In China and Japan, there’s no shame in thinking inside the box. Both cultures have created innumerable works of decorative art; Jeffery Cline, co-owner of Kagedo Japanese Art in Seattle, likes to say that Japan has produced "more fantastic art than any other culture, and it had four times as much because they had to make it for each of the four seasons." Chinese and Japanese craftsmen extended their design sense to the containers they created to hold rare, valuable objects. Ironically, they fashioned boxes so beautiful that using them for their intended purpose seems almost like sacrilege. In that spirit, the boxes shown on the following pages are likely to be empty for decades to come.

Seeing Red
In 18th-century China, red lacquerware boxes were as pricey as jade; the long, tedious work required to produce them made them as precious as the coveted stone sculptures. Roger Keverne, founder of the eponymous London gallery, says that craftsmen relied on cinnabar, a reddish-brown mineral, to impart a crimson hue to the lacquer, and they would cover a single box with hundreds of lacquer coats, each of which needed 48 hours to dry. "The more layers there were, the more expensive the box was," Keverne says. "They would paint layer after layer, and then they would carve." In other words, the decorations on these boxes, both of which were fashioned in the Qianlong period (1736–95), are cut into the lacquer surface, not the wood.

Keverne says that the cinquefoil, or vaguely star-shaped box (above), which measures 10 inches across and costs £32,000 ($63,000), is odd because the craftsmen, who are unknown, graced its lid with a trio of flowing-maned, bushy-tailed Buddhist lions against a field of curving, cresting waves—a decorative backdrop that is typically reserved for dragons. The fan-shaped box (left), which measures 15.25 inches across and costs £72,000 ($143,000), depicts a New Year’s celebration, evidenced by the fireworks causing one of the gallivanting boys to cover his ears. A paper label on the box’s black-lacquered base features a string of digits that Keverne claims is an imperial inventory number. "These boxes were almost certainly made for the Imperial household," he says. "These are (rendered in) high Imperial taste, and their quality is up to the standards of the Imperial workshops."

Keverne says that while he cannot be certain about what these two boxes stored, it is fair to surmise that they might have held keepsakes forged from bronze or carved from jade. Conversely, they could have contained nothing at all. "Boxes were made to be observed," he says. "They were works of art in their own right."

Culture Club
In Japan, being an aristocrat meant being literate, regardless of gender. This has been true since the 11th century, when Murasaki Shikibu, a noblewoman, wrote the novel The Tale of Genji. Naturally, the elite wanted suzuribako, or writing boxes, which suited their stature and education.
 
The open box ($22,000, early 20th century, 9.8 inches long by 8.3 inches wide) has a shikunshi, or "four gentlemen" theme, in which flowers represent the four seasons and also gentlemanly virtues. The designer of the Mount Fuji box ($15,000, circa 1900, 9.4 inches long by 8.3 inches wide) reworked New Year’s Day imagery of cranes flying over water near the mountain: He carved waves inside the box’s lid and forged a silver water-dropper, a tool for mixing ink, in the shape of a crane.

In 2007 Yamazaki Mushu designed and lacquered this crescent-shaped incense box ($6,500, 3.8 inches long). Erik Thomsen, the Manhattan dealer who offers these three boxes and who represents Mushu outside of Japan, says Mushu’s motifs "are generally traditional, but he likes to put in his own twist." The innovative twists he gave to this piece are evident in its shape—crescents are rarely used for incense boxes—and the presence of the owl, which, though native to Japan, never decorates its boxes. The purpose of Japanese incense is as unusual as Mushu’s creations and as old as The Tale of Genji, which describes its use in guessing games. "They would ignite tiny pieces of incense, and (the player) had to guess what it was," Thomsen says. "To participate, you had to know (the aromas of) hundreds of different woods. It was a way for highly literate persons to show their knowledge, kind of like chess."