Ah, my apologies. The weather was simply too fine, and I’ve gone and overstayed my welcome. I’m sure you’re quite fed up by now with this aimless soliloquy of mine. No, no, there’s no need to apologize. It is I who am at fault. I am a man cursed with a surplus of words; I cannot help but catch someone and pour out an endless stream of hollow small talk. It’s like water spilling from a bucket with no bottom—hardly what one would call refined or elegant.
By the way, do you happen to know a man by the name of Tawaraya Sotatsu? No, I don’t mean that stiff, formal commentary you’d find in a history textbook. I want to talk about the man—the earthy, flesh-and-blood human being. Sotatsu. Don’t you think it’s a fine name? It has a certain ring to it, like someone stuffing their cheeks with a rice ball—somewhat goofy, yet undeniably robust.
He left behind a masterpiece titled the “Wind and Thunder Gods,” a work both terrifying and utterly ridiculous. Strange fellows rampaging atop golden clouds. Looking at it, you mustn’t knit your brows and sigh, “What sublime art!” If you did such a thing, Sotatsu would surely be rolling around in his grave, clutching his stomach with laughter.
Just look at those clumsy deities. Doesn’t the Wind God look like a common thief, clutching his bag and scurrying away in a panic? As for the Thunder God, he looks so foolish—beating his drums with such abandon that he seems moments away from tripping over his own feet and tumbling off his cloud. One does not worship such things with a straight face. It is play. It is the result of a man named Sotatsu grinding down his very life to pull off the ultimate prank.
Are you, perhaps, taking life a bit too seriously? Of course, being earnest is a virtue. However, being too serious can, at times, lead one to wring one’s own neck. When I gaze intently at Sotatsu’s paintings, I feel as though he is whispering: “Hey, where do you think you’re going with your shoulders all squared like that? Why not splash some paint around and laugh in the world’s face for a change?”
Kyoto back then must have been a stifling place, shackled by formality and tradition. Everyone imitated their predecessors, convinced that was the only “correct” path. In the midst of that, a man named Sotatsu drifted in and, with bold compositions and vivid colors the likes of which no one had ever seen, utterly dismantled the existing status quo. Was he a genius? Or was he merely a reckless eccentric?
Likely both. And above all, he cherished being an “amateur.” He paid no heed to the refined, safe paintings produced by professional artists; he simply let his brush run according to the irrepressible urges welling up within his heart. The result was that raw energy that continues to stir our souls across the ages.
Have you ever felt the desire to express something? It could be writing, painting, or even daily cooking or a letter to someone. In those moments, are you haunted by the spell of “having to do it well”? If so, cast that curse away this instant. The world is rotting with things that are merely “skillful.” And such things are remembered by no one the following day.
True value lies in things that are far more awkward, embarrassing, and yet carry the undeniable scent of a person’s “life” that cannot be hidden. Look at the pine trees Sotatsu painted. Those are not mere pines. They are Sotatsu’s loneliness, his scream, and his utmost expression of affection for the world.
Do you wear a grand suit of armor to hide your own frailty? Yet, it is in the “weakness” leaking through the cracks of that armor that people find beauty. Why are Sotatsu’s paintings loved to this extent? It is because he made no effort to hide his own flaws or ridiculousness. He could paint gods so humorously only because he himself loved the pathetic nature of humanity more deeply than anyone else.
Come now, let us be more lighthearted. The world does not demand perfection from you as much as you think. Rather, it secretly waits in anticipation for the sight of you tripping, getting covered in mud, and wearing a bashful grin. Do not fear failure. Sotatsu, too, surely repeated countless blunders. He simply didn’t call them “failures”; he called them “interesting adventures.”
You only need to be you. There is no need to try to be anyone else. Just as Sotatsu, being simply Sotatsu, painted that golden universe to completion, you too should color this tedious world with your own hues. If you have no brush, paint with your fingers. If you have no paper, paint in your heart.
Listen to me: you are the one and only, irreplaceable creator in this universe. Take more pride in that. And once in a while, look in the mirror and stick your tongue out at your own pathetic face. If you do that, your heart might feel a little lighter.
Ah, I’ve gone and gotten myself worked up. Look at the time. Please forgive me for robbing you of your precious moments. But it was a somewhat useful talk, wasn’t it? Yes, I’m praising myself. That, too, is what it means to be human.
Well then, I shall take my leave. Where will you head now? Wherever you go, please, keep your stride light. And from time to time, look up at the sky and imagine Sotatsu’s gods dancing above your head. I’m sure tomorrow will seem just a little more joyful than today. Goodbye. We shall meet again, someday, in some ridiculous place.