Rain as a State of Mind in Japanese Ukiyo-e Art

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

In the rain, we are as we are when no one is watching

The steady, rhythmic murmur of rain... The dark evening sky is illuminated only by the pale outlines of paulownia trees — their leaves hang heavy with moisture, and a gentle light seeps through the curtain of rain. Below the line of the hillside, the air brightens — the dark blue fades into a pale veil, as if countless raindrops scatter the light in a vertical mist, softly spreading over the damp earth. In Paulownia Trees at Akasaka in the Evening by Utagawa Hiroshige II, the rain is not the background — it leads the narrative. The droplets fall almost vertically, steadily and unhurriedly, creating a landscape of peace suspended between a busy day and motionless night. This is rain that does not frighten, but soothes. A few people make their way home at their own pace. Their presence is gentle, almost apologetic toward nature. This image, like many rainy ukiyo-e, transports us not so much into a geographical space, but into an interior state of spirit — into the melancholic weather of the mind.

Rain in Japanese art has never been merely water. In ukiyo-e, it became what wind is in haiku — a carrier of emotion, transience, and fleeting moments. Artists such as Hiroshige, Kiyonaga, Hasui, Koitsu, or Hiroshige II could turn rain into a fully fledged protagonist: at times gentle and nostalgic, at others sudden and unpredictable. In the shadows of umbrellas and beneath straw cloaks, between reflections in puddles and streaks across the sky, the poetry of image was born. Rain reminded one that every moment — like itself — comes and goes, leaving behind only the trace of a mood. The sensitivity of Japanese aesthetics — mono no aware, wabi-sabi, a deep acceptance of impermanence and imperfection — finds in rain its perfect form of expression.

In today’s article, we will take a closer look at the motif of rain in ukiyo-e art, delving into seven exceptional woodblock prints where rain plays the lead — as a phenomenon, a symbol, and an emotion. We will examine the techniques that allowed artists to capture something as ephemeral as falling drops of water. We will pause before landscapes and faces hidden under umbrellas, to understand why it was precisely rain — quiet, gentle, elusive — that so often painted the moods of the fleeting world of Japan’s Edo-period “pictures of the floating world.”

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

Ukiyo-e – “The Floating World”

Rain quietly trickles down the leaves of the paulownia, and with it — a thought arises. In Japanese art, and especially in ukiyo-e woodblock prints, every natural phenomenon is not merely a backdrop, but a bearer of philosophy. The very term ukiyo (浮世) holds a dual identity — and this ambivalence is the key to understanding the aesthetics of the “pictures of the floating world.” Traditionally, it was written as 憂き世 — “the sorrowful world,” “the world of suffering” — in line with the Buddhist understanding of life as a cycle of birth and impermanence (mujo). But in the Edo period (1603–1868), with the rise of the merchant class and its urban culture, the term gained a new writing: 浮世 — “the floating world,” light, momentary, fleeting — like, to paraphrase Asai Ryōi, a gourd drifting down a river. This world did not deny suffering but chose to live “in spite of it”: in song, in sake, in conversation, in the dance of the geisha, in kabuki theatre, and in the gaze cast upon a raindrop falling from a pine branch. Ukiyo-e — “pictures of the floating world” — were not an escape from transience, but its celebration.

Edo — today’s Tokyo — pulsed with life as the world’s largest metropolis in the 19th century, yet it was also full of the rhythm of seasons, rivers, hills, temples, and silence under the evening rain. In cities where daimyō (feudal lords) were required to reside every other year at the shogun’s court, and where the Tōkaidō and Kisokaidō roads bustled with travelers, merchants, and pilgrims, a new aesthetics of everyday life was born. Ukiyo-e ceased to be solely about courtesans and actors — artists like Utagawa Hiroshige and Katsushika Hokusai introduced landscapes, weather, and ordinariness. Famous cycles were created, such as The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō (more about this series here: "The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tōkaidō" by Hiroshige – The Journey Is Not the Destination, but What We Pass Along the Way), One Hundred Famous Views of Edo, Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji. But this was not merely topography — it was a state of spirit, a reflection of the moment. Woodblock prints in the Edo period became not only art for contemplation but art for life: bought for a few coins, hung on walls, traded, collected. Hiroshige’s images were like diaries of emotion — not of the day, but of the weather, mood, light, the scent of the street after rain.

In the world of ukiyo-e, weather was not just a backdrop — it was the protagonist. And rain, in particular, became the deepest symbol: a silent language of impermanence. In Japanese culture, rain was not merely a meteorological event, but an existential state. It had dozens of names — shigure (a fleeting winter shower), kirisame (mist-like drizzle), harusame (spring rain), yūdachi (sudden evening downpour) — each carried its own temperature, mood, metaphor. In ukiyo-e prints, rain was expressed through vertical streaks, subtle bokashi — gradient shading — blurred contours, and the presence of figures hunched beneath umbrellas. Rain did not interrupt life — it resonated with it. It taught attentiveness. It deepened solitude or brought closer those who shared one roof. It was that which passes — but also that which connects people and the world.

In the rain of ukiyo-e, we do not merely see the landscape of Japan. We see the very essence of ukiyo — the world that flows.

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

Rain is...

Rain is Emotion

In the world of ukiyo-e, rain never falls by accident. It is not a meteorological event but a philosophical one. It slips across paper like deep silence through the mind — sometimes sudden, other times stretched in time, yet always carrying a certain truth about existence. In the images of Hiroshige, Kiyonaga, Hasui, or Koitsu, rain symbolizes solitude, contemplation, and the inevitability of impermanence, in line with the aesthetic of mono no aware — a deep, gentle melancholy toward the transient world. The drops, stretched into vertical lines, divide the space of the image like threads of time — uniting sky and earth, placing the human somewhere in between, suspended between a moment and eternity.

It is no coincidence that Hiroshige turned to the motif of rain during the years when Edo faced rapid changes — natural disasters, epidemics, and later the opening of the country to the world after 1853, altered the pulse of Japan. Perhaps his most famous work: Sudden Shower over Shin-Ōhashi Bridge and Atake (大はしあたけの夕立) from 1857 is not just a view of a bridge and torrential rain — it is a story of a world slipping away beneath one's feet. People on the bridge are surprised by the downpour, sheltering under umbrellas, clinging to one another — but there is no panic, just acceptance, silent acquiescence. This image — like many rainy ukiyo-e — portrays not the weather outside, but the weather within. Rain becomes an emotional state — a moment when thoughts need not be spoken aloud, because the drops speak for us.

Rain is Power

The human figure in ukiyo-e does not stand in the foreground. They are a passerby, a wanderer, sometimes a faint silhouette in the distance, carried by the rain just like leaves, birds, and light. It is not the human who rules the landscape — rather, they learn humility within it. In many woodblock prints by Hiroshige or Hasui, the figures are tiny, often turned away, absorbed into the scenery. In Night Rain at Karasaki (唐崎の夜雨, c. 1835), we see only a monumental tree and streaks of rain flowing across the sky — the human presence is nearly invisible, as if the artist were suggesting that in the face of nature, one becomes silent, insignificant in the scale of eternity.

This attitude is rooted in one of the core traits of Japanese spirituality: harmony with nature, not dominance over it. The human is part of the landscape, not its master. In the Edo period, people traveled increasingly — not only samurai, but also townsfolk, merchants, pilgrims. Woodblock prints depicted solitary figures on the road in the rain, with umbrellas, in straw cloaks. They did not tell the story of someone specific — but of all of us. Of the journey through life.

Rain is us...

The deeper we gaze into rain-filled ukiyo-e, the clearer it becomes that rain does not speak to us of weather, but of the inner realm of human experience. Rain does not always change the world—it often changes the way we look at the world. In Rain at Kiyomizu Temple (清水寺の雨) from 1921, we see a lone figure standing on a veranda, gazing into the distance. It is an image of silence. We do not know what the figure is thinking, but we know it is the rain that has stilled them, ushered them into this moment of mindfulness. Here, rain becomes a tool of meditation.

In the world of ukiyo-e, rain strips us of our roles. We are no longer warriors, poets, or merchants—we are merely human. Drop by drop, the rain washes away what is unnecessary. It leaves only what is real: a glance, a gesture, the rhythm of breath. It teaches us that impermanence does not have to be fear—it can be peace. That solitude is not emptiness—but space to listen to oneself. And that even the most ordinary moment, like a drop falling from an eave, can become an image that outlives the centuries (truly—for instance, over a thousand years ago, in Heian-kyō, it rained one day—and we still read about it today—in the poetry of Sei Shōnagon, A Lesson with Sei Shōnagon: How to Pause Our Gray Everyday Life, Look at It and Enchant It?).

In the rain of ukiyo-e, we recognize something of our own lives. That moment of stillness when the world quiets. That acceptance that not everything needs to be understood—it is enough to be. Beneath an umbrella. In calm. With eyes open to all that passes.

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

Sudden Shower over Shin-Ōhashi Bridge and Atake

大はしあたけの夕立

Ōhashi Atake no yūdachi

– Utagawa Hiroshige, 1857,

series One Hundred Famous Views of Edo

This is perhaps the most famous ukiyo-e print, second only to Hokusai’s Great Wave off Kanagawa. In this iconic composition, Hiroshige presents a segment of the Shin-Ōhashi Bridge stretching over the Sumida River during a sudden evening downpour. The figures crossing the bridge are hunched, shielding themselves with straw raincoats and umbrellas, running, shrinking their shoulders—each reacting differently, yet united in the shared response to nature’s force. In the background, a raftman alone guides his boat, while behind him looms the misty, indistinct outline of the Atake district. The rain falls diagonally in two overlapping layers of lines, cutting across the image like veils—creating an effect of vibrating motion and optical tension.

Artistically, this woodblock print is considered one of Hiroshige’s greatest technical achievements. The rain is not merely a backdrop—it is physically present, almost audible. The lines of rain were carved into separate woodblocks and then printed at varying angles to achieve a layered sense of transparency and density. The bokashi technique—gradated color shading—was also used to depict the dark clouds and shifting light on the river. The composition lacks a central focal point—everything is movement, unease, a suspended moment. It is a masterpiece of ukiyo-e that inspired Van Gogh to create his own version (more on Van Gogh’s fascination with Japanese ukiyo-e here: What if the restless spirit of Europe encountered the world of mono no aware in Japanese ukiyo-e? Van Gogh and Hiroshige).

On a philosophical level, Hiroshige presents a meeting between civilization and the unstoppable force of nature. The bridge, boats, clothing, people—all these represent development, order, the rhythm of daily life. But rain—sudden, sharp, uninvited—disrupts that order, bringing chaos and humility. No one is prepared. Everyone is alone, even in a crowd. The umbrella does not protect against the awareness of impermanence—it rather reminds us that everything we build is fragile before the passing whim of the sky. In this brief fraction of a second captured on paper lies the entire drama of existence: motion, surprise, reaction, and acceptance of what is inevitable.

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

Rain at Kiyomizu Temple

清水寺の雨

Kiyomizudera no ame

– Hasui Kawase,

1921, series Souvenirs of Travels II

In this melancholic print from 1921, Hasui depicts the terrace of the famous Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto during a gentle summer shower. The scene unfolds in semidarkness—the sky shrouded in grey, the stone floor glistening with moisture, and a solitary figure standing at the balustrade, gazing at the distant horizon. The entire composition radiates peace and silence—as if the sound of dripping rain were the only sound in the world. There are no superfluous details; the softness of the lines and the cool color palette serve a mood of contemplation, of time suspended.

Artistically, Rain at Kiyomizu Temple is a prime example of the shin-hanga style—a movement that revived traditional woodblock techniques infused with Western realism. Hasui uses subtle tonal transitions to create a deep atmospheric effect. Though the composition is sparse, every element—from the blurred contours of the landscape to the balanced presence of a single figure—builds a deep emotional tension. Hasui does not use dramatic rain lines like Hiroshige—his rain is present in the mood.

Philosophically, this print reveals a meeting between Eastern spirituality and Western introspection. The solitary figure at the balustrade, indistinct, embodies a state of inner focus. We do not know who they are, but we know their silence resonates with the space around them. The temple, a symbol of eternity, meets here with rain—a symbol of impermanence. The person does not dominate the landscape but seeks a reflection of themselves within it. Hasui—like the Impressionists who inspired him—portrays the world not as it is, but as it is felt. This image does not depict an event—but a state of mind, where melancholy and serenity do not exclude each other, but coexist. Like every drop that falls and vanishes—leaving behind only the faintest trace.

Three Women in the Rain

雨中の三美人

Uchū no san bijin

– Torii Kiyonaga,

1783, series Fūzoku Azuma no nishiki

In this delicate woodblock print, we see three women passing each other in the street during a gentle rain. Clad in elegant kimonos of soft hues and refined patterns, each holds a paper umbrella—slightly tilted, as if adjusting to the direction of the falling drops. The scene plays out in a gentle half-profile, with the women placed at the center of the composition against a neutral backdrop suggesting a city street. Their faces, slender silhouettes, and gestures are captured with remarkable tenderness—they are like drops of the same rainy moment, brought together for the briefest second.

Artistically, Torii Kiyonaga demonstrates the mastery of his school in portraying feminine beauty (bijinga). The lines are fluid, the contours measured, and the composition harmonious. The women’s bodies are arranged almost like a dance in space—no figure dominates, all are equal, as if participating in a quiet conversational dance, audible only between the drops. The rain is suggested subtly, without drama—this is not a downpour, but a soft veil of moisture enhancing the shine of their hair and the luster of silk. Kiyonaga does not use the dramatic linear effect seen in Hiroshige’s works—his rain exists through atmosphere, gestures, bowed heads.

This image speaks of the coexistence of transience, femininity, and nature. Unlike later landscapes by Hiroshige, where the human often vanishes in the shadow of scenery, in Kiyonaga’s work, the woman’s body and soul remain central—not apart from nature, but immersed in it. Here, rain is a metaphor for the moment—that one conversation, that one glance that happens between two journeys. In the world of ukiyo—the “floating world”—the woman is not a symbol of passion, but of tenderness toward the world, of the capacity to be present in what cannot be grasped. In Three Women in the Rain, the rain does not divide but unites—forming, with figures and landscape, one fluid composition of being.

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

Spring Rain in Tsuchiyama

土山春之雨

Tsuchiyama haru no ame

– Utagawa Hiroshige,

1834–35, series The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō

In this dynamic woodblock print, Hiroshige depicts travelers crossing a bridge in Tsuchiyama—one of the stations on the Tōkaidō trade and pilgrimage route. The scene is drenched in sheets of spring rain, falling diagonally to form a dense curtain. A group of people ascends the wooden structure of the bridge, partially disappearing beneath their coverings and straw cloaks. In the background, a forest dissolves into the mist, and the rushing current beneath the bridge evokes a sense of unease. It is a moment of tension—not of climax, but of enduring the heart of the element that places humans face-to-face with the power of nature.

Artistically, Hiroshige plays here with the intensity of rhythm—rain is not a gentle background, but the principal actor of the composition. The lines of raindrops are rendered with precision, in multiple layers, to convey spatial depth and the violence of the downpour. The bridge is presented at a diagonal angle, amplifying the sense of difficulty and ascent—both physical and symbolic. The travelers’ garments draw the eye with their color, contrasting against the cool palette of the landscape. This image is dramatic but not theatrical—Hiroshige paints everyday life under the pressure of nature, not with heroism, but with great attention to detail.

Spring Rain in Tsuchiyama speaks of the human relationship with the elements—not of battle, but of the necessity to cross. A bridge in Japanese art is never just a structure—it is a metaphor for transformation, for crossing from a known world into a new, uncertain one. The downpour symbolizes both an obstacle and purification, but also a trial. The figures are small in the face of nature, yet not powerless—they move forward, inch by inch. This print reminds us that life is not a series of pauses at beautiful vistas, but a journey through shifting conditions, through streams of rain, across landscapes of uncertainty. Hiroshige does not depict merely a landscape—he reveals a state of existence, in which each of us, as travelers, must pass through something greater than ourselves.

Rain Over Kōfuku-ji Temple

興福寺の雨

Kōfukuji no ame

– Tsuchiya Kōitsu,

ca. 1937, independent print

In this atmospheric print, Kōitsu presents Kōfuku-ji Temple in Nara—one of Japan’s oldest and most important Buddhist temples—during a rainstorm, seen from a certain distance. Before us lies a tranquil mirror of water, pierced by vertical streaks of rain that softly blur the landscape’s contours. The pagoda emerges from behind trees, enveloped in a milky moisture, as if it belongs not to this world but to a realm of memories or dreams. The branches of a weeping willow bow toward the earth, as if in silent reverence for the place and the moment. A human figure appears only as a fleeting, small shadow—it is not the person who matters here, but the space, which remembers more than one lifetime.

Artistically, Kōitsu continues the legacy of the ukiyo-e masters, blending it with Western chiaroscuro techniques. He employs delicate tonal transitions—bokashi—to capture the softness of rainy mist and light that has no clear source but permeates everything. The rain does not fall here in dynamic lines, as in Hiroshige—it floats in the air, hangs within it, settles on the leaves, enters the very body of the image. The reflection in the water’s surface is equal in size to the world it mirrors—the pagoda, the trees, the shoreline—and is not merely a backdrop or ornament. It is an equal element, a second layer of reality—reversed, but just as real. It is no illusion, but an echo of being. Rain here is not only visible—it shapes the space, penetrates it, reflects it, blurs it, and unites everything into one moist whole: image, reflection, and the fragile moment in between.

Rain Over Kōfuku-ji Temple touches upon the theme of memory of place and of spirituality rooted not in grand gestures but in quiet persistence. This pagoda has witnessed the fall of clans, fires, epidemics, military triumphs and defeats, and finally—modernity. And yet it still stands—in the rain, which falls on everything alike: on rooftops, on water, on stones, on people and on gods. Kōitsu does not show rain as a trial, challenge, or dramatic moment—but as an act of gentle equality, reminding us that everything—we and the world alike—is subject to the same laws of change and passage of time. In this sense, the image becomes a meditation on enduring within impermanence, on a place that bears witness rather than participation

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

View of Rain Over Shin-Ōhashi Bridge in Tokyo

東京新大橋雨中之図

Tōkyō Shin-Ōhashi uchū no zu

– Kobayashi Kiyochika, 1876

In this late work of the ukiyo-e tradition, Kobayashi Kiyochika depicts a scene of intense rain over the Shin-Ōhashi Bridge, one of the symbols of modern Tokyo (no longer Edo) during the Meiji era. The composition centers on the dark arch of the bridge stretching across the Sumida River, beneath a heavy sky. A single figure, dressed in traditional attire, strides briskly under an umbrella. To the right—outlines of the city’s modern architecture; to the left—a dark river surface. Above it looms the powerful, modern bridge, with distant, barely discernible silhouettes of people walking beneath umbrellas.

Technically, this work is a brilliant example of the kōsenga style—“prints of light and shadow.” Kiyochika, influenced by Western painting and photography, experimented with dramatic contrasts of light, deep shadows, twilight effects, and atmospheric interplay of rain. He does not use the bright colors typical of earlier ukiyo-e—rather, he works with subtle gradations of greys, blacks, and reflections of light. The bridge, the lights, and shadows form a web of meaning—a space dominated by the elements, but also infused with modernity.

This scene speaks of the individual in the city, in a world that is changing rapidly. Unlike Hiroshige’s calm rains of the Edo period, here the rain becomes a symbol of transition—not only across the bridge, but across time, across epochs, across identity. The space of the bridge connects the old world of Edo with the new world of Meiji—industrial, Westernized, full of dynamism and anonymity. People are no longer figures immersed in nature but shadows within the structure of the city. Rain blurs not only contours—it blurs certainty about who we are. This image asks: in this new world, are we still ourselves, or merely passersby between one era and another?

Conclusion

Rain in ukiyo-e does not speak of water. It speaks of us—as we are when no one is watching. When we are silent beneath an umbrella, with our faces turned to the ground. Of us—suspended in time, helpless before forces beyond our power to resist: impermanence, solitude, change. The rhythm of rain is gentle, yet relentless. Drop by drop, it reminds us that everything flows—that our lives too share the same structure of those fine, translucent lines seen across the surfaces of “rainy” ukiyo-e.

Each of the images we explored today captures a moment. But it is only an illusion—for rain never stops. It is the afterimage of persistence, the presence of what is already vanishing. What is soft and fleeting becomes, in these works, a force—not heroic, but existential. Can we accept life as it is—blurred, inconsistent, sometimes cold and without answers? Are we ready to listen to what the world tells us—not in shouts, but in the silence between the drops?

Perhaps the rain, so patiently carved into woodblocks by print artists, is not an external landscape at all. Perhaps it is our own inner world—bare and true—when the lights disappear, when the city’s noise fades, and only one sound remains: the steady dripping…

An essay on the motif of rain in Japanese ukiyo-e art – how rain portrayed states of mind in Edo, such as mono no aware. - separator

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