“New Year” by Senju

“New Year” by Senju

senju, horimatsu, shunga, erotic, erotica, japanese, japan, umeå, sweden, porn, pornography, cock, japanese porn, pussy,

“New Year” is the fifth and last print in my Shunga series using the five Japanese seasons. Issued in a limited edition of 15 copies.


Shunga print by Senju

“New Year”

Oban size 25,4 X 38 cm

Limited edition of 15 copies


The poem on the card reads;

ganjitsu ya

kino ni toki



Translated to english it becomes;

the dawn of New Years Day –


how far off!


The words are written by the Japanese poet Ichiku, and describes to me in a very direct way how all human ideas and concepts are fleeting. At best. As soon as you realize the nature of things and let go of all your delusions, the quicker you can start to live. We all exist within ourselves and are victims of a random chain of thoughts and ideas leading up to this very moment. Very little is really you. Most of what you think is You is really a complex composite of other peoples ideas about you. As you define yourself in life using the mirror image you experience when interacting with other people or simply living within a certain cultural and/or historical context, you probably have spent little time reflecting on what You really think and feel. Basically, most of us are thinking other peoples thoughts that are thinking other peoples thoughts that are thinking other peoples thoughts and so on for an eternity.

This way of experiencing yourself slowly grinds you down and robs you of the opportunity to truly experience intimacy, both with your self and others. We live out our lives full of ideas of what vulnerability, strength, passion or love is but we remain merely ghosts and lost spirits.

A touch on your skin from a another human being is Now. A kiss is an eternity. Standing close together naked is Here. Where words end and just the sound of the wind rustling the leaves on the trees plays inside your head. You really see that person. They see You. Nothing else matters. The realization that dying in this instant would not hurt or be even sad. This is intimacy.

As a man, when you penetrate, have you stopped to feel that you are inside that other person? Your vulnerability next to that persons vulnerability. Think about this. Live in that moment for just a second. It will change you forever. The genitals are not separated from the person. There is no beginning or end of the body. Where does the this part of the body end and that part begin? We have learnt what is what and where in school but if I asked one hundred people not even two would point at the exact same spot. So when you are intimate it is a matter of the Whole. Where does the mind end and the body begin? Where are You inside your body? If you went looking for it you could never find it. We are not those things we learned. We just Are. And we can be that together.

Just as the title of this Shunga print suggests, and just like the poem says, yesterday is dead since eternal time. Tomorrow has not been born yet. There is only Now.

Intimacy is so closely related to the reality of Now. Here. To be close you have to put down all those weapons you use on a daily basis to defend your fragile illusion against even an grain of true reality seeping through. You have to surrender. Stand naked. Let the ideas and feelings of separateness and anger go. If you hate you can not love. If you truly love you cannot hate. It is as simple as that. Why is it then that men are prepared to go to war and kill children for an idea’s sake but shun from expressing their emotions to another man? Hate and violence are not a part of our nature. If anyone tells you so they are afraid to look at the reality of things. These behaviors are learnt. We were taught these things and we teach each other the very same ideas over and over. Since we create our own suffering we can as easily end the very same. It will just take a split second of your time to begin that process.

Shunga is, just like all other forms of pornography, really just a substitution for real emotions. We are searching desperatly for intimacy but settle for lust. By centering the sexual in the genital region and the mechanical satisfaction brought by masturbation or “casual” or “recreational” physical sexual encounters, we conviniently avoid the dangers of real intimacy. Achieving intimacy is of course not an easy thing as most of us know. It requires that you constantly work with your self. Now.



Buy this print. For more writings on how my Shunga came alive please go here


“Winter” – The Heron maiden.

“Winter” – The Heron maiden.

heron, kabuki shunga, mirror, kagami, winter, kabuki, senju, horimatsu, shunga, erotic, erotica, japanese, japan, umeå, sweden, porn, pornography, heron, winter, pussy, mirror

The Kabuki shunga print “Winter”. The fourth print in the mirror portrait series. Created in June 2016. It is a part of the highly limited edition made in collaboration with Lan’s Gallery in Hong Kong.

Oban size (25,4 x 38 cm)
Limited Edition of 15 prints.
Created June 2016

“The right side of her sweet face could still recall the cool textured wall of the secluded rice storehouse pressed up against it. Her cheeks still blushing from the passionate encounter just moments ago. Her lover had slipped away silently into the approaching dusk and now the snow laden blue grey sky held a promise of soft white coming down. Her breath was slowing down to normal now, her soul turning into fog as she exhaled and let all her emotions escape through her open mouth. The snow white kimono she was wearing was still pulled up and folded into a bundle of silk above her even whiter ass, usually an image reminiscent of the full moon but at the moment wearing the same blush as her face.

It had all happened very quickly. One moment they were walking along the ice covered river beneath silent willows. Strolling next to each other in the customary manner of two young lovers in courtship, yet making sure to keep their physical distance. Inside her, with every intimate word leaving his mouth as a seductive whisper, slowly a warm sensation was building, her heart pounding in her ears. The world around them gently disappearing into the white of the January afternoon.

When the rice storehouse appeared in their path there were no more whispers, no time for customary modesty or hesitation. Like lovers before and forever they were now alone in their trembling dream. His hand decisively pulling her into the shadows. She was wordlessly giving her consent, not wanting him to become shy. She knew him and trusted him. Most of all she trusted herself and that very moment. They existed right there and right now. Beneath the wooden beams they pushed their bodies into each other as if trying to become one single creature, as if trying to erase any distance between them. Even through the slightly coarse fabric of his black kimono she could feel the warmth of his skin, his hard cock searching desperately to escape its jail. They kissed, soft moans escaping, impossible to say whose voice was which as tongues and lips danced, explored, craved… Sometimes, for just a moment, they breathed into each others mouths, exchanging, blending their ghosts into one.

His hand suddenly, finally found a way through her layers of kimono, paused as if to make sure that he had found his way, then gently let his longest finger slide along her pussy as if asking for admittance, her wetness assuring him. With slight pressure he parted her labia and let the tip of his finger stop momentarily just as it entered her. Then he slipped in. They held their breath. Stood trembling. As if this second could last a lifetime. He let his finger slowly glide in and out of her a few times, then searched for her clitoris. She could tell he wasn’t really sure of where to look. He was fumbling and as soon as he found the spot she let him know by breathing harder into his mouth. Her world was spinning. She felt dizzy. Perhaps it was the anticipation and mystery all at the same time? She wasn’t really thinking now, just observing single words flash before her eyes, as if reading her own thoughts on a piece of paper.

Her hand found his warm hard cock. Fingertips soft against the throbbing, pulsating skin. It was easier for her. His clothing consisted of only two layers and she could quickly create an opening in his fabrics for his cock to break out. She looked down and watched her fingers explore the veiny, velvety surface. She grasped around his cock like someone grasping his sword, tightened her grip as if wanting to know how much pressure she should use to give him pleasure. He gasped for air, letting small words of nonsense out, like if he was murmuring in his sleep, dreaming. She let her fingers run up the cock and noticed the drop of pre cum that had formed at the tip of his cock. with the tip of her index finger she smeared the slippery liquid around the head of the cock. He held his breath

They both knew that their time in this small hut was running out. Soon they had to let go of their lustful world and enter back into reality. Keeping their secrets, sharing, concealing their passion. She let go of his cock and turned around, her face against the murky, cold wall. Leaning slightly forward, lifting her ass, she hoped he would know what to do now. His rested his hands on her hips for a few short seconds, then she sensed him kneeling down and grabbing the hem of her collected kimono layers. With a sound of silk ruffling, strangely loud in the wordless erotic atmosphere of the chilly rice storehouse, her calves, then thighs and finally ass was liberated. The assembled layers of fabrics produced a sensation of weight on her back at the same time as her naked skin gasped in the wintery air. His hand gathered the kimonos in a bunch as if to make sure they would not interfere with their love making. As he did so she could feel his warm cock brushing against the cheeks of her ass. She parted her feet slightly and he parted her labia with a finger. She felt him fumbling, searching for where to go, for a way inside her. For a second the soft skin of the head of his cock pushed slightly against her anus. She trembled. It was a heavenly horny and slightly forbidden feeling. Now all she wanted was him deep inside of her. Nothing else mattered. If someone walked in on them now, she wouldn’t care at all. It was all so worth it. Here and now. Them. Her pussy, His cock. What they shared and their intimacy. Worth dying for. Worth waiting for. The greatest of treasures.

She pushed her ass up slightly letting him know that he should search a little lower for what they both wanted. Finally she felt his cock pressing against her pussy. One of her hands grabbed her ass cheek and spread it. He noticed and grabbed the other one. Together they opened her and suddenly he slipped in. Not all the way. They drew deep breaths of pleasure simultaneously and she pushed her body back as he pushed his loins forward. Slowly he sank into the depths of her. Inside her. The hard cock filled her up and she felt his thighs against hers. She squeezed him, using her muscles like a snake and he let out a loud sound pleasure. They stood together, melted into one single being, for a few seconds. Then she began to slowly moving back and forth inviting him to ride her. At first he was gentle, slow, hands placed on her ass. Soon he began moving a little faster, pushing a bit harder now. She liked it like that. Her face against the wall and his cock fucking her from behind. Harder now. She wanted him to fuck her harder. It wasn’t a matter of her coming. She knew that time and the place didn’t allow for that. But she wanted to feel him. She wanted him to fuck her passionately, forget himself and shoot his hot semen deep into her. He followed her lead, moved his hands to her hips and pulled her firmly against his cock at each stroke. The sound of their thighs smacking against each other, the smell of wet pussy and the air thick with lust made her almost faint. Even if she wouldn’t come she loved it, worshipped the intimacy between them. It was a celebration of their shared trust in each others hearts. 

His voice started to lose coherence. What came out of his mouth was just sounds now, still trying to be quiet but noticeably louder. His fingers was digging into her, pulling her towards him decisively with each thrust as he was climaxing. Suddenly he tensed into one final spasm, hands firm around her waist, her body as close to his as they could possibly be. He didn’t breathe. He was surprisingly quiet as his cum shot straight up into her, his cock convulsing. He collapsed over her back breathing as heavily as she did. She loved him. He loved her. Here and now.”


Three years ran past me before I finally had the inspiration to create the two final prints in the Mirror Series. In between lay other prints that interested me more at the time as well as life happening as surprisingly as it always does. For this print I chose to play with the theme of the famous Kabuki dance Sagi Musume 

Even though the actual Kabuki piece does not contain any apparent erotica, the melancholy beauty that comes across in the Ukiyo-e prints created on this subject did set my romantic/erotic imagination ablaze. As far as erotic or pornographic versions within Ukiyo-e there are numerous examples in the Shunga genre for the one that knows what to look for when deciphering  their subject matter and composition.

I choose  to leave you this time with a video showing the famous Kabuki actor Tamasaburo performing the dance.

Buy this print. For more on how my erotic mind works please go here


“Summer”. New Edition.

“Summer”. New Edition.

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The Shunga Kabuki print “Summer” is re-designed and released in a strictly limited edition of 15 copies in collaboration with Lan’s Gallery in Hong Kong.


Oban size (25,4 x 38 cm)
New Limited Edition of 15 prints.
Created June-August 2013

After successfully completing two Shunga prints showing vaginas (females) reflected in mirrors, I felt it was time for a portrait of an erect cock (male). There was a number of reasons for this being the third in the series. I have always had difficulties adapting to any type of norm or stereotype and when creating erotica or pornography I feel this is even more important.

The poem I have chosen for this print is written by Matsuo Bashō (1644 – 1694) and it reads;

fuji no kaze

ogi ni nosete

edo miyage

Translated into english it becomes;

A breeze from Fuji

transported on a fan – an

Edo souvenir.

During the Edo period in Japan (1603-1868) the phenomenon of Kabuki theatre evolved to become the most highly celebrated form of entertainment for the commoners of Edo society. Kabuki plays did not only serve as a source of excitement, suspense, romance and adventure. It also boasted extravagant sets, lavish clothing and breathtaking effects. The actors were superstars and Ukiyo-e prints portraying scenes and their all male cast (by law women were prohibited to act in Kabuki). All the while many of you may have heard or read about Kabuki, maybe fewer of you know that some actors also doubled as prostitutes. Actors were solicited by men and women alike and as Edo society did not share the stigma cast upon homosexuality or same sex encounters as its western Christian counterparts did, this dressed my Shunga print in a most wonderful kimono of ambiguity. In my imagination the Edo souvenir brought home is the memory of a night of sexual passion with the actor reflected in the mirror.

The actor lustfully presenting his erect and hard cock in my print is Ishikawa Danjūrō in the role of Danshichi Kurobê. Who Is the person admiring and longing to touch and fondle this warm and bulging cock? Only you yourself can answer this question. This image has no heterosexual code attached to it. Everyone is invited to fantasize and take pleasure from it.

In the west we typically classify sexual and erotic encounters as heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual etc. Is gender always equal to sexual desires? When I think about heterosexuality I don’t think first and foremost about fucking. I think about who attracts me. I think about love. Sex comes after that. Shouldn’t the same thinking apply to homosexuality? Normally, when these topics comes up people only talks about who fucks who. Emotions and matters of the heart are as always hopelessly absent. Does same sex encounters always mean homosexuality? How come it’s such a norm for heterosexual men to fantasize about watching two women having sex and why does this desire never include watching two men doing the same? Or does it?

I have found that most men stick to the safe cards when it comes to talking to both men and women about their innermost desires. Within the male hierarchy there is a tremendous fear of being judged as weak or different. So much better to be silent and just swim along with all the other fishes. Perhaps I am generalizing. In that case it’s a reaction to decades of being among men where almost no one dares not to be a “man”. If you would ask me about my sexual or rather emotional orientation, I would in lack of a better word call myself heterosexual. And yes, I have sometimes fantasized about sex with men.

In the gender stereotypical portrayal of us, everyone is a loser. Even the individuals and/or cultural structures that silently dictates for us what we are.


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“Autumn”. New Edition.

“Autumn”. New Edition.

shunga print, haiku, snake tattoo, senju, horimatsu, shunga, erotic, erotica, japanese, japan, umeå, sweden, porn, pornography, pussy, vagina, mirror, snake tattoo, irezumi, japanese tattoo

Shunga Print “Autumn”. New and re-designed edition of 15 copies in collaboration with Lan’s Gallery in Hong Kong.


Oban size (25,4 x 38 cm)
New Limited Edition of 15 prints.
Created June-August 2013

The Image

This erotic print portrays a woman of maturity. To me this is a highly erotic scene and one of my personal favorites. She has a snake tattooed across her thighs in the traditional Japanese way (Irezumi) suggesting self reliance and a strong, calm personality. In the reflection of her mirror she poses without any shame. presenting you with an uncompromising yet relaxed view of her pussy.  She tells me her stories with confidence, of knowing her heart’s desires and how she is no others property.

If you want to become close and enter her world you have  to reveal your true heart and in doing so be prepared to share intimacy, not only of her bed but also of your true inner self. What you as a viewer give is what you will receive. This is a daunting task perhaps, nevertheless one full of treasure. Not only will you find sublime pleasure but the viewer will also her or him self. Only through undisclosed honesty and deep compassion will you taste her sweetness and experience true passion.

The Poem

For this print I have chosen a Haiku poem by Masaoka Shiki.

Ki giku shira giku

hito moto wa aka mo


In english we can read these words,

Yellow mums, white mums –

as for me, I crave a red

chrysanthemum too!

In Edo period Shunga, the Kiku (chrysanthemum) is often used as a metaphor for the anus as a point of pleasurable penetration and stimulation. Though this flower is more commonly used as a reference to Nanshoku, same sex love in-between men, I have nevertheless chosen to use it in my Shunga print as a reference to anal pleasure in a heterosexual context. In consciously doing so I am in no way trying to label the woman in the Shunga print or any prospective viewer as hetero. Since my erotic work flows from my own personal imagination and erotic fantasies this is simply the way I was thinking at the tie of creating this image. You as a viewer are completely free to attach your own lustful fantasies to any of my works. So much better if you do!

As a victim of this fast spinning, media consuming digital world of today, human sexuality and eroticism has become sadly attached to the physical and the surface. Lust seems to belong to the young and the physically perfected. As if the Intimate is something that can be achieved through perfecting certain sexual  skills and using almost theatrical performances mimicking the shallow nonsense presented as pornography on the glowing screens of an increasingly detached generation of human beings. If you search communities like Pinterest using the keyword “erotic” you will consequently be presented with a seemingly  endless stream of images showing young women with “perfect” bodies posing for the eyes of men who do not dare to explore their deeper emotions.

Still I don’t want extend blame on individual human beings in this. They are all victims of being exposed to a dangerously streamlined ideal of sexuality and the human body. Furthermore, it is the culture of not questioning the gender structure in our societies and communities that is perhaps the largest single issue regarding this irritating status quo regarding sexuality and its portrayal. In conclusion; if you don’t know your true inner self, how can you claim to know anything at all?

One of the driving forces behind my artistic urge to create Shunga prints and erotica is the idea that I can perhaps change peoples perceptions regarding the sexual, the intimate, the lustful as well as themselves. I hope that I can continue to create art that will support this idea of grasping the heart and the human reality we seem to miss out on so much and in doing so I also hope to create images that are erotic, playful, horny and simply more compassionate pornographic.



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“Spring”. New edition.

“Spring”. New edition.

senju, horimatsu, shunga, erotic, erotica, japanese, japan, umeå, sweden, porn, pornography, sakura, pussy, cherry blossom, irezumi, japanese tattoo, japanese porn

“Spring”. A new and re-designed edition in collaboration with Lan´s Gallery in Hong Kong


Oban size (25,4 x 38 cm)
New Limited Edition of 15 prints.
Created June-August 2013
This print is the was the first in an intended series of five portraits. The idea came to me after a seeing some Edo period (1603-1868) woodblock prints depicting close-ups of vaginas reflected in Kagami (Japanese old style polished bronze mirrors). My intention was to couple each design with a famous Haiku poem and since this form of poetry traditionally revolves (at least superficially) around the Japanese traditional seasons – spring, summer, autumn, winter and the New Year, I did imagine a logical flux through them.There was to be both female prints as well as male ones and the fifth showing the two coming together (the New Year).
Initially I struggled for a long time, alway incorporating to much information into the designs and after several months of anxious painting and repeatedly throwing everything but the centerpiece away, I finally arrived at a format I was content with. My background as a traditional Japanese tattoo artist probably clashed with the subtleties I was aiming for and the creative process proved to be painful and tedious until the first breakthrough was accomplished. I was simply “tattooing” the prints and much of the eroticism and plain horniness was drowned in arrays of flowers and other overly obvious additions

For this print I chose a poem by Buson (1715-1783). I stumbled across it when looking through one of the several Haiku books in my modest but to the point library that serves as some sort of a backbone for most of my creative projects.
When I first started flirting with the Japanese arts I collected books on the subject from floor to ceiling. It was a necessity as well as an obsession of mine. I read them all from cover to cover, full of feverish hunger and a burning desire to learn and somehow become initiated. I understood that I knew nothing and I also hoped that I could learn something. For a brief period I transformed one of the rooms of our small house into a library. It was a dream I had nourished since a young boy and I was filled with pride as I arranged the volumes on Zen, Kabuki, Haiku and Ukiyo-e on their designated shelves. And there they also remained. Until I suddenly sold most of them to colleagues and friends.
I had come to the realization that my hardbound treasures reminded me more of old dusty bones piled along the walls of some catacomb somewhere beneath a decaying old city. I understood that once they were read they served no purpose to me and could instead benefit a new owner. Perhaps someone that was more in need of their printed secrets. Also I needed money in order to constantly return to Japan.
As the years have accumulated on top of that realization I have also understood that I am perhaps a somewhat impulsive and rash nature and that some books can actually become a part of you, so I have started collecting again. This time I am desperatly trying to limit myself to jus a few bookcases and if I find a new book, one of the old ones has to move out. I hope this will in the end polish my reference library into a sharp and skilled blade.
The Haiku on the print reads;
hana chirite
ko no ma no tera to
nari ni keri
which in english becomes;
Cherry blooms are falling –
and now between the trees,
a temple appears.

Buson 1715-1783

I believe my print fits the words perfectly. I used the traditional Irezumi (traditional Japanese tattoo) pattern of Sakura Fubuki (winter cherry blossoms) and as far as the temple goes I think the design works splendidly.
I worked hard to paint a vagina that was exiting and at the same time sweet and lovely. Something that would make you almost fall in love . Or at least make your heart beat faster. It is supposed to be a portrait of somebody and I didn’t want this intimate close-up to be just “porn”, like the images you would find almost everywhere on the internet these days. That type of pornography seems to me contrived and decieving and has not so much to do with being lustful or horny as it has to do with basic reations to visual stimuli. In short, it doesn’t turn me on intellectually or emotionally. What is today labeled pornography is shallow and void and if you have had really real sex you know what I am talking about. The heart has to be in it.