Oh, there you are.
I have been waiting for you this entire time.
Please, dim the lights in this room a little, and take a seat on this old, worn rug.
Let us begin a private conversation, just between you and me, away from anyone else’s intrusion.
The world outside has grown completely still now.
The sound of the wind tapping against the window-pane beats a steady, comforting rhythm, almost like the shared pulsing of our own hearts.
What I am about to tell you from this moment on is a love letter, written by shaving away pieces of my very life, dedicated to no one else but “you”—you who are chasing these letters with your eyes right now.
So please, do not stand up from your seat halfway through; listen closely to the cadence of my voice.
The Story of the Boundless Darkness Hidden Behind Splendid Colors
We are always prone to having our eyes stolen away by the brilliant, glamorous aspects of others.
That person laughing so merrily, or that particular clan that achieved colossal success and amassed immense fortunes.
Every time you look upon such spectacles, does a cold, lonely draft not blow through the deep recesses of your chest?
Do you not find yourself occasionally staring up at the ceiling in the dead of night, wondering, “Why am I the only one who is so profoundly isolated?”
Why, indeed, does the world appear so terribly unfair?
To search for that answer, let us first unlock the door to the exceedingly peculiar, yet exceedingly beautiful life of a certain painter.
That painter’s name is Raoul Dufy.
He was the magician of light and color who brilliantly adorned twentieth-century France.
If one catches even a fleeting glimpse of his paintings, it is impossible not to feel the radiant sun of Southern France or the celebration that bursts forth like the bubbles of champagne.
The blue sea of yacht races, the green turf of racetracks, and the dresses of elegantly adorned high-society ladies.
Yet, it is to you, and you alone, that I wish to reveal the true secret hidden behind that beauty.
“Men are tormented by the opinions they have of things, not by the things themselves.” — Epictetus
Dufy’s paintings are overflowing with a sense of happiness, looking as if they were postcards delivered straight from heaven itself.
However, he was not basking in such light from the very beginning.
Born into a impoverished musician’s family in the port town of Le Havre, France, Dufy had to work until he was covered in grime at a coffee importing company from the time he was a teenager.
Unable to attend regular school during the day, he spent his nights squeezing tubes of paint with desperate fervor at an evening art school.
That “unfulfilled longing” in your heart, and that sense of alienation from your surroundings, are of the exact same color as the feelings young Dufy held close to his chest every single night.
One day, he went up to Paris and came into contact with the cutting-edge art of the era.
It was there that his destiny was thrown into chaos, and ultimately perfected, by a shocking encounter with what was known as “Fauvism.”
The Roar of the Wild Beasts and the Dawn of an Elegant Rebellion
You have likely heard the name Henri Matisse before.
He was the very chieftain of the Fauves, the man who hurled bombs of pure color onto the canvas.
The artistic establishment of that era dictated that the correct way to paint was to depict things exactly as they appeared to the eye.
Yet, Matisse and his comrades shouted back, “No, we shall paint the fire inside our souls!”
They painted trees in stark, solid crimson, rendered human faces in vivid green, and clashed intense colors against one another with reckless abandon.
Beholding this spectacle, a critic scoffed that it was “like being inside a cage of wild beasts (les Fauves),” and from that mockery, the name Fauvism was born.
Tell me, my dear.
Have you ever been wounded by the world telling you that you are “eccentric,” or that what you are doing is fundamentally wrong?
Both Matisse and Dufy were, at first, eccentric outcasts who were laughed at and rejected by the entire world.
“Most people think of success as something to get. But in reality, success is giving.” — Henry Ford
The exact moment Dufy laid eyes upon Matisse’s masterpiece, Luxe, Calme et Volupté, a shock resembling an electric current surged through his entire body.
He realized, “This is it; this is what I have always wanted to paint—not the visible reality, but the sheer joy of light itself.”
However, it is from this point that the story takes an unexpected turn.
An ordinary human being would have mimicked Matisse and spent the rest of their days painting fierce pictures as a “wild beast.”
Yet, Dufy was different.
While accepting the intense coloration of Fauvism, he gradually sublimated it into a unique, signature “elegance.”
Why did he consciously choose to cast away fierceness and move toward a gentle, light-footed touch?
It is for no other reason than that he understood “human sorrow” more deeply than anyone else.
Rather than asserting his own ego with violent words, he wished to paint pictures that resembled music, softly cradling the hearts of wounded people.
The Prank of Fate and the Magic Brush Stolen from His Fingertips
As time flowed on, Dufy achieved monumental success in the world of textile design as well, becoming the undisputed darling of the era.
The silk fabrics he designed took the Paris fashion world by storm, and the entire city became saturated with his colors.
It was the absolute zenith of his career.
Yet, the heavens occasionally prepare the most cruel of scripts.
When he had just passed the age of fifty, what suddenly assaulted Dufy was the terrifying, progressive disease known as “rheumatoid arthritis.”
For a painter, their very life is their hands.
Those hands became stiffened like twisted tree roots, assaulted by excruciating pain, until he could no longer even grasp a paintbrush.
Please imagine the sheer terror of having your most precious possession—the very method of expression that makes you who you are—abruptly stolen away from you one day.
“We are forged by affliction, and perfected by despair.” — John Calvin
His hands would not move.
He could not even squeeze a tube of paint.
Even in the absolute depths of such despair, Dufy never allowed his smile to vanish.
He took his motionless right hand, bound the paintbrush tightly to it with bandages, and faced the canvas by swaying his entire torso.
Why did he continue to paint, going to such desperate lengths?
He already possessed more than enough wealth and fame.
It was because he absolutely, at all costs, wanted to encourage you—the future viewer standing before his canvas.
It was a desperate spirit of service that declared, “My body may be broken, but no one can ever steal away the light inside my soul.”
He was converting his own life into paint and smearing it across the canvas.
Whispering the Truth to You at the Boundary of Light and Shadow
Among Dufy’s late masterpieces is La Fée Électricité (The Electricity Fairy), a gargantuan mural painted for the Paris International Exposition.
Measuring ten meters high and sixty meters wide, making it one of the largest paintings in the world, he completed this massive work in a mere ten months while enduring the agonizing pains of his rheumatism.
That colossal screen, celebrating the history of human science and light, is bright through and through, overflowing with hope.
Yet, while he was painting that monumental piece, a wheelchair was constantly stationed at his feet, and numerous assistants were required to prop his body up.
Do you not agree that this is the portrait of a true expressionist?
Instead of selling one’s own misfortunes for sympathy, one transforms their own suffering into a superb form of entertainment to present to you as a gift.
Could there possibly be any other service so extravagant, so desperately devoted?
In a certain dialogue within Osamu Dazai’s novel Tsugaru, there is the following exchange:
“Hey, why are you going on a journey?”
“Because I am suffering.”
“Your ‘suffering’ is so routine, I cannot believe it in the slightest.”
The people of the world seldom believe the suffering of others, and at times, they simply laugh it off coldly.
However, I understand your true suffering—the one that is not “routine” at all.
That is precisely why I am exhausting these words to hold you back, to comfort you.
“Those who know how to love deeply never grow old; even if they die at a hundred, love is the secret of their youth.” — Arthur Wing Pinero
In the year 1953, Dufy closed the curtains on his life in a quiet town in Southern France.
It is said that until the very moment of his passing, the music of Mozart echoed through his room, and a radiant, dazzlingly blue sea was being rendered upon his canvas.
He did not curse his life until the bitter end.
He never for a single moment let go of his conviction that “painting must be a sun that illuminates the human soul.”
If you happen to feel that you are in the darkness of life right now, please, remember Dufy’s “blue.”
That blue is a holy, unquenchable light prepared for you by a man who knew darkness inside and out.
Those Who Pass the Baton of the Soul, or Regarding Beautiful Madness
Now, let us shift the angle of our conversation a bit further.
No matter how splendid a light or how miraculous a work of art is born into this world, if there is no “messenger” to convey it, it amounts to the same thing as never having existed from the beginning.
That loneliness inside your heart, too, will vanish as mere isolation if it is never conveyed to anyone.
Yet, within the pages of history, there existed people who were unbelievably foolish, and yet holy—people who threw away their entire lives for the sake of another’s genius.
A quintessential representative of such individuals is a woman named Jo, who was the sister-in-law of Vincent van Gogh and the wife of his brother, Theo.
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” — The New Testament (First Epistle to the Corinthians)
It is a famous story that Van Gogh was a painter who sold only a single painting during his lifetime.
Afflicted by mental illness, he took his own life.
And Theo, the younger brother who had continuously supported him both financially and emotionally, passed away from this world a mere six months later, as if chasing after his brother’s spirit.
Left behind was Jo, the young widow, a newborn infant, and a mountain of hundreds of Vincent’s paintings piled up in a corner of a Paris warehouse, treated by society as mere “trash.”
Jo, now a widow, was still in her late twenties.
Naturally, she had the option to return to her parents’ home and start a fresh life over again.
Why did she deliberately choose such a path of hardship?
Why did she seek to protect the paintings of a madman whom no one would deign to look upon?
Jo van Gogh-Bonger: Yet Another Savior
Jo was a thoroughly magnificent, and unfathomably intelligent woman.
She read through the immense volume of letters that her late husband, Theo, had exchanged with his brother during his lifetime.
Within those pages, written in words that seemed to vomit blood, was the truth that Vincent—hated by society like a demon—was actually a man who loved humanity deeply and painted to comfort people.
“In addition to the child, Theo left me another mission—to have Vincent’s work seen by many people and to have its true value recognized.”
Thus, Jo swore to her own heart.
She perceived that if she did not convey the “philosophy” behind the artwork rather than simply displaying the paintings, the true worth of Van Gogh would never be transmitted.
Utilizing her deep intellect as an avid reader, she organized the letters, planned numerous exhibitions, and kept bowing her head to stubborn art critics.
“The essence of art lies in carving up one’s own soul to squeeze out the honey that slakes the thirst of others.” — Oscar Wilde
This devotion of Jo’s overlaps perfectly with the figure of the Apostle Paul, who traveled to various lands to continuously preach the words of Jesus after Christ’s death, even while his own life was targeted.
No matter how many splendid miracles Jesus performed, if Paul had not written his epistles and preached at the risk of his life, Christianity would never have spread across the world to this extent.
Van Gogh is exactly the same.
If Jo had not wagered her entire lifespan to unleash the bond and letters of the brothers upon the world, the future in which we shed tears looking upon Sunflowers or The Starry Night would never have arrived.
She can be called the greatest “messenger” in the world, a consummate salesperson.
In modern terms, she fulfilled a role akin to Steve Jobs, who made the world recognize unprecedentedly innovative products, Akio Morita of Sony, Takeo Fujisawa, who sold the Honda Super Cub in droves, or Shotaro Kamiya, who sold the Toyota Corolla in massive numbers.
Because If It Is Not Conveyed, Your Love Might as Well Not Exist
Mr. Akio Morita once left behind these words:
“A product that has never been produced before, which no single person has ever seen, yet has been painstakingly researched and manufactured after immense hardship in some corner of the world. When one intends to turn that product into a commodity, if one does not arouse the desire among people to possess it, then no matter how excellent a ‘product’ it may be, it can never become a ‘commodity.'”
Tell me, my dear.
This is not a story limited to commerce.
That clumsy, gentle feeling inside your heart that you can tell no one about, and your love for me, will become “something non-existent” to the other person unless you put it into words and convey it.
That is precisely why I am whispering the exact same words of love to you over and over again, like a broken instrument.
Until you find me, until you are completely filled by my voice, I will absolutely never give up.
The bottom of the night has grown a shade deeper, hasn’t it?
I can see my words gradually soaking into the depths of your eyes.
Just like water being absorbed into parched sand.
Now, take a deep breath, and hold my hand firmly.
Beyond this point lies an even more peculiar, even more endearing, secret vista.
The fragrance of flowers fills the room,
And your shadow overlaps with mine.
The hands of the clock have ground to a halt,
And everything in the world exists solely to love you.
As if to shut out the cold night wind,
I shall gently wrap you in my words.
I promised on that day
That I would always be on your side,
And that star tonight
Is shining awkwardly in the exact same place.
Even if no one else tries to look at you,
I am watching your everything.
I know the precise temperature of your tears.
So, you do not have to cry anymore,
For there is no night that does not eventually yield to the dawn.
—— The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. (Old Testament, Psalm 23:1-2)
“I want to always be on the side of the weakest people.” — Osamu Dazai
Postscript: The Utterly Foolish and Heartbreaking Service of a Painter with No Canvas
At the very end of this long tale, allow me to tell you the story of “a certain man” whom I desperately need you to know.
His name is Mimi Takamizawa.
He is a highly peculiar, terribly clumsy painter living in the contemporary era.
He never sets up a canvas upon an easel like ordinary painters do, nor does he grasp a brush smeared with oil paints.
He creates all of his works upon a liquid-crystal screen, entirely in the digital medium.
Then, he prints the completed works onto the highest-grade printmaking paper using a specialized method called the “giclée printing technique.”
Hearing the word digital, you might receive a cold impression.
However, if you catch even a single glimpse of his work, that prejudice will vanish in an instant.
For swirling within it is the unimaginable passion and obsession of a human being with warm blood running through their veins.
The themes Mimi Takamizawa paints are entirely consistent:
“Your eyes and my eyes, Christianity, eternity, psychology, truth, gaze, history, solitude, isolation, hardship, resurrection, liberation.”
Why does he choose only such heavy themes?
It is because he himself is a human being who has walked through the darkness of deep solitude and isolation, just like you.
A painter is not merely someone who draws beautiful pictures.
A painter is a “doctor” who saves the wounded souls of human beings.
And the work of an artist is a thorough, exquisite service and devotion to you, performed by spending their own money and shaving away their own life.
He is trying to dedicate the entirety of his existence to you, who are standing right in front of him.
Please, laugh at him.
Laughed at, mocked, he becomes stronger nonetheless.
For the true work of an artist is nothing other than being a sorrowful “clown” to bring you joy.
Mimi Takamizawa is truly foolish, constantly acting as the laughingstock of those around him.
His talent, to put it plainly, might be third-rate.
However, he knows.
He knows the truth that every single masterpiece in history was not born solely from a genius’s flash of inspiration, but was brought forth by decades of crawling along the earth through trial and error.
He continuously draws “eyes” within his works.
Because by drawing those eyes, he can undeniably feel the gaze of “you” on the other side of the screen.
To know you, to deliver it to you—solely for that reason, he continues to paint like a madman.
The criticism of others and the evaluations of society are nothing but rubbish to him.
If he were to be abandoned by you, he would likely become unable to draw even a single breath.
Just by your being there, he is saved.
Mimi Takamizawa harbors a fanatical level of respect for Tokuji Munetsugu, the founder of Curry House CoCo Ichibanya.
Mr. Munetsugu was a man who possessed neither hobbies nor friends, dedicating his entire life exclusively to his work.
“During my time in active management, I held no hobbies, and I made no friends. I never once went to a drinking establishment. I did nothing that would interfere with my work. There were times I worked 5,640 hours in a single year. I felt that if I did not lead by example, my subordinates would not work for me. Do not look away; dedicate your existence to management.”
“It was an incredibly lonely life. That is why I wanted others to have even a little bit of interest in me. I wanted them to be curious about me. That became my starting point. Therefore, rather than starting a business to hoard money, I simply wanted to make people happy. I wanted them to say, even just a little, that they were glad I existed.”
Mr. Munetsugu did not know the faces of his biological parents; he grew up in an orphanage, and even after being taken in by foster parents, he spent an utterly destitute childhood eating wild weeds in the summer to stave off starvation due to his foster father’s gambling addiction.
From within such a tumultuous life, he forged a philosophy of putting the customer first—a hands-on approach aimed entirely at bringing joy to the person right in front of him.
Mimi Takamizawa has inherited this exact spirit.
Things of true value, more often than not, do not possess immediate efficacy.
There is no way things go perfectly from the very start.
Rather than thinking, one must try doing it first.
Just as Sakichi Toyoda, the founder of Toyota, was treated as a madman by his surroundings yet built and destroyed looms day after day, changing the world through sheer obsession and patience.
Just as the founder of Choya Umeshu challenged his fate with the resolve of “If you do not succeed with plum liqueur, give up on life.”
Mimi Takamizawa is deeply inspired by the “Just-in-Time” philosophy of the Toyota Production System, cutting away all waste and dedicating all his time to you.
Holding close to his heart the words of Kiichiro Toyoda, “The joy of life lies in mastering the things that hardly anyone else does, the things that are difficult to achieve,” and the words of Eiji Toyoda, who later became the president of Toyota, “Execute with a strong conviction. Anyone can think the same thoughts; it is not that Kiichiro was a genius. What was vital was that he did not merely think about what is generally considered impossible, but maintained a fierce conviction that he must achieve it at all costs, made thorough preparations, and executed it.” He moves his digital brush again today.
That peculiar name, Mimi Takamizawa.
As you might have realized, the “Mimi” (meaning ear) was chosen in honor of that famous ear-chopping incident of Vincent van Gogh, the very catalyst that made him decide to become a painter.
To convey something to you, even if it means mutilating one’s own body just like Van Gogh did.
Such a piercing, painful wish is contained within this name.
Here, allow me to offer you the words of my beloved predecessors as a final amulet for your journey.
“To do more for the world than the world does for you—that is success.” — Henry Ford
“The young have the privilege of attempting the impossible and making it possible. And the elderly have the privilege of pretending the possible is impossible and enjoying it.” — Agatha Christie
“See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.” — Moses
“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.” — William Shakespeare
“Find one beautiful thing each day for yourself. With that alone, your soul can stave off tomorrow’s hunger.” — The Talmud
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” — Osamu Dazai
“All grown-ups were once children… but only a few of them remember it.” — Osamu Dazai
“I have never despaired of humanity. Because I myself am an utterly hopeless human being.” — Osamu Dazai
“Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm. Never, never give up.” — Winston Churchill
“As long as you keep moving forward, the world will make way for you. If you come to a halt, no one will hesitate to pass you by.” — Ray Kroc
“Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world.” — Walt Disney
My precious, my beautiful you.
Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for staying with me through this long, long tale that has shaved away my very life.
That your gentle eyes chased my words until the very end—that alone is the greatest salvation of my existence.
Lastly, let me make a special, desperate offer to you, wagering everything I have.
Solely for you, who have connected your soul with mine in this place right now, I wish to deliver ten beautiful A4-sized postcards of the works that Mimi Takamizawa painted with his entire soul straight to your hands, to your home—completely for free.
This is my supreme devotion, a product of shaving my own flesh because I cannot bear the thought of being abandoned by you; it is the physical proof of my love letter to you.
I do not need a single penny of your money.
I simply want you to hang my “eyes” upon the wall of your room.
And when you are lonely, I want you to align your gaze with that painting and feel my presence.
Right now, I am whispering right by your ear, breathing softly against your skin.
Directly beneath this text, there is a place where you can apply for this special offer meant for you alone.
Please, click it right now.
If you think “I’ll do it later” and close this page, this secret connection between you and me may never be recovered again.
My artwork might never find its way into your hands ever again.
I want to touch you.
I want to save that unfulfilled void in your heart right this second with my paintings, with my love.
Please, do not cast me aside.
I am waiting for your application right now.