Oh, look at you, staring at me with such wide eyes! Whatever is the matter? Do I sound like I’m mimicking someone? No, don’t say a word. I can see right through to the bottom of your heart, as clearly as peering through a pane of glass at the sediment gathered there. Please, don’t be so guarded. I am merely a friend who talks a bit too much—a humble guide wishing to bring a drop of perfume-like moisture to your tedious afternoon.
Today, the sky is far too blue; it feels almost indecent for a human to work seriously under such a gaze. On a day like this, sitting at a desk counting numbers or indulging in heavy philosophy is nothing short of a blasphemy against the gods. Instead, let us speak of something lighter, more vivid, and yet something that shakes the very foundations of our souls: the story of a certain “blue.” Long ago, in the old days of Edo, there lived a peculiar man. His name was Suzuki Kiitsu.
Kiitsu. What a delightful ring that name has, don’t you think? He was a thoroughbred of the “Edo Rinpa” school, having studied under the refined and incredibly stylish master, Sakai Hoitsu. But this man, Kiitsu, was not the type of dull soul to end his days as a mere teacher’s pet. While inheriting the elegant traditions of his master, he harbored deep within him a madness and a cold, piercing eye that would resonate even with us modern folk.
If you were to stand before his masterpiece, the “Morning Glories” screens, you would surely be struck dumb. It is not merely a painting of flowers. Against a backdrop of gold—a vast, luxurious sea of emptiness—morning glories of a blue so deep, so bottomless, writhe like living creatures, or perhaps like obsessive ghosts.
Usually, morning glories are symbols of a refreshing dawn, aren’t they? A scene of a modest child watering a vine climbing a bamboo fence. But in Kiitsu’s morning glories, there isn’t a shred of such polite sentimentality. What is depicted there is an explosion of life. Or perhaps, one might call it the violence of beauty. Each blue petal looks as though it is screaming, and the green tendrils twist and turn with the meticulous complexity of a snake tightening its grip on its prey.
I often wonder: what kind of expression did Kiitsu wear while painting this? He likely wasn’t smiling. He must have been trance-like, layering that blue with single-minded devotion. This blue is made from crushed lapis lazuli—a gemstone of immense value—and he used it without stinting, creating a color that feels as though it belongs to another world entirely.
Have you ever hidden a violent emotion deep inside you, one you could never show to anyone? Do you ever find yourself, after a day of playing the part of a well-dressed, polite member of society, lying in bed at night feeling a trembling exhilaration, thinking, “Am I not, in truth, a much more terrifying being?” Kiitsu’s morning glories are precisely that “hidden inner self” suddenly breaking into a frantic dance upon the stage of a gold screen.
His paintings carry the atmosphere of the end of the Edo period—that sense of overripe decadence. It is the moment when beauty, pushed to its absolute limit, turns into poison. Kiitsu broke through the shell of “refined taste” held by his master from the inside. He was, at his core, an avant-garde artist.
Look at the stems and leaves he draws. You’ll find a strange, geometric logic that seems to ignore the laws of nature. It appears realistic, yet it is thoroughly distorted. It is this very distortion that stokes the viewer’s anxiety while exerting an irresistible charm. This is the true identity of Suzuki Kiitsu. He did not simply copy the world; he dragged the “truer world” from within his own brain down into this earthly realm by force.
Don’t you find it mysterious? Why these intense paintings continue to hold our hearts so firmly even now? It is because Kiitsu knew that “beauty lies in a place where sanity cannot reach.” If a person lives too seriously, their soul withers and becomes like a parched desert. But when we touch that excessive vitality and color in Kiitsu’s work, it feels as though a torrent of cold water has suddenly surged into our dry hearts.
He was also a man of incredible skill. When he drew a bird, every single feather seemed to breathe; when he drew a river, the flow of water looked like a crystallized fragment of frozen time. Yet, behind that skill, there was always a chilling gaze. I feel a fierce empathy for his cold professionalism—as if he found joy not in cherishing his subjects, but in dismantling and reconstructing them.
To you, an Edo-period painter might sound like a crusty old craftsman, but Kiitsu’s sensibilities are shockingly modern. Had he lived today, he would surely have been a cutting-edge designer or a film director who drove people into a frenzy. He was a calculated provocateur who knew exactly how to surprise his audience and pull them into his labyrinth.
Ah, I’ve talked so much my throat has gone dry. You’ve been listening with half-amazement and half-amusement, and for that alone, I feel my day has been redeemed. Why is Kiitsu’s morning glory blue? It is not because it reflects the sky. Is it not because the flame that burns in the depths of a human heart when they want to cry out “Beautiful!” is, in fact, blue?
A red flame soon burns out and turns to ash. But that blue flame Kiitsu painted has not lowered its temperature one bit, even after two hundred years. It blooms eternally in the golden desert, forever beckoning us. The next time you visit a museum and see Kiitsu’s name, please remember: there lies the soul of a man who looked into the abyss of beauty more deeply and more wildly than anyone else in the streets of Edo.
Well? I trust you’ve developed a bit of interest in this man. I can see it now—a tiny blue morning glory has bloomed in your eyes. It might be an illusion, or perhaps just my wishful thinking, but if the world looks even a little brighter to you than it did a moment ago, I couldn’t be happier.
Now, it is time to draw the curtain on this long-winded talk. They say an adult’s conversation should stop when one is only eighty percent full. You go your way, and I shall walk my own labyrinth. But if you happen to see a morning glory by the roadside, please recall this strange afternoon talk. Goodbye. May your tomorrow be filled with a vivid surprise that rivals even Kiitsu’s blue.
Still, Kiitsu is a truly sinful painter. Once you know him, you can no longer be satisfied with a mere, well-behaved flower. Beauty is a truly terrifying narcotic, isn’t it? Are you prepared to consume that poison? I gave up long ago. To be soaked and drowned in this beautiful poison is the only, and ultimate, luxury of life.
Heh… that face of yours, looking both troubled and delighted. It’s perfect. I knew talking about Kiitsu was the right choice. Unless a person occasionally has their brain turned upside down by a beauty that exceeds their capacity, they cannot truly say they are alive. You have taken that step today. Allow me to say: congratulations.
I shall say no more. Words often do nothing but play the villain that soils beauty. In the silence, try to let that blue morning glory float in your mind. A golden wind should be blowing through the back of your eyelids right now. That is the timeless love letter that Kiitsu has sent to you. Farewell. Let us meet again, someday, somewhere, in a place where beauty runs wild.