Art, Etc.
X
The artist, above all else, must aspire to complete works of art. Otherwise, the act of devoting one’s self to the arts likely becomes meaningless. Even if he is moved by the humanity, if that is all he seeks, then he ought to be able to get that merely from listening to a sermon. Beyond devoting one’s self to the arts, we must, in the works of art we pass down to others, primarily move them artistically. Furthermore, there is simply no path for us besides the one where we aspire to complete works of art.
X
Art for the sake of art, with one misstep, can decay into masturbation.*
Art for the sake of humanity, with one misstep, can decay into automatic action.
X
One should not read ‘completion’ as the production of an error-free work. It is the complete realization of one’s particularly developed artistic ideals. If that artist cannot always do that, that artist should be ashamed. Therefore, a great artist is that artist whose area of completion is of the largest scale. For an example look at Goethe.
X
Of course, man cannot transcend the limits of his aptitude which are bestowed by nature. If he sighs at that and grows lazy, he knows nothing of the whereabouts of those limits. So it is necessary for him to be of a mind like Goethe and devote himself. If he is ashamed at this, then in a hundred years he could not even hope to become Goethe’s driver. And above all there is no need for him to go around telling everybody he meets that he will be like Goethe.
X
When we head down the path towards artistic completion, there are some things which impede our devotion. Thoughts of an easier life? No, not that. That is a more mysterious characteristic. As the mountain climber climbs high, he grows strangely wistful for the foot of the mountain beneath the clouds. If he does not comprehend this—those men, for me at least, are beyond salvation.
X
A caterpillar on the branch of a tree lives in constant danger on account of its foes: temperature, weather, birds. The artist, too, to preserve his life, must endure such dangers in the same way as the caterpillar. What he fears above all else is stagnation. No, there is nothing called stagnation within the world of the artist. If he does not progress he will surely degenerate. When an artist degenerates, he begins to do only one automatic action. That being, he writes only the same works. If automatic action starts, it must be thought that he, as an artist, is on the verge of death. When I wrote “The Dragon,” I, too, was clearly on the verge of this variety of death.
X
Those who hold a more correct view of art will not necessarily only write better works. Is it just me who, when he considers this, feels a sensation of loneliness? I pray I am not the only one.
X
Here is a theory that is all the rage now: Regarding form, in books the content is the end. However, this is a lie that appears to be true. The content of a creation is content which inevitably becomes one with form. If there are those who that that first there is content, and then later form is manufactured, then those are the words of ones who are blind to the divinity of literary creation. Let me give you a simple example. Surely most everybody must know that Oswald Alving says in Ghosts, “Give me the sun.” What is the content of the words, “Give me the sun?” Once, Tsubouchi Shōyō, in his commentary on Ghosts, translated it as, “It’s dark.” Of course, in theory, “Give me the sun,” and, “It’s dark,” may be the same. However, in content, the two could not be further apart. The content of those solemn words, “Give me the sun,” cannot express anything more than the style of the ordinary, “Give me the sun.” That Ibsen so precisely wedded content and form is one of his greatest points. It is not strange that José Echegaray should praise it so highly in the introduction to The Son of Don Juan. It is from confusing the content of those words with the abstract meaning in those words which the mistaken emphasis on content comes. Simply skillfully manipulating content is not form. Form is in content. Or vice-versa. For those people who cannot grasp this delicate connection, the arts, forevermore, shall be nothing more than a closed book.
X
Art begins with expression and ends with expression. A painter who does not paint, a poet who composes no poetry, and other such phrases, are phrases with no meaning except for as metaphors. Rather than speaking of chalk which is not white, the artist must think of more foolish words.
X
However, woe be upon those who hold the mistaken belief of the preponderance of form. I daresay that realistically they shall meet with more of a doom than those who hold the superiority of content. The latter bestow meteorites instead of stars. The former see fireflies and make them for stars. On character, education, and other such points, my constant vigilance is not one to be carried away by the acclamation of the mistaken adherents of the superiority of form.
X
When you can truly read with your heart the work of a great artist, we, overwhelmed again and again by that greatness, feel as though those other authors might as well not exist. It is like when one looks at the sun; when he turns his eyes away, his surroundings have grown dim. When I read War and Peace for the first time, I did not know how much I would scorn other Russian authors. However, that was not correct. We must understand that besides the sun, there is the moon. There are stars. Goethe, even while admiring Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment, had enough composure to hesitate scorning the Vatican’s Raphael.
X
In order to create exemplary works, artist, depending on the time and place, are quite capable of selling their souls to the devil. This means, of course, that I have done so. There are probably people who have done so with less reservations than I had.
X
So spake Mephistopholes, come to Japan: “There is no piece of art about which nobody can utter any criticism. The duty of the wise critic is merely to seize the opportunity at which it seems that that criticism will be widely recognized. Therefore they make use of that opportunity and damn that author’s future prospects. This sort of damnation is doubly effective. Against society and against the author himself.”
X
Whether art is understood or not understood is not the domain of explanations. It is nothing more than drinking water to find of for one’s self if it is warm or cold. Understanding art is no different from this. It is like reading a book on aesthetics and considering one’s self a critic, or like reading a travel guide and thinking that one can travel all throughout the country without getting lost. And even so society may have been deceived. However, the artists—no, I fear perhaps only Santayana…
X
I sympathize with every opposition to art. Even in the case of those opposed to my own, on occasion.
X
The life of the artist, no matter how brilliant, is a deliberate one. What I mean by that is, when the Chinese painter Ni Zan painted Pine Over Rock, all the branches of the pine extend outward in outrageous directions. Not even Ni Zan, at the time, knew what the effect the branches would have on the canvas. However, that there would be some effect because of the branches, he knew only too well. If he had not known, Ni Zan would have been no genius. He would just have been some mechanical puppet.
X
“Unconscious artistic acts” is nothing more than another way to ask for water from a stone. Therefore, Rodan spurned inspiration.
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Long ago, Cézanne vehemently opposed some criticism of Delacroix which he had heard which said that Delacroix painted flowers over half-baked material. It might have just been Cézanne’s intention to speak of Delacroix. However, in that opposition was laid bare Cézanne himself. That awesome inner Cézanne which, for the sake of seizing some inevitable law which commands that artistic emotion be brought about, cannot turn away from his duty.
X
The application of this inevitable law is what is called technique. So there are only two types of people who disdain technique: those who do not understand art from the beginning, and those who use a bad definition. In regards to those who use a bad definition, they, who boast that it’s just not for them, are just like those who consider vegetarian to be a way to avoid paying for meat; they have a total misunderstanding of vegetarianism. From whence comes this disdain? All artists ought to polish their technique all the more. Speaking of Ni Zan, who I brought up as an example earlier, had to, all the more, get the knack of sending the pine branches out in directions to bring about some result. “Write with your soul.” “Write with your life.” These gold-plated platitudes are best left to middle school lessons.
X
Simplicity is sacred. However, simplicity in terms of art is a simplicity which is of great complexity. A simplicity beyond squishing a seed between pieces of wood to get the juice out, beyond even just squeezing the seed. Before that simplicity is achieved, to no matter what degree one must have embarked on creative endeavors, one unrealized in this area is like this: though he may read over the same verses sixty times or more, he babbles like a child, while thinking himself Demosthenes. He cannot know to what degree which that cheap simplicity is near true simplicity.
X
What is dangerous is not technique. It is those with some small talent who abuse technique. These amateurs conceal their lack of seriousness with parlor tricks. Though I am loath to admit it I myself have among my poorer works stories composed entirely of these parlor tricks. I daresay this is a fact even my foes will recognize with delight. But…
X
I fear that my desire to live a comfortable life means that when I am satisfied with my lot in life, I, then, will be dragged into depravity by demons of elegance. To best avoid being consumed by this desire, I make others and myself trust in me, and I defend the remainder from relying wholly on the will of myself and others. That I am interested in playing at this sort of loquaciousness is also because of that. Before long there will come a time when I do not give it my all and I will have nothing left. (10/8/1919)
* I’m obviously being very liberal here, but I really think this is the best translation of a very difficult passage. The only thing I don’t like about it is that there’s no word that cuts to the heart of an idea like “masturbation” for the next sentence. I had to take “automatic action” from later on in the text.