senju, horimatsu, shunga, erotic, erotica, japanese, japan, umeå, sweden, porn, pornography, ghost, seduction, moon, possession, fucking, sex, japanese tattoo, irezumi

The Shunga print “Seduction” is one of my earlier prints. Creating the mood and space took much longer than I expected. Proof that every art work lives its own life.


Sometimes the human heart clings desperatly to the idea of closeness and intimacy. “Seduction” depicts this desperation and longing for love dressing it in the imaginary fabrics of a classical ghost story. The ghost of Japanese myth and folklore holds a special  place in my artistic and romantic heart as the stories are often melancholic and breaths the air of strong human emotions. This particular scene is not based on a traditional Japanese ghost story but rather a figment of my own imagination.

In the abandoned old buddhist temple a young man has sought shelter for the night and fallen asleep on the worn and moldy tatami mats. Outside the darkened wooden walls, the night is black and velvety. Only the cikadas dare to make a sound. his tattooed body suggests that he is not of Samurai class but rather a ruffians or gambler. Perhaps an Otokodate traveling from one town to the next, exhausting hospitality through boasting and bullying, hustling and cheating.

She is trapped between heaven and hell, tethered to the temple grounds where her body was buried improperly and in haste after her shameful suicide. Her lover, who had sworn himself to her even in the death of their desperate suicide pact, had not followed her into the shadows. Afraid and trembling he had watched her slowly bleed to death from her self inflicted cuts across the her wrists, and the fled the scene, leaving her alone among the trees behind the old temple. Perhaps he cried for some time, but most likely he was strangely relieved that he was still alive. Perhaps her face passing into the dimness of silent death would haunt him momentarily during the remainder of his life but the memory of their young love would fade and wither until becoming just a faint whisper.

She had laid in the shadow of the cedars, bamboos and pines for little more than five days until she was found, all the while the family and friends searching for her would pass her by very close but never seem to divert their eyes in her direction. Sometimes the randomness of existence plays tricks on us like that. Finally some children exploring the shady wooded area behind the temple had found her and she had been buried to the scent of incense and sound of sobbing.

Now her ghost desperately crawls on top of the sleeping man, holding him so close, so very close…. straddling him and lowering her hips over his hard cock. She cannot remember desire, only this fear of being alone again. Her long disheveled hair floats around the dark room, slithering like snakes, every part of her ethereal  being clinging on for a dear life she does not posess any longer. She is confused and lonely and afraid. She will never leave him. He will never wake up again and never leave her. The cikadas are to busy serenading to pay any attention to the two figures ghostly embrace and after her body was found behind the temple last spring not even the curious children come here to roam and explore. Summer, autumn and winter will pass and perhaps no one will ever come looking for him.

And she will never be alone again.


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