Out in the Open.

Google's recent decision and moves as regards their operation is laudable. I here pledge my fullest support.
The online manifesto by Jonathan Rosenberg, Senior Vice President of Google, "The meaning of open" spells out important ethics and philosophies for how to proceed with this important medium, the internet.

At issue is the competition between an open system and a closed system. When open and closed system co-exist, sometimes the closed system might seem to have an edge in the short run, as they are more efficient in the limited context.

As time goes by, however, an open and free system would win over the closed and controlled system, because a global optimum can be searched and found, as opposed to the suffocation of the closed and controlled system.

In the contingent universe, we must all be aware that it is impossible to control an organic and dynamical system, after all. The very idea of controlling information to the liking of the regime is childish and is bound to fail.

By putting oneself out in the open, one's spirit gets the freedom to grow out of proportions. Only then we can do justice to this precious thing, life.

Until I reached an intimidating speed

I am in Hakata now. My mother was originally from this region.

When I was a kid mother used to take me to the Kyushu Island. Summers in Kyushu had a profound effect on the buildup of my personality. The dialect, distinct and powerful, was a joy to hear and tickling to imitate.

When I look back on those trips on Shinkansen trains, which typically took hours, the transition itself was a joy, and I long for the breath of fresh air they brought.

Nowadays, it is less than two hours on the airplane, and the sense of transition has diminished.

Walking on the Hakata streets at night, I unconsciously looked for signs of change, both internal and external, and shuddered at the absence of the drastic. I needed to run, until I reached an intimidating speed. I've got it here inside still, the wind tells me.

The strange destiny of the Love Theme

It is quite fascinating how a particular piece of culture is accepted on a foreign soil. The Japanese have never understood, for example, how and why the Sukiyaki Song was so well received in the United States, compared to many other popular songs of the days.

The opposite is true, of course. The Japanese have embraced lots of foreign influences, in our own particular way.

The film "Godfather" was released in Japan when I was 10. Although many motifs of the film was beyond my comprehension at that age, the theme tune of the film Godfather ("Speak Softly Love (Love Theme from The Godfather)") struck a cord within me as a child. The powerful melody somehow sound similar to Japanese "Enka" songs, very emotional and full of life.

Through a mysterious process, youngsters in Japan who ride motorcycles as a group adopted the Love Theme as their marching music. These "Hells Angel" youths would use the opening melody of the Love Theme as a fanfare, by putting several music horns on the motorcycle.

Somehow, the image of the motorcycle gangsters dashing through the night streets, with the fanfare of the Love Theme played repeatedly, has entered the popular culture of this nation.

When I think of the strange destiny of the Love Theme thus played out, I cannot help but marvel at the rich and subtle way cultures on the planet are mutually connected and evolve as a organic whole.

Now out in the world

Mystery is generated and deepens when you can experience something at a particular place and time only. Misere, composed by Gregorio Allegri, was one beautiful example. It was only to be heard in the Vatican, at certain special occasions. The copying of the score was forbidden, with the understanding that those violating the embargo will be punished with excommunication.

Then, the young Mozart came along. He was 14. Listening to the Misere in the Sistine Chapel, he later wrote out the entire score from memory. As everybody now knows, Mozart's memories were extraordinary. Mozart had only to make minor corrections on a second visit to the Chapel. It would have been impossible for anybody else to accomplish this feat.

Through the genius of Mozart, the mysterious music of the Vatican was now out in the world. The Pope, after Mozart was summoned to Rome for investigation, praised his musical genius, instead of excommunicating the charming fellow.

Pondering the significance of this famous episode, I wonder if all creative genius is not like it. Bringing to the world a marvelous gem hidden jealously in some obscure corner of the world, only to be experienced by those who were fortunate enough to be in that location by chance. Genius is about highly strung sensitivities and prodigious memories.


Misere of Gregorio Allegri. Made open by the service of Mozart.

As is materialized on his belly front

My best philosopher friend Ken Shiotani is rather big, weighing 120kg according to his recent report. In this slim overconscious civilization, you might think that his belly is rather embarassing to exhibit and see. Actually, quite the opposite is true.

People love to watch Shiotani's belly. What is more, people like to touch it.

When we are chatting in a Tokyo restaurant, as I am a very good friend of his, I can poke Shiotani's belly at any time, in a casual manner. It is rather nice, the rubbery feeling. Shiotani also doesn't seem to mind as he is used to my doing that from student days.

When people observe me doing it, they would like to do the same, and eventually do so, with invariably satisfying results.

Apart from the issue of being politically correct, I strongly suspect that there is something about fat bellies that make people around happy. While naturally concerned about my best friend's health, I respect his way of living, as is materialized on his belly front as well as in his philosophy of time, and doubt, for one, the body fascism that seems to be so rampant today.



Ken Shiotani seen in the front.
In the back you see my another soul friend Takashi Ikegami.
This was on Taketomi island.

Strange dancing.

My body is stoutly built, and my legs are not that long. Therefore, I am not a good one for dancing in the style of ballet.
However, I quite like watching other people dance. Once I went to see Jo Kanamori dance. It was a wonderful performance.

Jo Kanamori leads the dance company Noism. I went to see a Noism performance in their host town of Niigata. I was so inspired by their dancing, that when I returned to my hotel room I began strange dancing.

I tried to imitate what I have seen, but of course my bodily movements fell short. In addition, my dance might have been less of a comic performance compared to the immortal silly walk. Conclusion: Mine was a physical activity without any meaningful purpose.

Undaunted, I keep doing the strange dancing from time to time. Nothing to show. Nobody to see. Just me and the air around me which receives the strange vibe.

The world at large is never to know.

The great novel "Sanshiro" ends thus.

---------
Yoshiro moved closer to Sanshiro. "How do you like 'Woman in Forest?'"
"The title is no good."
"What should it be, then?"
Sanshiro did not answer him, but to himself he muttered over and over, "Stray sheep. Stray sheep."

Soseki Natsume "Sanshiro", translated by Jay Rubin.
-------------

So finally, it was about a painting. To the casual onlooker it is just a painting of a woman with a fan, posing in the forest. It is nothing but the "Woman in the Forest".

To Sanshio alone, the painting is the focal point of his never-to-return youthful wanderings. The encounter with the enigmatic woman, the romance, the agitations, dreams, heartbreaks, and the eventual catastrophe in the form of the marriage of the woman to a total stranger.

The novel starts with the encounter of Sanshiro with Mineko by the pond, and ends with the fulfillment of the creation of the painting in the final scene. The painting hides many secrets and tears under its shining surface.

The intimacy is private, and the world at large is never to know. Nobody is to hear Sanshiro's sighs. Then the novelist comes to the rescue.


The Sanshiro pond in the University of Tokyo Hongo campus, named after the famous novel.
It was by this pond that Sanshiro met Mineko.

Lights, darkness and all.

Drank with my best friends until late at night. Had an early morning, but simply had to stay. There are nights like this when you simply wanted to hang out with your chums.

Thought of leaving in-between, but stayed until the last call was made. Walked out into the Shibuya street. Took a group photo.
Memories of forgone times. Tears, smiles, and visions for the future.

Writing this journal on the way back home. Embracing life. Lights, darkness and all.

Dissonance.

During the course of my life, I sometimes search for dissonance. Consonances are surely beautiful. To drink a good white wine in a sunlit room on a late spring afternoon is an epitome of consonance. On the other hand, disagreeing can be also glorify the soul, whether it is with people, food, music, or painting.

Sometimes, the dissonant experience visits us in a subtle form. take the paintings by Francis Bacon (1909-1992), for example. His paintings makes the onlooker uneasy, as if something is wrong with the painting, or the world, or, more seriously, with ourselves. It is as if elements of rage of disagreement is diluted, and sprinkled all over the place, so that the dissonance in distribution becomes something akin to love.


Self Portrait by Francis Bacon.

Things in the periphery

To encounter new things, you often need to see things in the periphery. The central vision captures things of interest as you understand it now, but the things in the peripheral vision, which might not be of significance for now, might turn out to be life-changing in the end.

So the knack is to see the scenery as a whole, and wait for something to "pop out" from the unconscious into your attention.
What we see is massively parallel in nature. Things are captured in the visual awareness at the same time. Brain's resources as regards attention, perception, cognition, memory, action cannot be allocated to all that are visible at one time. So you need to distribute your concerns diffusely.

How to come to terms with the overflow of the periphery is one of the most essential things in life.

Look at a painting like "Children's Games" by Peter Bruegel the Elder.
Here's a larger file. Notice how things are visible in a massively parallel way. And then let little things tickle you.



Peter Bruegel the Elder. Children's Games. (1560).

Nothing to say.

Take the starry night by Vincent van Gogh, for example. This oil painting, painted in 1889, strikes one with a vivid impression. However, Gogh himself has nothing to say about it.

Nothing to say. Creators must remain silent, after the work is finished. If the work is powerful enough, it will speak for the self. The urge to add some words to the self-standing work is a testimony of its feebleness. Weakness requires complements. Beauty and power are self-sustaining.

If you are a creator, you should not go moping about, concerning your work. You may want to do it privately, among your close friends, but not publicly.

This universe, which we inhabit, is a beautiful and powerful place, with lots of secrets and treasures, a small portion of which we humans have uncovered. It is a self-sustaining work.

That is probably why God remains silent.

Nothing to say.


The Starry Night. By Vincent van Gogh

Wild Animals

When you watch classic films shot in Japan's Showa era like Akira Kurosawa's "High and Low", you are surprised by the swift and vivid movements of the actors.

The actions are full of energy, with surprising twists, and accompanied by the very strong feeling of something living here and now.

Although the gist of the impressions is surely due to the mastery of the great director, I think it has a lot to do with the Zeitgeist, too. The film was released in 1963. At that time, 17 years after the end of second world war, Japanese economy was rapidly growing, rather like today's China. People were naturally highly motivated, with a belief that tomorrow will bring something exciting, something unprecedented. Such a mindset shows in the movements.

Civilization, when it develops, envelops the human beings with lots of protections. We become "vetted", and lose our wilderness. With the advent of the internet, we are all in a danger of constant vetting, and that is reflected in our daily movements.

To watch a film like "High and Low" is tantamount to having a glimpse into the time in which we were rather like "wild animals", roaming in the world at large, driven by our own instincts, oblivious of the glass ceiling of civilization which actually exists in any given era.


Cover of Akira Kurosawa's "High and Low" DVD.

"I am happy. I will live long"

In Yasujiro Ozu's film "Early Summer" ("Bakushu"), there is a surprise scene where Noriko (played by Setsuko Hara) agrees to marry the widower Kenkichi (played by Hiroshi Nihonyangagi). Kenkichi's mother, Tami (played by Haruko Sugimura), on a sudden impulse says that she had been wishing that somebody like Noriko would marry the lonely man. The unexpected proposal, and Noriko's equally unanticipated "yes", is a dramatic turning point in the tranquility of the beautiful cinema.
Upon hearing Noriko's consent, Tami goes on to say "Thank you very much. I am happy. I will live long." Tami has been worried about her son's future, and her own welfare, but now that the key arrangement has been made, she can rest assured that her remaining days, the last stretch of life, would be happy.

Seeing my own mother for the New year, I remembered the poignant scene from the great master. And I wished that my mother would be able to say "I am happy. I will live long." in the coming years.

Life is full of ups and downs, and I can take my share of the upheavals, as I am determined to be strong in heart, but I would like my aging parents to be happy, without conditions.


The immortal "proposal" scene from "Early Summer."

The blanket mood

As a kid I used to stay in the blanket, especially on a cold morning.

I would wrap myself entirely in the warm cloth, with only my head sticking out of it. At this posture, the wayward strings and fluffs would be just in front of me. I would watch them in a correspondingly capricious mood, slightly out of focus. Then I would gradually find myself in a virtually isolated state. Cozily isolated.

The world around me disappears. There is just I and the piece of string protruding out of the blanket. I would be immensely happy. Like I was still in the mother's womb. There was nothing to be added, or subtracted. I am in a perfect state of bliss.
Then time passes, and I have to go to the toilet, or prepare myself to go to school. With a sigh and resignation, I would hesitatingly get out of the blanket. Those were the days.

Mornings have become practical nowadays. I seldom get into the blanket mood. When, on a rare occasion, I find myself reluctant to get out of it, I regard it as a special bonus. The spirit of childhood has returned to me.

Escape velocity

I feel as if I am in a period of inner transformation. I try to do things that have not been possible so far, and shy away from things that have become easy and accustomed for me.

The things that I would like to do, the worlds in which I prefer to be, have not changed so much over the years. The key is how you can be honest about it. We have a great functionality of adjusting to the environment, and that could also be a source of curse sometimes.

Gravitational pull can be enjoyed. The escape velocity for the earth is 11.2 km. Let's see how fast I can run this year.

And let's keep enjoying the small things, like the blossom of violet on the side of the meandering path.

The knack is to be struck unawares.

I love the Beatles. The definition of my heaven is when I drive in the U.K. countryside, listening to a Beatles album, preferably St. Peppers or Abbey Road.

My manner of encounter with the music of Beatles was unexpected. When I was 12, I was listening to the radio, and all of a sudden this music just jumped into my ear. I knew it was something quite different from what I had been hearing. That was the Beatles.

The time was 1975. Although by then the fabulous four had already dissolved the group, there were always waves of revival, and I was caught in one of them.

Once, I narrated my own initiation into the kingdom of Beatlemania to the famous photographer Shimpei Asai, who captured many memorable moments of the group's Tokyo tour. Shimpei said that it was an ideal way of getting to know the music of Beatles.

The knack is to be struck unawares. Without any prior knowledge, suddenly you're exposed to a whole new realm of the unknown. It is love at first sight or hearing.

What bliss. Life is full of surprises. You have to wait for one.

Writing this, I am reminded of Miranda's immortal speech in Tempest.

"O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beautious mankind is!
O brave new world,
That has such people in't!"


What a genius is William! How well he captures the blessings of the unknown!

Full of life!

I had several dialogues with the artist Shusaku Arakawa in 2006, including one television shoot. The location for the TV dialogue was in the “Reversible Destiny Lofts MITAKA -In Memory of Helen Keller“. The producer was Goichi Hanano.

Shusaku Arakawa is a fascinating person. He speaks with energy and passion, and his words are poems in motion.

Once Shusaku gave a lecture at the Tokyo University of Fine arts and Music. For those who attended the lecture, and for those who subsequently listened to it on the internet through the MP3 file, the talk is now a legend.

I particularly remember the moment when Shusaku cried aloud, noticing that he has inadvertently let out some saliva as he was talking too enthusiastically.

"Look! In that saliva, there are billions of organisms. You see? The world is like that! Full of life!"
The memory of that "full of life!" moment would stay with me for a long long time.

Human memories are strange. I somehow remembered my time with Shusaku Arakawa this morning.


With Shusaku Arakawa in the “Reversible Destiny Lofts MITAKA -In Memory of Helen Keller“, April 2006.

The ultimate role model

It is interesting that intellectuals who are not ostensibly religious are drawn to the life of Jesus Christ. Oscar Wilde, whose life on the surface seems to be one of indulgence and extravagance rather than prudence, came to a deep understanding of the life and teachings of Jesus Christ in his last years. Wilde was imprisoned for a "crime" which by today's standards is nothing but an expression of personal traits best left for discretions. Wilde's De Profundis, written in the prison, delights the reader with the artist's in-depth interpretation of the man that was Jesus Christ.

Leo Tolstoy, the novelist of Anna Karenina and War and Peace, dedicated his later years to writing on Christianity. His book "The Gospel in Brief" had a profound effect on Ludwig Wittgenstein, arguably the greatest philosopher of the 20th century. Wittgenstein carried the book everywhere, and recommended it to people he encountered, so that he came to be known as the "Gospel man".

It is interesting to observe in what context Jesus Christ became an inspiration for these valuable people. It was the principle of individuality. In Jesus Christ we find a man who did not become fearful of obeying one's inner voice even if that was against the common sense and codes of morality of the society at that particular time. Creativity is often proportional to the courage to venture into unbeaten paths, and Jesus Christ provided the ultimate role model.

In the pursuit of individuality, "God" could be a metaphor. God represents that which is unchangeable and ever life-supportive in the battles of individuality in a society where the peer pressures are sometimes too strong and the codes of behavior too demanding.

Soseki without stomachache

Sanshiro is one of my beloved novels by Soseki Natsume. As I was transferring data into my new notebook computer, I had some time, and was reading an English translation of Sanshiro.

Haruki Murakami writes the preface. What Mr. Murakami says is quite interesting. I quote.

-----------------

The protagonist of Sanshiro, however, is different. He, too, is unable to find his proper place amid dislocated circumstances, but he never fully confronts those circumstances as a problem within himself. Instead, he accepts them in a relatively natural way, with a young man's particular kind of nonchalant resignation, as something entirely external to himself. "Oh, well, that's how it goes," he seems to say. Stomach pain has not yet entered his world. I think that Sanshiro is a personal favorite of mime because it depicts this natural functioning of the young protagonist's psyche in an utterly mellifluous style. Sanshiro watches life sweeping him along the same way he looks at clouds sailing through the sky. The free movement of his gaze draws us in almost before we know it, and we forget to view him critically.

Haruki Murakami, Preface to Sanshiro, translated by Jay Rubin.

-----------------

Here, Mr. Murakami's usage of the "stomachache" metaphor is interesting. It is well known that Soseki Natsume suffered from stomach conditions for most of his career, especially in the late years. It may well be that such physical circumstances influenced what Soseki wrote as a novelist in a profound way, affecting the world view and the manner in which the protagonist of the story moved around in the fictitious world.

In this context, Haruki Murakami himself might be regarded as "Soseki without stomachache".


Sanshiro. Translated by Jay Rubin.

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