An Artist of the Floating World

by Kazuo Ishiguro

‘I was very young when I prepared those prints. I suspect the reason I couldn’t celebrate the floating world was that I couldn’t bring myself to believe in its worth. Young men are often guilt-ridden about pleasure, and I suppose I was no different. I suppose I thought that to pass away one’s time in such places, to spend one’s skills celebrating things so intangible and transient, I suppose I thought it all rather wasteful, all rather decadent. It’s hard to appreciate the beauty of a world when one doubts its very validity.’

There it is. This is the thesis or reason to write this story.

I look back over my life and see I have devoted it to the task of capturing the unique beauty of that world, I believe I will be well satisfied. And no man will make me believe I’ve wasted my time.’

while I may deserve only the smallest praise for my own paintings, when I come to look back over my life and remember I have nurtured and assisted the careers of all of you here, why then no man will make me believe I have wasted my time.’

But again I have drifted.

Hell of a drift

‘Does sake make you strong?’ I smiled and shook my head. ‘Sake can make you believe you’re strong. But in reality, Ichiro, you’re no stronger than before you drank it.’ ‘Why do men drink sake then, Oji?’ ‘I don’t know, Ichiro. Perhaps because for a little while, they can believe they’re stronger. But sake doesn’t really make a man stronger.’ ‘Spinach makes you really strong.’ ‘Then spinach is much better than sake. You go on eating spinach, Ichiro.

‘But was he a bad man?’ ‘No. He wasn’t a bad man. He was just someone who worked very hard doing what he thought was for the best. But you see, Ichiro, when the war ended, things were very different. The songs Mr Naguchi composed had become very famous, not just in this city, but all over Japan. They were sung on the radio and in bars. And the likes of your Uncle Kenji sang them when they were marching or before a battle. And after the war, Mr Naguchi thought his songs had been – well – a sort of mistake. He thought of all the people who had been killed, all the little boys your age, Ichiro, who no longer had parents, he thought of all these things and he thought perhaps his songs were a mistake. And he felt he should apologize. To everyone who was left. To little boys who no longer had parents. And to parents who had lost little boys like you. To all these people, he wanted to say sorry. I think that’s why he killed himself. Mr Naguchi wasn’t a bad man at all, Ichiro. He was brave to admit the mistakes he’d made. He was very brave and honourable.’

the kitchens and bathrooms throughout the block are of Western design and are, so my daughter assures me, infinitely more practical than, say, the arrangements in my own house.

it is possible I did not pay much attention to what Setsuko said next. In any case, it seems to me she said something like: ‘There is no doubt Father devoted the most careful thought to my brother’s upbringing. Nevertheless, in the light of what came to pass, we can perhaps see that on one or two points at least, Mother may in fact have had the more correct ideas.’ To be fair, it is possible she did not say anything quite so unpleasant.

It is true, I grew quite fond of the Tortoise during those years we spent together at Mori-san’s villa, but then I do not believe I ever respected him as an equal.

I remember they labelled us ‘the engineers’, comparing the intense and frantic way we worked once an idea had struck with an engine driver shovelling on coal for fear the steam would at any moment run out. We in turn named the slow faction ‘the backwarders’. A ‘backwarder’ was originally a term used at the villa for someone who, in a room crowded with people working at easels, insisted on stepping backwards every few minutes to view his canvas – with the result that he continually collided with colleagues working behind him. It was of course quite unfair to suggest that because an artist liked to take time with a painting – stepping back, as it were, metaphorically – he was any more likely to be guilty of this antisocial habit, but then we enjoyed the very provocativeness of the label. Indeed, I recall a lot of good-humoured bantering concerning ‘engineers’ and ‘backwarders’.

In truth, though, just about all of us were prone to be guilty of ‘backwarding’,

I should perhaps explain here that occasionally, whenever an artist felt a particular work would be hampered by comments of any sort before its completion, he would ‘request privacy’ for that work, and it was then understood that no one would attempt to look at it until such time as the artist withdrew his request.

The Tortoise continued to hold his face away. He said: ‘Ono-san, is our teacher aware of this painting?’ ‘No, not yet. But I suppose I may as well show it to him. From now on, I intend to always paint along these lines. Tortoise, look at my painting. Let me explain to you what I’m trying to do. Then perhaps we can again take an important step forward together.’ At last he turned to look at me. ‘Ono-san,’ he said, in a near whisper, ‘you are a traitor. Now please excuse me.’

I am fully aware, of course, that ‘Eyes to the Horizon’, whatever its artistic merits, is a painting whose sentiments are now outdated. Indeed, I would be the first to admit that those same sentiments are perhaps worthy of condemnation. I am not one of those who are afraid to admit to the shortcomings of past achievements.

‘I’m sorry, Ono,’ Matsuda said, smiling and shaking his head, ‘but I fear I was correct in my assumption after all. As a breed, you artists are desperately naïve.’ He leaned back in his seat and gave a sigh. The surface of our table was covered in cigarette ash and Matsuda was thoughtfully sweeping patterns in it with the edge of an empty matchbox left by previous occupants. ‘There’s a certain kind of artist these days,’ he went on, ‘whose greatest talent lies in hiding away from the real world. Unfortunately, such artists appear to be in dominance at present, and you, Ono, have come under the sway of one of them. Don’t look so angry, it’s true. Your knowledge of the world is like a child’s. I doubt, for instance, if you could even tell me who Karl Marx was.’

‘I fail to see what there is to object to in a little charity. And if at the same time it opens the eyes of us decadent artists, then so much the better, I would have thought.’ ‘Your eyes are indeed far from open, Ono, if you believe a little good-hearted charity can help the poor of our country. The truth is, Japan is headed for crisis. We are in the hands of greedy businessmen and weak politicians. Such people will see to it poverty grows every day. Unless, that is, we, the emerging generation, take action.

Ah, timeless.

The truth is, Ono, in times like these, when people are getting poorer, and children are growing more hungry and sick all around you, it is simply not enough for an artist to hide away somewhere, perfecting pictures of courtesans. I can see you’re angry with me, and even now you’re searching for some way to come back at me. But I mean well, Ono. I hope later on you’ll think carefully about these things. For you, above all, are someone of immense talent.’

‘Why, not at all, Sensei. I’m most grateful you should take such an interest in my work.’ ‘But it’s only natural I should take interest. You are my most accomplished pupil. I have invested years nurturing your talent.’ ‘Of course, Sensei. I cannot begin to estimate what I owe you.’ Neither of us spoke for a few moments, while I continued to light lanterns. Then I paused and said: ‘I am very relieved no harm has come to my paintings. I should have known there was some simple explanation of this kind. I can now put my mind at rest.’ Mori-san said nothing to this, and from what I could make of his silhouette, he did not take his eyes from the view. It occurred to me he had not heard me, so I said a little more loudly: ‘I am glad I can put my mind at rest regarding the safety of my paintings.’ ‘Yes, Ono,’ Mori-san said, as though startled out of some far-away thoughts. ‘I had a little spare time on my hands. So I had someone go and fetch me your recent work.’ ‘It was foolish of me to have worried. I’m glad the paintings are safe.’ He did not speak for some time so that I again thought he had not heard me. But then he said: ‘I was a little surprised by what I saw. You seem to be exploring curious avenues.’

‘Sensei,’ I said, ‘I feel strongly that my recent work is the finest I have yet done.’ ‘It’s no bad thing, no bad thing at all. But then again, one shouldn’t spend too much time with such experiments. One can become like someone who travels too much. Best return to serious work before too long.’

I thought for a moment, then said: ‘I would, of course, be most grateful for Sensei’s opinions of them. However, I am not at all certain as to where I left them.’ ‘But you will endeavour to find them, I trust.’ ‘I will, Sensei. In the meantime, I will perhaps relieve Sensei of the other paintings to which he was so kind as to give his attention. No doubt they are cluttering up his quarters, so I shall remove them as soon as we return.’ ‘No need to bother with those paintings, Ono. It will be sufficient if you find the remaining ones and bring them to me.’ ‘I regret, Sensei, that I will not be able to find the remaining paintings.’ ‘I see, Ono.’ He gave a tired sigh, and I could see him once again gazing up at the sky. ‘So you do not think you will be able to bring me those paintings of yours.’ ‘No, Sensei. I fear not.’ ‘I see. Of course, you have considered your future in the event of your leaving my patronage.’

I have learnt much in contemplating the world of pleasure, and recognizing its fragile beauty. But I now feel it is time for me to progress to other things. Sensei, it is my belief that in such troubled times as these, artists must learn to value something more tangible than those pleasurable things that disappear with the morning light. It is not necessary that artists always occupy a decadent and enclosed world. My conscience, Sensei, tells me I cannot remain forever an artist of the floating world.’

Well, as I say, Ono, were you less talented, there would be cause for worry. But you are a clever young man.’ I saw Mori-san’s silhouette turn to face me. ‘You will no doubt succeed in finding work illustrating magazines and comic books. Perhaps you will even manage to join a firm like the one you were employed by when you first came to me. Of course, it will mean the end of your development as a serious artist, but then no doubt you’ve taken all this into account.’

‘Before we go any further,’ I said, ‘let me explain that my name is Ono.’ The officer showed no recognition, so I continued a little uncertainly: ‘I am the man on whose information you have been brought here. I am Masuji Ono, the artist and member of the Cultural Committee of the Interior Department. Indeed, I am an official adviser to the Committee of Unpatriotic Activities. I believe there’s been some sort of mistake here and I would like to speak with whoever is in charge.’

‘It was quite unnecessary to burn those. There were many fine works amongst them.’ ‘Mr Ono, we’re grateful for your help. But now the investigations have been started, you must leave them in the hands of the appropriate authorities. We’ll see to it your Mr Kuroda is treated fairly.’

don’t you think sometimes some good things are being thrown out with the bad? Indeed, sometimes Japan has come to look like a small child learning from a strange adult.’

by and large, the Americans have an immense amount to teach us. Just in these few years, for instance, we Japanese have already come a long way in understanding such things as democracy and individual rights.

I’m confident that by and large the lessons of these past years have been good ones and will lead us all on to a splendid future. But perhaps I am to be corrected, Father.’ ‘Not at all, not at all,’ I said, and gave him a smile. ‘As you say, no doubt your generation has a splendid future. And you are all so confident. I can only wish you the best.’