What would you think if you heard the story of a man born the dissolute son of a Kyoto kimono merchant, who squandered his money like water on frivolous pursuits, eventually ruining his family, and then, in his forties, decided, “Well, I guess I’ll make a living by painting”? Would you scoff and say, “He brought it upon himself”? Or would you dismiss him as a hopeless philanderer? However, strange things happen in this world. That hopeless man was none other than Ogata Kōrin, the genius who reached the pinnacle of Japanese beauty.
Korin was born in 1658, the first year of the Manji era. As the second son of the wealthy Kyoto kimono merchant “Kariganeya,” he grew up literally wrapped in silk floss. At that time, Kariganeya was a prestigious family that commanded the patronage of powerful figures and nobles, a name that could silence even crying children. Imagine Korin’s boyhood. The gleam of gold leaf, the soft touch of silk, a flood of refined colors. He grew up absorbing the finest beauty as naturally as breathing. However, when people become accustomed to luxury, they inevitably lose their footing. Korin was no exception. After his father’s death, he inherited a vast fortune and immediately indulged in debauchery. He enjoyed the tea ceremony, performed Noh theater, and caroused with beautiful women. His extravagant lifestyle was so extreme that it would make even modern celebrities turn pale. He may have been pretending not to notice the obvious fact that money disappears once you spend it.
And then, the gears of fate began to turn mercilessly. His fortune, which he had squandered like water, ran out, and his family business was in a steady decline. Before he knew it, Korin was in his mid-forties, the halfway point of his life, and on the verge of becoming adrift. An ordinary person would have despaired and hanged himself at this point, or retired modestly. However, this is where his “mystery” begins. He picked up his pen. And not merely as a hobby, but as a “weapon” to survive. Everything he had seen, touched, and loved in his past leisure activities—he began to pour it all onto the canvas.
The first thing that strikes you when you look at Korin’s paintings is their uncompromising “boldness.” For example, the national treasure “Red and White Plum Blossom Screen,” which almost everyone has seen at least once. In the center of the screen flows a black river that looks like a giant swell, with red and white plum blossoms arranged on either side. Look at how this river is depicted. The flowing water pattern is geometrically represented with silver paint, making it so decorative that it hardly looks like a real river. However, it is this distorted river that leaves an indelible impression on the viewer’s mind. I don’t think he ever intended to simply depict nature as it was. Rather, he deconstructed nature in his mind and reconstructed it as the most beautiful “pattern.” You can’t help but feel the blood of a kimono merchant flowing through his veins. He designed the world as if designing a pattern for fabric. What he painted was not merely a picture. It was a “device” that dominated space itself. Vivid colors dance against a background of gold leaf. Behind its splendor lies the exquisite artistry of a meticulously calculated composition. Like solving a puzzle, he knew instinctively, or perhaps through the aesthetic sense he had cultivated through his past debauchery, where to place everything for maximum effect.
However, Korin’s life wasn’t always under the glamorous spotlight. He left Kyoto and headed to Edo. Edo at the time was a vibrant new city, but to the cultured people of traditional Kyoto, it might have seemed somewhat barbaric. There, he found many patrons and further developed his talent. Remember another masterpiece, the “Irises Screen.” In a sea of gold, only irises are arranged in an orderly yet rhythmic fashion. There is nothing on the ground or in the background. Only the flowers. This is the aesthetic of subtraction. For us living in today’s information-saturated world, there is no more luxurious use of space than this. He knew that infinite meaning resides in emptiness. As for Korin’s private life, it still exuded an otherworldly, dangerous charm. When he was short of money, he would borrow, yet he never compromised his elegant appearance. An air of mystery always surrounded him, as if he were acting out his own life as a work of art.
Korin’s style—and I dare call it style rather than painting—is extremely modern. His design sense is so fresh and timeless that it’s hard to believe it was created by someone over 300 years ago. It’s no wonder that contemporary graphic designers are so inspired by his work. He may have effortlessly transcended the framework of the Edo period and looked towards the future. Now, every story must come to an end. In June of the first year of the Kyoho era, 1716, Korin ended his turbulent life at the age of 59. He no longer possessed the wealth he had at birth, but the “jewels” he left behind in the form of his works only grew brighter with time.
Looking back on the life of Korin, I can’t help but feel there’s a kind of “salvation” in it. A man who once failed in life and nearly lost everything, yet believed only in the aesthetic sense within himself and rose again. And then accomplished work that left its mark on history. Isn’t this episode more dramatic than any mystery novel and more moving than any sentimental story? He was by no means a saint. Rather, he was a very human character, possessing both weakness and greed. That is precisely why the flowers and rivers he depicted have a certain alluring, almost magical power that captivates our hearts. Dear readers, if you are currently at a standstill and worried that you have nothing left, please remember Korin. Remember his meteoric rise that began in the latter half of his life. And remember the dignified color of the irises he painted on gold leaf. Beauty does not necessarily originate from a place of pure and unblemished purity. Just as lotus flowers bloom from the mud, the greatest beauty in Japan was born from the depths of debauchery and setbacks. Korin taught us through his own life that it is never too late to regain the color of life.
His grave stands quietly at Myokenji Temple in Kyoto. What thoughts must be going through the mind of this man who has just completed his 59-year journey, which may have seemed short but was incredibly rich? I can’t help but feel that he’s laughing it off in his usual lighthearted tone, saying, “Well, it was a truly enjoyable life.” The genius of Korin was nurtured by the profound depths of the city of Kyoto, as well as his own “unwillingness to give up.” To the very end, he never gave up on making himself look beautiful, and on capturing the world in a beautiful way. That tenacity is the true essence of the Korin brand, which continues to fascinate us even 300 years later. Now, let’s bring this long chatter to a close. When you gaze upon a Korin painting, what do you see there? The opulent gold colors? Or the lonely passion of a single man hidden behind them? Either way, you’ve surely fallen completely into the “trap of beauty” he set for you. That is precisely the greatest and finest service that Korin offered to his readers… no, to his viewers.