isn't just a collection of old Japanese art. It’s a reminder that it’s never too late to start your best work. Hokusai was a seventy-year-old guy with a messy house and a debt-ridden grandson, but he sat down and changed the way the world sees nature.
Next time you see that wave, look past it. Look for the little triangle in the back. That’s where the real story is.
Expert Insight: When researching Hokusai, always check the publisher's seal. The original 36 views were published by Nishimuraya Yohachi (Eijudo). If you’re looking at an "original" print, the presence and condition of this seal are often more important for valuation than the artist's signature itself, as the blocks were often sold and reused by different publishers over decades.
Practical Tip: For those looking to collect, modern "re-strikes" made from newly carved blocks using traditional methods are a great way to own the art without needing a million-dollar budget. They maintain the soul of the woodblock process that Hokusai intended.