A tribute to Susan Wraight

Susan Wraight was an internationally recognised master of netsuke carving. Originally from the UK, she came to live Australia in 1992. Sadly, she died suddenly in a diving accident, 9 August, 2026. Alastair Boell describes her work and recalls how he came into contact with her in Melbourne.

Words: Alastair Boell

I can’t actually remember the first time I noticed Susan’s work. In my mind, it’s always been there, like a bright star in the sky. Really, to be honest, it feels like I’ve always known about her work. How could one be a furniture maker, and not know?

Her work…where do you begin? Sublime and ethereal are the two words that immediately pop into my mind.

I won’t go into the details of Susan’s distinguished career and extensive portfolio, as they are readily accessible online. What is perhaps less widely appreciated is the exceptional respect she has earned in Japan itself. As the country that originated the art of netsuke, Japan is understandably discerning when it comes to recognising excellence in the field, particularly from artists beyond its shores. Her work is represented in the Kyoto Seishu Netsuke Art Museum, the Tokyo National Museum, and the Hikaru Museum in Takayama, and forms part of the private collection of His Imperial Highness Prince Takamado of Japan. Few foreign artists can claim such recognition in a craft so deeply woven into Japan’s cultural heritage.

I still remember my surprise many years ago when I realised that this exceptionally gifted artisan lived not in a distant place, but in my own city. Talent of this calibre often feels remote and inaccessible, associated with faraway countries and renowned centres of craftsmanship. In fact, she was right here in Melbourne.

I naturally thought at the time in a naïve kind of way that I might be able to contact her and ask if she would consider teaching at my school, the Melbourne Guild of Fine Woodworking. For many years, I never really had the courage to make that call. How do you casually say ‘hi’ to a superstar, like Susan? Fate seemed to weave our paths together in unexpected ways. Susan’s closest friend, Michelle, was the daughter of a man who had formed a lifelong friendship with my wife’s father while they were both Prisoners of War in Japan. Michelle was able to provide us with Susan’s contact details. We were able to connect and develop a really positive outcome, where Susan agreed to conduct a netsuke course at our school.

Susan Wraight with the class members she taught at the Melbourne Guild of Fine Woodworking in 2021.

Through this experience, we had the greatest privilege of getting to know Susan. She was an outstanding human being, devoted to her late husband, her church, and friends. What struck me most was her humility. For all her fame and artistic brilliance, she was utterly unpretentious.

A treasure we recently found was a video of Susan at the beginning of her netsuke course, introducing herself and her craft. In it, she introduced herself as a ‘story teller’, and asked the students if she could tell them a story. This is the story she told…

“Just as the long hot dry days of summer began some years ago, a friend of mine came to visit me from Adelaide. As he came up, he had a little coffee cup in his hand with the lid firmly in place and announced he brought me a present. Very carefully I lifted the lid and there clinging to the wall of the coffee cup, out of the way of the congealing remains of a roadside cappuccino was a small brown tree frog. I looked at it and I marvelled at that plump moistness settling over the delicate bone structure, the gorgeous gold filigree of his eyes, the way his almost translucent skin was fluttering in his throat. And after admiring him for quite a while, I carefully released him into the garden.

“Day after day, I watered the ferns, and now I was sending the spray as much to the little frog as I was, for the plants. But I saw no sign of him, and I could only hope that he’d survived his ordeal.

“Then one day I was sitting in the front of the house and one of those glorious thunderstorms began. Big, fat raindrops started pelting down and as the noise of the rain grew, another sound appeared. At first, it was reasonably quiet, but it got louder and louder. And I walked out to the back of the house and into the fernery, and realised, the little frog was singing with a volume I just couldn't believe how loud it could possibly be!

“At first, my thought was, “You ungrateful little thing! I've been watering you for weeks and not so much of a ‘cheerip!’ Now it rains, and you're singing!”

“And then I thought, “No no no no no! This little frog knew the difference between what came from God and what came from me. He could distinguish between the ‘real thing’ and the imitation. And when he encountered the real thing, he sung an exuberant exultant song of praise. At that point I laughed with recognition and felt a spiritual kinship with that little frog.

“I can’t sing, but I ‘can’ carve. So, I to choose to carve netsuke.”

At this point, Susan highlighted a photo of a frog sitting on a lotus seed pod that she had carved, which is currently housed in the British Museum.

Nothing illustrates more perfectly what sort of person and artist Susan was, than this beautiful story.

The world has lost an incredibly gifted and irreplaceable artisan. Susan’s work can be found in museums, cathedrals, and private and royal collections around the world. Yet her greatest legacy lies not in these places, but in the hearts of all who were fortunate enough to know her.

Rest in Peace Susan Wraight.

Images courtesy Melbourne Guild of Fine Woodworking.
Alastair Boell is a master craftsman and director of the Melbourne Guild of Fine Woodworking

In 1992, Susan Wraight wrote an article Through the Looking Glass for Australian Wood Review, issue 2, about discovering the specialised art form of netsuke and what it meant to her. She wrote another article for issue 20 of Australian Wood Review on Carving Netsuke.