The silent rebellion of wood and blade-a craft where artisans carved permanence from impermanence. From Edo's clamor to Koson's frostbitten crows, it maps how hands once turned cherrywood into constellations. Here, error is exalted: a smudged margin, a splintered line-testaments to the human pulse behind precision.

The Carver's Creed

What hands split the atom of the tree?

Who taught the crow to laugh in ink?

In every block, a wingèd seed,

A wound that blooms, a breath made deed.

The chisel's hymn, the press's vow-

To carve is to surrender; to print is to bow.

Inquiry:

Why cling to the tremor of a blade in a world of ultraviolet light?

The Answer:

Because the heron's smudged flight outlives the machine's night.