Signing on the dotted line is not done in Japan. Instead, when faced with a delivery, the courier hands over a sheet and indicates a small circle. Do they want my initials, you wonder? Actually, they want your hanko or seal. Every adult has a personal seal for documents and shujin (husband) has a business hanko for contracts. The seal is composed of a kanji (Chinese character) that fits perfectly when stamped in ink into a circle.
Artwork is signed with a hanko dipped in red ink. Depending on the size of the piece, the seal may be square or rectangular and contain one or more kanji. In calligraphy class I have been blasphemous by acquiring ready made hanko. My collection began at the souvenir shop atop the Tokyo Metropolitan Building, grew at the Great Wall in Beijing and rounded out with a thoughtful gift from a friend who found the kanji for my married name (meaning "tea").
Calligraphy class is a two hour session of grinding sumie ink on an inkstone and then copying the same kanji with one brush stroke dozens of times on washi paper. When Sensei approves of a final piece, after weeks of practice, she holds it up: "Mina-san (everyone) look at this." She may even ask for your hanko and place the seal in the correct place, which is a Sensei's job. This week she gifted me with a round, woven frame for my effort at writing Hina Matsuri (Girls Day) in honor of March 3rd. But with my unworthy hanko she literally could not seal the deal, which is why I humbly asked for her help. How pleased Sensei was that at long last I had come to my senses and she could put in an order with her supplier for my custom hanko.
March 24th is the red letter day when Ohanami (cherry blossom festival) is predicted to begin in Minato-ku (Harbor Ward). But before that I have only 10 days to fill the seats at the International House for Hans' slide show about Sixties Tokyo. Will the temptation of the pretty cakes seal that deal?
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