A rapidly changing society, busy lives,
ideologies that become less relaxed and more aggressive, repeated clashes and wars...
These things have existed in every era,
and like waves crashing on the beach, they never die down.
And it makes me think.
Chopin's "Nocturne" and Debussy's "Clair de Lune,"
there is certainly music with truly beautiful melodies in this world,
but for example, when it comes to acquiring imagination,
which is more beneficial:
listening to Frédéric Chopin's "Raindrops" for an hour,
or listening carefully to the quiet sound of rain beating on a roof on a June night for an hour?
"Nocturne" or the beautiful sound of a golden lark?
What about listening to "Clair de Lune" or spending time gazing from a window at the crescent moon setting in the western sky?
Music can endlessly embellish and enrich time,
but sometimes I find myself wondering if I'm plugging my ears to the voice of the earth.
It's the same with paintings.
If I were to spend an hour looking at various images at an art exhibition or in an art book,
I'd be seized by a shallow suspicion, a misguided and crude idea, that perhaps time spent slowly gazing at hydrangea leaves covered in raindrops,
a tiny white clover peeking out from between the grass,
or a warm patch of sunlight on an old wooden bench in front of the city library
wouldn't be far more conducive to developing an artist.
A month ago, I heard the hooting of an owl in the forest of Mt. M.
As usual, the barn owl had completed its migration,
and began to quietly and apologetically croak in the silence of the night.
When morning comes, the Japanese white-eye delivers its airy song.
I'm sure you'll never find that tone no matter which keys you strike on the piano,
or wander across a guitar fretboard for hours.
Just as no painter can capture on canvas the radiance of the light green new leaves that color the forest in May,
there is so much beauty that cannot be expressed.
And I believe it is these things that always nourish my imagination,
and continue to hone my powers of observation.
Every night after work, I run to my car and look around,
and I notice that tall buildings zigzag along the edge of the night sky.
I want to maintain a good-natured skepticism about modern society, where we are forced to get used to living surrounded by artificial straight lines,
rather than the gentle, beautiful curves of the hills.
And so I think about where art is headed.
New things become outdated.
We eventually get used to the amazing.
But we cherish the things we love.
And here I found the answer.
If there is still vivid meaning in art that is easily overwhelmed by the shadows of trees cast by the summer sunlight on a promenade,
the decaying leaves left behind by the autumn wind,
the Orion constellation twinkling in a clear winter night sky,
or the song of the spring herald,
I believe that it is only in works that can be formed only through careful time and effort,
and that can be grown fond of.
For all artists and viewers,
whether it be literature, painting, music, sculpture, or anything else,
I hope that more such works will be produced,
and that they will remain forever like treasures in our calmer days and peaceful world.
- the FURT
