Lacquer is beautiful. It is a unique and rare product of a sumptuous, almost decadent society. Appreciate it firstly for its beauty and rarity, but let it lead you further, into the fascinating mazes of an exotic culture.

As no object of art evolves but from the time and culture in which it is set, an understanding of the historical and sociological milieux of an art form always adds to one's overall appreciation of an individual piece. for although appreciation of art is perhaps primarily aesthetic, form this first level we may choose to move to others less obvious and in doing so, ultimately approach the role of the true connoisseur.

Although introduced by the Chinese, it was the Japanese who developed the art of lacquer into the sprinkled picture, a form which despite many visits to Japanese workshops, the Chinese never mastered, and one which remains uniquely Japanese.

In Japan as early as 600 A.D., raw lacquer was accepted in lieu of taxes and specially commissioned pieces were presented as gifts and rewards. Emperor Mommu Tenno decreed the compulsory planting of lacquer trees. Its earliest applications were in architecture and religious objects. The earliest piece of lacquer to be dated with any degree of accuracy is the famous Tamamushi Shrine from the 7th Century AD, so called because of the use of the colourful wings of the Tamamushi beetle. There is, however, still some academic debate as to whether the shrine is Japanese or Korean.

Japanese lacquer is a tree sap taken from the branches of the Rhus Vernicefera, or lac tree, indigenous to the East, in a manner similar to that of rubber latex. To be suitable for application as art lacquer, the tree must be at least 500 years old! Different qualities of lacquer are to be found in different parts of the tree. In its original state, lacquer is an ugly, grey, viscous, intractable material which, through laborious refining, careful colouring and painstaking application and polishing, is transformed in the hands of a master into a vibrant, glowing, three-dimensional work of art.

This gold box is a suzuribako, or writing box, used in the practice of calligraphy and is thus associated with one of the oldest and most venerated of the Oriental arts. It contains an inkstone, a water dropper and brush rests. Originally it would have also held a variety of fine hair brushes in individual lacquer containers. This piece is rare in several aspects: its relatively small size of 12.5 cm x 14.5 cm (suzuribako re normally 27 cm x 24 cm); its attractive, irregular shape (suzuribako are normally almost square and are rarely two-tiered); its condition and the quality of its design and execution. These factors combined place it in the ranks of museum objects.

Japanese lacquer artists, as were artists in different fields, were organized into stylistic schools under one master. Apprentices were allotted various tasks in the overall procedure according to their seniority, the length of time spent with the master and their level of skill. A student would spend many, many years on seemingly mundane, repetitious tasks before the master would allow him to take part in any task directly associated with the production of a particular piece. Interestingly, the aim of a student in a traditional school (studio is perhaps a better translation) was to equal the skill of the master, and this meant the slavish imitation of the master's style. The intention was not to nurture and develop the student's individuality, but to cultivate the student in the master's style so that, on his demise, the style of the school would endure almost unchanged. When differences did appear, it was usually only after the student had inherited the role of the master or, in cases of exceptional talent, had moved elsewhere to found his own school.

The shaping of the base of a small box such as this suzuribako is one of the most important steps in the multi-stage process which is Japanese lacquer. A poorly executed base form will hinder the perfect application of the design and can often be the cause of cracking at corners and along edges of lids at a later stage. The design, in this case from the Japanese literary classic, Genji Monogatari, would be first sketched on paper as the master artist plans the transposition of the one-dimensional to the three-dimensional. The responsibility for the creation of the base would most likely then fall to a trusted apprentice. The base may be of paper-thin wood, thin leather, or a hessian-like fabric, saturated with raw lacquer to give it body and substance.

Following its completion, several students would apply further layers of lacquer to build up the base to receive the final design, the sprinkled picture, itself another multi-layer process. In this gold suzuribako we see a variety of relief techniques whereby the design is painstakingly built up in lacquer. Gold dust is added to the lacquer and the design is then painted on and gradually built up to the desired degree of relief - hiramakie (medium relief), or takamakie (high relief).

This box is truly remarkable in its use of gold. Careful inspection reveals the subtle use of yellow, green and pink gold, the multi-hued effect surpassing any piece of jewellery. The design continues uninterrupted around the sides and edges, proudly and yet subtly announcing the hand of a master. The edges of each section are lined with silver and the exquisite water dropper is wrought in gold.

The cherry blossoms and larger gold globules of the outer lid are representative of the kirikane technique (cut metal). Small irregular shapes of gold foil re cut individually and placed by hand on layers of semi-moist transparent lacquer. When dry, the whole is sealed with another layer of transparent lacquer and gently polished with a variety of abrasive powders, all done by hand. The final polishing uses deer horn ground to a talc-like consistency and polished with the tip of the little finger. In all we are probably looking at over 60 layers of lacquer. Given the amount of time it takes to apply, dry and polish each layer, we can begin to appreciate the patience, skill and artistry of all those involved in its creation.

The interior of the box is literally awash with gold sprinkles. Various sizes of gold dust are blown separately through a bamboo tube with fine muslin over one end. A sense of immense depth and pagination is achieved by repeated applications.

During the Edo, or Tokugawa Period (1600 - 1868), Japan was forcibly closed to outside influence by the military government - the Shogunate, and the use of gold was policed. The lacquer artist had to obtain permission from the government to open the mint for each specific commission. We can only wonder at the wealth and status of the person who commissioned and/or received this sumptuous suzuribako.

Japan does not have a tradition of decorative art as distinct from fine art and most of the objects we see today as objets d'art are utilitarian objects from the daily lives of the Edo aristocracy. These were household objects for personal use and objects to be used only in the presence of guests and officialdom. Hereditary symbols of the position, wealth, taste and sophistication of their owners, they were used only rarely and kept carefully stored in wooden boxes.

The striking box illustrated is one of many small boxes used as part of the incense game, which was a most esoteric pastime whereby participants tested their skills in guessing, blindfolded, the specific aromatic contents of small paper sachets. The lacquer artist here has brilliantly reinterpreted in lacquer a famous Momoyama (1573-1615) screen painting. Note the way the design flows naturally and freely from surface to surface, and note too the graphic clarity achieved with the dramatic use of the gold lacquer on a black background. Mother-of-pearl inlay adds a further dimension to the whole with its use in the fishing baskets.

Many collectors, overwhelmed by the beauty of a certain object, recoil in suspicion at the lack of a signature. The absence of signatures on lacquer works of great merit resulted from the interesting class strata in place at the time of their creation. Tokugawa Japan was essentially a feudal society. The officially imposed class system put the artist third in a ranking of four - samurai, farmer, artisan and merchant. The samurai class included basically all the various levels of the nobility. The artisans were the vassals of the daimyo (feudal lord) who provided for them and their family's daily needs. The social standing of the artisan vis-a-vis the lord was such that a signature would constitute considerable effrontery. If the piece were commissioned as a gift, this too prohibited the use of a signature. The name of a great master could of course be immediately recognized by the connoisseur, and thus there was no need for the artist to do something as trite and obvious as signing his name.

An artist in Japan is regarded more as an artisan or craftsman. His idiosyncratic individuality is not part of the art object he creates - the creation is of more import than the creator. We must also remember that even now, the signature is relatively unimportant in the assessment of the total work. The final product was the result of a collaborative effort by a group of people. sometimes the master artist may have done nothing more than paint the signature. There is no intention to deceive here. It is a simple recognition that the piece concerned is good enough to bear his name.

Our almost innate deference to an established 'name', 'brand' or reputation', is very dangerous. Firstly it provides an immediate opening for the unscrupulous. Secondly, it often means we put the name on a higher plane than the art work itself. The road to true appreciation of the art of the sprinkled picture, and in fact any work of art, lies in our own self-confidence to ignore the 'name' and follow our own taste and judgement.