December 13 is when winter is no longer a “season” in theory—it’s the air on your fingertips. The room dries out. Light turns slanted and quiet. Black ink looks deeper, and every wobble in a line shows up without mercy.
I began studying calligraphy in 1950, and I’ve spent a lifetime refining not only my characters, but my relationship with tools: the fundamentals and spirit I learned under Takako Oishi, the historical and theoretical lens from Kasumura Masuda, and the discipline of seal engraving passed down through Kozo Yasuda. In winter, I return to first principles: brush, ink, inkstone, paper—then silence.
This column is about one brush that makes the idea of “value” impossible to ignore: Bunshindō Hata Seihitsusho’s “Shikōhin Gikō Baika” (至高品 義巧梅花), listed at ¥1,650,000 (tax included) on the maker’s official store.
I’m calling it Japan’s highest publicly listed calligraphy brush price I could verify online, because there may be private commissions or non-public transactions beyond what’s displayed on the open web—but this one is unusually transparent, both in price and in reasons.
What makes it “the most expensive” in a verifiable way
On the official product page, “Shikōhin Gikō Baika” is clearly positioned as a one-of-a-kind brush (一点もの), intended for Kanji and large-scale works (小字数・大作), with its price explicitly shown.
Separately, the same item appears on the Japanese “furusato” (hometown tax donation) platform with a donation amount of ¥5,500,000.
That figure is not a retail price—and I won’t pretend it is. But its presence matters culturally: a calligraphy brush has become a civic-level “craft treasure” that people can choose as a form of support.
So, to be precise:
- Retail price (official store listing): ¥1,650,000
- Furusato donation amount (different system, different meaning): ¥5,500,000
Why it costs ¥1,650,000: hair, time, and control of “dryness”
When people hear “luxury brush,” they often imagine decoration first. But the maker’s own explanation begins where true shodo begins: hair quality and how it behaves in ink.
The page states that extremely fine, rare hair is used, resulting in more hairs than ordinary brushes, excellent ink-holding, and the ability to express a beautiful contrast of density and sparsity in controlled “dry brush” texture.
Even more striking is the timeline: the hair is described as being selected from stock aged since 1970 .
This is not marketing fluff—it’s a statement about time as a material. In winter, when paper and air are dry, a brush that can carry ink steadily while still releasing controlled texture becomes a different creature in the hand.
The handle is not “ornament”—it’s Japanese culture, engineered
Yes, the handle matters. But not in a superficial way.
The maker’s official description says the handle’s maki-e lacquer art was created by Keiji Kishimoto, an artist recognized with the Commissioner for Cultural Affairs Award .
It also explains the technique: a pattern is hand-painted in black lacquer, then gold is sprinkled and fixed before the lacquer dries—an advanced method that is increasingly difficult to achieve at this level today.
And then there’s a detail that reveals how seriously “one-of-a-kind” is meant: the daruma and tail-end are made from Dutch water buffalo horn, explicitly noted as ensuring no two are the same.
This is where Japanese culture and tool-making stop being separate topics. A brush becomes both an instrument and a cultural artifact.
Winter is the best season to understand what this brush is for
If you want seasonal realism on December 13, it’s this:
- Your hands cool faster.
- Your breathing becomes shallow without noticing.
- Your room’s humidity drops.
- Paper “drinks” differently.
- Black ink looks sharper under slanted light.
Winter removes your excuses. If your line is unstable, it shows. If your ink is uneven, it shows. If your brush can’t hold ink or return to shape, it shows.
The official listing includes the brush’s size: hair bundle 27mm × 155mm, total length 517mm (noting natural bamboo variance).
This scale is meant for works where a single line must travel with authority—exactly the kind of line winter exposes.
And there’s also a practical instruction that seasoned writers recognize immediately: use solid ink rather than bottled ink.
That’s not snobbery—it’s about consistency, friction, and control of ink density, especially in dry air.
A reality check: there are other “million-yen class” brushes—so what’s different?
To understand “highest,” you need a reference frame.
Machida Shōundō’s “Muryōju” , an ultra-high-end pure wool brush, is listed with a range that reaches ¥1,100,000 (tax included) on its category page.
Their blog also shows price points up to ¥1,000,000 (before tax) for large sizes in a posted table.
So Japan does have a visible “million-yen tier.” The reason “Gikō Baika” stands out is not only that it crosses above that tier at retail, but that the maker openly documents why: aged hair stock, performance claims about ink retention and controlled texture, award-level maki-e, horn components, and the “one-of-one” premise.
Modern culture: the luxury brush as a story people want to share
This is where a Japanese artist meets modern attention.
People share tools today the way they share watches, fountain pens, or handmade knives: not because the tool alone creates mastery, but because it carries a story of craft, time, and human standards.
A brush like this becomes a bridge between:
- shodo japanese calligraphy (practice),
- sumi e (ink sensitivity and texture),
- japan and culture (craft heritage),
- and the contemporary idea of “collectible tools” that are meant to be used, not only displayed.
But here’s my most honest winter takeaway:
A ¥1,650,000 brush will not give you a good line.
It will only remove the last excuse—and ask whether your hand, breath, and mind are ready for the line you want.
That question is worth asking on December 13.
deepens your connection to Japanese tradition.
Explore and purchase hand-selected Japanese calligraphy artworks:
https://calligraphyartwork.stores.jp/
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