You’ve probably seen the woodblock prints. They’re vibrant, intense, and often featuring bodies entwined in ways that seem physically impossible. But when people talk about shunga 12 and 20, they aren't just talking about "explicit art" in a vacuum. They are referring to the specific traditions of shunga (literally "spring pictures") that were often produced in sets of twelve or occasionally expanded into series of twenty. These numbers aren't random. They represent a cultural rhythm of the Edo period that most modern viewers completely miss because they’re too busy blushing at the content.
Japanese shunga was never just about the "act." It was about the story, the humor, the fashion, and—surprisingly—the social rebellion of an era that was tightly controlled by a shogunate that hated anything it couldn't regulate.
The Mystery of the Twelve and Twenty Sets
Why 12? Honestly, it’s mostly about the calendar. In the Edo period (1603–1867), many things were sold in dozens to match the twelve months of the lunar year. You’d get a shunga 12 set, and each print might subtly reference a season—a cherry blossom in the background for spring, or a heavy kimono for winter. It was basically the 18th-century version of a high-end calendar, but instead of kittens or landscapes, you got some of the most technically sophisticated erotic art ever produced.
The "20" sets are a bit different. These were often the "deluxe" versions or collections that compiled the "best of" from different artists like Katsushika Hokusai or Kitagawa Utamaro. When you move from a standard set of 12 to a set of 20, you're usually looking at a collector's item. These weren't cheap. A high-quality set of shunga could cost as much as a week's worth of food for a laborer. They were luxury goods.
It Wasn't Just for Men
Here is where most people get it wrong: shunga wasn't a "men-only" club. Historical records and diaries from the Edo period show that women were just as likely to own these prints. In fact, many shunga sets were part of a bride's konrei dōgu (wedding trousseau). They were used as a sort of instructional manual, though, given the exaggerated proportions, one hopes the brides didn't take the anatomy literally.
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Wealthy merchants and their wives would sit together and look at these. It was social. It was funny. If you look closely at the facial expressions in a shunga 12 and 20 series, you’ll see people laughing, surprised, or mid-gossip. The art captured a "floating world" (ukiyo) where the strict rules of the Samurai class didn't apply. For a moment, everyone was just human.
The Technical Genius Behind the Ink
Think about the work involved. An artist had to draw the lines, a carver had to meticulously cut those lines into cherry wood blocks, and a printer had to apply the ink and hand-press the paper. To produce a series of 12 or 20 meant doing this over and over with perfect registration.
- Hokusai’s Contribution: We know him for the "Great Wave," but his shunga sets are masterpieces of movement.
- Utamaro’s Focus: He focused on the psychological. His sets of 12 often depicted the "Three Houses" of the pleasure districts, focusing on the internal lives of the women there.
- The Colors: They used expensive pigments like Prussian blue and cinnabar red. This wasn't "low-brow" trash.
Why the Shogunate Hated It
The government was constantly trying to ban shunga. They issued edicts in 1722 and again in the 1790s. Did it work? Not really. It just forced the artists to get creative. They stopped signing their names or used aliases. They started calling the sets "warai-e" (funny pictures) to claim they were just jokes.
The persistence of shunga 12 and 20 sets tells us something about human nature. You can’t regulate desire, and you certainly can’t regulate the desire for art that feels "real," even if the body parts are drawn five times larger than life. By the time the Meiji era rolled around in the late 1800s, Japan was trying to look "civilized" to the West, and they began a massive crackdown on shunga, treating it as a national embarrassment. Thousands of blocks were burned.
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The Modern Rediscovery
It wasn't until the British Museum held a massive exhibition in 2013 that the global perspective really shifted. People realized these weren't just "dirty pictures." They were historical documents. They showed us what people wore, how their houses were decorated, and how they joked with each other.
The influence of these sets is everywhere now. From contemporary manga to high-fashion textile prints, the "shunga aesthetic" is a cornerstone of Japanese visual identity. If you look at the linework in a modern graphic novel, you can often trace the DNA back to a carver working on a set of 12 in a cramped Tokyo workshop three hundred years ago.
What You Should Look For
If you are looking to understand or collect (reprints, obviously) shunga 12 and 20 styles, don't just look at the central figures. Look at the corners.
- Text blocks: The dialogue bubbles in shunga are often hilarious. They contain puns, poetry, and sometimes complaints about the weather.
- Fabric patterns: The level of detail in the kimonos is staggering. Artists used shunga to show off their ability to render complex textile designs.
- Background "Easter eggs": You might see a cat playing with a string or a specific type of tea set that tells you exactly which social class the characters belong to.
Basically, shunga is a maximalist art form. It’s loud. It’s crowded. It’s unashamed.
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Practical Insights for the Art Enthusiast
If you want to dive deeper into this world without getting lost in the "noise" of the internet, start with museum catalogs. The British Museum’s "Shunga: Sex and Pleasure in Japanese Art" is the gold standard. It’s heavy, expensive, and worth every penny.
Also, keep an eye on the difference between original Edo prints and Meiji-era reprints. The colors in the originals are often softer, using vegetable dyes that have aged beautifully, whereas later reprints can look a bit "harsh" or overly saturated.
Next time you see a reference to shunga 12 and 20, remember that these numbers represent a bridge between the physical and the seasonal. They weren't just meant to be seen once; they were meant to be lived with, laughed at, and passed around among friends in a world that, for all its strictness, still knew how to find joy in the "floating" moments of life.
To truly appreciate the history, seek out high-resolution digital archives from the Honolulu Museum of Art or the MFA Boston. They have some of the best-preserved sets of 12 in existence. Analyzing the woodblock "over-printing" (where colors overlap) will give you a real sense of the craftsmanship that went into every single page of these legendary series.