The Versatile Master Artist

Gu Weijing’s heart stirred.

He quietly listened to Miss Sakai recounting her father’s story.

This was something that would never be recorded in any art journal in the world, the darkest moment in Professor Yajima’s life.

In the narrative of Koizumi Katsuko, there wasn’t the jolly, top-tier artist of Asia, but rather a restless young man with a broken and desolate heart.

He had never experienced anything similar to Uncle Sakai’s encounter.

But Gu Weijing could still imagine, to some extent, what exactly that scene was like.

Similar incidents happen frequently in the art world.

The news repetitively reports similar stories again and again.

Some even say that in every great artist’s life, they will encounter one or two friends who commit suicide.

He imagined a time when Shengzi hadn’t been born yet, in that little studio in Osaka, a young painter holding a basin of charcoal, facing a blank canvas all alone.

Day by day the calendar on the wall was torn away, resonating like a mournful toll of bells.

Uncle Sakai’s life was derailing.

He lost the magic to paint and also the ability to control destiny.

So he decided to die.

The last toll of the morning bell marked the funeral of his career and, simultaneously, the funeral of his life.

The contrast was simply too immense.

Thus, Gu Weijing couldn’t help but conjure an image in his mind.

In this painting, the sky over Osaka wasn’t the perpetual blue skies and white clouds of anime, with sunny days.

Instead, it was as gloomy as the overcast days of Yangon, seemingly overcast due to undersaturated paint, grey and suffocating.

The young Professor Yajima was turned sideways to the camera, with a pile of burning charcoal by his feet, sealing up the window and door gaps with thick adhesive tape, trying to block out the last ray of light from the grey sky.

All that was left for him was dull ashes.

”Back then, my father even had a copy of ’Spring Passes’ ready at his side, it would have been his last possession.” Koizumi Katsuko pressed her lips together: ”That English poetry collection is still placed by my mom at the top of our bookshelf at home.”

’Spring Passes’ is a famous poem by Byron about being abandoned by his lover.

Gu Weijing speculated that perhaps Uncle Sakai used it to express being abandoned by his Muse Goddess.

And so,

His spring ended too.

As though it were some kind of dark metaphor and contrast.

In Japanese history, those famous literary workers almost lined up one after the other to choose suicide as their end.

Dazai Osamu jumped into the river five times, Kawabata Yasunari, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Tanaka Hidekazu, Ariyama Takeshi, and of course, the famously rebellious Yukio Mishima who tragically performed hara-kiri on live television.

However, upon the end of life,

Professor Yakai Ichiro didn’t choose the common Japanese methods of hara-kiri or hanging. He opted for the dull and melancholic method of burning charcoal, with a sad poetry collection by his side.

Gu Weijing recalled reports from art media that when Uncle Sakai studied abroad across Europe, classmates called him ”Byron from the East.”

Perhaps.

That wasn’t just because Uncle Sakai once appeared as a handsome, slender young man.

Perhaps before he evolved into today’s broad and fat figure, he really did have a heart as poetic and sensitive as a poet’s.

Uncle Sakai really had a Byron-like time.

”And then?” Gu Weijing asked in a trance.

”Later, my mom found out about this.” Koizumi Katsuko smiled slightly.

”At that time, my grandfather wasn’t optimistic about my mom and dad’s relationship, and when they came to Japan to develop, he cut off her living allowance.”

”My grandfather said, Spain is a free country, she can choose love. But since she chose to marry a yellow-skinned Tatar, she had to say goodbye to her original bags, lipstick, and Mercedes-Benz. She chose her husband over her father’s expectations, so she should ask her husband for these things, and not her father.”

”It’s okay not to be a good daughter, but choosing the benefits of freedom means bearing the responsibility of freedom,” Miss Sakai said. ”The Grand Gallery paid minimal subsidies for struggling artists. My mom voluntarily gave up the artistic path and applied for a graphic design position at an advertising company in Osaka. At that time, most of their living expenses were shouldered by my mom.”

”Her work was busy, often working overtime and rarely disturbing my father’s creative process, to provide him with a quiet environment for painting, seldom going to the studio.”

Koizumi Katsuko continued: ”She just felt my dad was listless all the time during that period, a little worried, so took leave to take him to the movies. When she opened the door, she just saw the basin of charcoal in the open cabinet that hadn’t been put away, and my dad crying while writing his last words. She rushed over—”

”I understand, Aunt rushed over, and just like you, gave Uncle Sakai a kiss. That must have been a very shocking and touching moment for Uncle Sakai.”

Gu Weijing nodded and interjected.

He guessed how the incident unfolded.

The lover’s kiss is the warmest thing in the world; that’s just how he was pulled out.

”Uh...”

Koizumi Katsuko paused for a moment: ”No, my mom was almost furious at that time. She later said she was working so hard to support a man, only to suddenly find out he was planning to surrender to death like that? Who wouldn’t be angry? She rushed over and immediately gave my dad two hard slaps.”