The Versatile Master Artist

”Damn it.”

Koshiba Tarou was cursing inwardly as well.

After being harshly criticized by Koizumi Katsuko, he was stewing in anger in Fitz’s staff lounge, growing more frustrated the more he thought about it.

The last bit of rationality left in him stopped him from acting out under Mrs. Sakai’s watchful eyes.

Uncle Sakai was like a massive stabilizing force in the entire Japanese art scene, both in weight and skill.

He was someone his father needed to win over in the Japan Art Association faction.

The battles over various interests within the Japanese tea ceremony, kendo, and art associations were notorious throughout Asia.

If he truly angered Mrs. Sakai, not only would they fail to become allies, but they’d find themselves on opposing sides of the Xiaosong Gallery.

His father, Koshiba Kentaro, would be the first to go after him.

If he can’t provoke them, can he at least avoid them?

Go to hell!

I’m done with this. I’m going home.

Koshiba Tarou immediately booked a ticket for tonight from Yangon International Airport back to Osaka, without informing Mrs. Sakai. He simply grabbed a few things from the office and prepared to leave directly.

As he stormed out of Fitz School, he happened to see the student council updating the campus notice board.

Koshiba caught sight of Gu Weijing’s annoying face on the board.

He spat on the ground, and even as he reached the school gate, he couldn’t resist turning back, unable to control himself.

Just the mention of Gu Weijing’s name lit a slow-burning fire in Koshiba’s heart, leaving him irritated and restless.

He wanted to tear something apart.

”I want to see what dogshit nonsense this Gu Weijing is up to now.”

In a fit of anger, he approached the bulletin board, randomly scanning the text on it.

This scanning went on for nearly fifteen minutes.

Koshiba’s brows furrowed and relaxed, furrowed and relaxed again.

His eyes showed disdain, then surprise, then shock, as his mouth opened slightly—his facial expressions were richly varied.

He realized Koizumi Katsuko was right all along.

He really had never truly understood Gu Weijing.

The opportunity to co-sign a painting with Mr. Cao Xuan made Koshiba burn with jealousy.

But what truly held Koshiba in place, as if nailed down, preventing him from leaving despite several attempts, wasn’t just that co-signed mural with Cao Xuan.

Koshiba had grown up in the most elite artistic environments, having met countless great artists.

His vision and knowledge far surpassed those of the local Burmese students around him.

With the touch of Master Cao Xuan, it’s only natural to create great art.

The jointly signed piece might have some commemorative value, but ultimately, it was just an old mural restored at the Great Golden Pagoda in Myanmar, born from chance.

It couldn’t be taken away or sold.

It was fundamentally different from a typical co-created piece by two artists presented at an art exhibition, bearing both artists’ names—contrary to the more traditional notion of co-signature art.

The media’s interpretations would differ greatly as well.

Paintings by Cao Xuan and Professor Lin Tao were considered artistic inheritance, esteemed events in the art world.

Whereas collaborating with someone like Gu Weijing was viewed as an old artist having some fun, casually mentoring a youngster.

No skill can turn self-adornment as ”painting with Elder Cao” into a revered temple bodhisattva.

Koshiba’s focus shifted to the sketch practice pinned below.

”Highly disciplined.”

This evaluation popped into his head, irritating Koshiba.

A sketch is intricate work; much can be seen from a single line.

Koshiba had never liked line drawing; his works were always filled with vibrant color blocks, chasing an indistinct, ambiguous emotional tone.

This high-minded term was referred to as a devotee of the Austrian Separatist Movement, considering himself a loyal follower of the great painter Gustav Klimt, known for expressing emotions with color blocks.

The low-minded term was lacking precise control over brush strokes.

Hell,

With his sketch lines in chaos, what’s he supposed to draw if not color blocks? Air?

Koshiba knew his own struggles.

His sketching skill was a bottleneck for progression, ranking him at the very bottom among professional painters.

During a family dinner when gifting a painting to Koizumi Katsuko, she pointed out a multitude of mistakes.

Apart from Koizumi Katsuko not caring much about him, there was also his issue with brushwork in line drawing.

The great painter Klimt loved using color blocks but didn’t shy away from lines.

Klimt often filled his works with tense, slightly trembling lines—emphasizing decoration, creating a sense of instability with trembling, chaotic, and unsettled colors.

Clearly, his line proficiency was already at an extremely high level.

Painting the ethereal compared to the concrete was harder, and achieving chaos without disorder harder than painting meticulously.

From realism to artistic expression, if you can’t achieve the former, don’t even think about the latter.

When he first met Gu Weijing in the underground parking lot, he felt Gu’s sketching skills were at best on par with his.

Since sketching was his weakness, Koshiba didn’t take it to heart.

And now, just after a few months, he had improved this much?

When it comes to oil painting and techniques, there’s the base map updated by Koizumi Katsuko on INS.