Nippon Scape

An old man

A garden into which sparkling sunlight streams overflows with greenery and flowers in bloom. Butterflies and bees dance, ants and mantises parade. Among the busily moving insects, a solitary old man stoops over, motionless. His eyes, hardly even blinking, follow the shapes of the insects. Sometimes reflecting the sun, they are as clear as an infant’s. Because of his age I guess, wrinkles run across his face but even so his skin is quite moist. He watches the insects so as to commit to memory their expressions and movements. Afterwards, in no time at all, the forms of those insects are, through his fingertips and well-loved brush, duplicated on drawing paper.

This man is an artist. “I am the insect, the insect is me.” Often saying such curious things, he works hard painting pieces of botanical art. Botanical art, as the name suggests, is ‘plant art.’ However, this man draws insects rather than plants and flowers; flowers and vegetation take a supporting role. And so why is it then that he is recognised as Japan’s leading figure in botanical art? He doesn’t mind being categorised as a botanical artist; no one is more easygoing than him. Day after day, he has observed the insects in this way. Whilst gazing at them, with the passage of time, he too has aged. Now, he is ninety-seven years old. He is approaching the one hundred mark. However, astonishingly, he is still at work. And so, even today, his eyes are on the insects in the garden.

The first encounter

I found out about him through an article in a magazine. I picked it up by chance while I was killing time in the magazine corner of a bookshop I had casually dropped into. Flipping through the pages absentmindedly, I stopped my hand. It was of no particular significance. It really was by mere chance that I happened upon an interview with the man called Kumada Chikabo. If I remember correctly, there were several photographs, including a portrait of him. Although I am a writer in the design, art and craft world, I didn’t know of him. ‘Wow, that guy’s got something about him,’ I thought. Why was I drawn so strongly to the way he looked, to his name, and even more so to the fine detail of the pictures? I decided to read the characters lined up there. To read an interview in a bookshop was quite something. Generally, when I stand reading in a bookshop, my goal is simply to blankly release my consciousness into the air. The editors of the magazine must really have excelled for me, usually so ambivalent, to have thought to stand and read an article. Or else was there some other reason? At any rate, moving my eyes, I began to read the interview.

His words were simply wonderful. Immediately, the thought arose in my mind, “I must cover this.” It wasn’t the technical things that professional and amateur illustrators care for that interested me but his life that I wanted to know more about. I did my best to remember his curious sounding name. “Kumada Chikabo. Chikabo. Chikabo.” The general opinion is that editors and writers are supposed to be objective. However, such objectivity can only be applied to viewpoints and expressions formed after the initial subjective selection has taken place. Without subjective judgement in the selection of subjects, that is to say themes, you cannot create any kind of article or story. In those days, overall responsibility for a web magazine had been left in my hands. This bilingual magazine basically took ‘making things’ as its theme. Its subject matter was the engineers and directors of regional small to medium enterprises and dyed-in-the-wool craftspeople. Therefore, to all intents and purposes, to cover this solitary artist ran counter to the magazine’s themes. Even so, I wanted to write about him no matter what and, therefore, at an editorial content meeting, baffling the staff with my explanation that “a botanical artist is a kind of craftsperson,” I half forced the decision to cover him.

A house on a hill

His house is near a station in Yokohama. Narrow alleys run wriggling through the residential district. There is a large park relatively close to the urban area and the singing of summer cicadas echoes through the skies. The area is not flat and so I guess you would call it hilly. You get the impression that the lay of the land and of the streets is all slanting. It seems that the home of this artist who is almost one hundred years old is at the top of a hill. Ascending the gently sloping steps, I emerged at the summit. Even though it was the top of a hill, decent lower-middle-class homes formed a line in this residential district. I hadn’t expected his house, which I had seen in a photograph in the magazine, to be in such a modernised area. Could I have taken the wrong street? Such thoughts came to my mind. In any case, I was about to meet a mystic of the picture world; it was fitting for him to quietly retreat to an old-fashioned house. Unconsciously, I ran away with such self-indulgent wild ideas.

Therefore, the first time I saw his house, it seemed so ordinary that I remember feeling a little disappointed. A man came out and invited me inside and, taking a few steps down a short corridor, I came to a room about six tatami mats in size. I sat down in front of a small worktable in the room and a man was sitting there smiling; of course, this was Kumada Chikabo. How can I explain in words the softness of that smile, manna from heaven? “Welcome.” A voice with substance reverberated around the room. It was surely too vigorous a voice to have come from a man of short build in his nineties. “Thank you.” Lowering my head silently I made an end of the greetings and, as always, commenced the work of the interview.

Beautiful eyes

He spoke in whispered tones during the interview. Even so, his words flowed smoothly. Now and then he uttered them in a surprisingly clear and strong manner. His appearance was certainly that of an old man but surely no one would have thought he was ninety-seven. His eyes sparkled and even where his skin had wrinkled it was moist and bright. He had a smooth tongue and his memory was clear. When he spoke I felt I was talking with a youth who had only just entered society. Completing the interview in about two hours, his pure and anarchic words had overwhelmed me. Now and again you do get wonderful and emotive interviews. However, this was the first time I had experienced an interview where I felt my body and soul to be completely sucked in and swallowed up. It wasn’t particularly because he spoke much or that he did so skilfully. And yet his bearing, expressions, the quality of his voice, his lucid eyes, the frequent beauty of his language, his sense of humour, rich in wit, all caught this listener’s heart firmly, so as not to let go. At the time I forgot that I was working and, throughout the interview, my eyes were round with admiration and I couldn’t stop laughing. I felt almost as if I was experiencing something sacred, and even that I had been purified. I also felt that I had met a lifelong friend who put me at my ease.

Although it couldn’t do him justice, I tried to convey this magnetism in the article and introduce him to a worldwide audience. There was a reaction from countries all over the world and it vividly showed me how words with substance transcend language and resonate in people’s hearts. So, more than anything, when he has come into my thoughts in daily life, I have found myself unconsciously encouraged by his words. They have the power to set people’s minds at ease. And, regardless of age or gender, they overflow with a charm that brings romance to people’s lives. Feeling this, it was only natural that I should be taken with the notion of comprehending more deeply this man called Kumada Chikabo, and of capturing his spirit in book form.

A new, experimental story

However, his appeal is not easy to convey. With just his words, just his photograph, just his works, or even a mixture of all three of these elements, something is still missing. You have to meet him to understand his real charm. But, of course, it is unlikely that everyone who would wish to meet him could do so. Therefore, having been given permission by Kumada Chikabo himself to write about him, I hit upon the ingenious idea that together we should write an autobiographical documentary story about him. I would interview him, try to capture his thoughts and sentiments in the story, and then, finally, he would check it. If we did this, it would be possible to enjoy it as both a record and a story. Therefore, this work is neither solely an objective work of journalism, nor solely his autobiography, a subjective expression of his sentiments. It is both objective and subjective; a fantastic true story. Please read it light-heartedly. To conclude this preface, it should be noted that this new, experimental story was inspired by his words, “I really love to do new things, things that people haven’t done before.”