The San Francisco Cookie Mystery (Part 4) | Contents | The San Francisco Cookie Mystery (Part 6)
Before sleeping, I briefly summarized my conversation with Kengo and sent a message to Osanai-san from my mobile phone. When I woke up the next morning, I received a concise reply from Osanai-san.
“Art museum? Library?”
It’s Saturday, but it seems Osanai-san intends to proceed with the investigation. She really is quick to act once she decides to do something.
Osanai-san’s message means this. From the conversation with Kengo, I learned that Shima Taiga’s painting was exhibited in the prefectural exhibition. Since it was exhibited in his second year of high school, we can almost narrow down the year. If I want to investigate the records of that year’s prefectural exhibition, would the art museum or the library be more appropriate?
I thought for a moment and replied,
“Library.”
This way, we can access a wider variety of materials, and more importantly, it’s closer to my house than the art museum. After a quick breakfast and getting ready, I head to the prefectural library on my bicycle. Based on yesterday’s painful experience, or rather, the painfully cold experience, I chose a jacket with a lining for warmth.
We agreed to meet at the main lobby of the prefectural library. I arrived about four minutes before the appointment, but Osanai-san was already there. She buried her face in a scarf, put her hands in the pockets of her duffel coat, and sat on a long bench near the entrance, observing people coming and going. When our eyes met, she nodded slightly.
I don’t think greetings are necessary. First, I asked.
“Do you want to investigate right away? Or would it be better to tell you more about Kengo’s story?”
Osanai-san briefly replied,
“Latter.”
Then she turned her head and glanced at the corner of the lobby.
“It’s sunnier over there, so let’s move.”
“Alright. …… You could have waited over there. Not in such a windy place.”
“Good idea. I wish I had heard it earlier.”
I guess she positioned herself where she could see me coming in. Osanai-san is sometimes strangely conscientious, and I don’t really understand when that conscientiousness comes into play.
The prefectural library is a spacious space with plenty of glass, creating a sense of openness. It’s so open that it’s hot in summer and cold in winter, and it has received great praise from users for allowing them to feel the changing seasons on their skin. The interior is also an open structure, completely devoid of confinement, and incidentally has nothing to do with heating and cooling efficiency. The long bench that Osanai-san chose was bathed in the warm winter sun, indeed much warmer than other places. I asked if she wanted something to drink since there was a vending machine nearby, but Osanai-san shook her head side to side.
I took a copy out of my bag.
“I’ll convey it again, even though I lightly mentioned it in the message.”
Then, I looked down at the copy and recalled Kengo’s story, conveying it to Osanai-san. She only occasionally nodded slightly and didn’t interrupt with any questions. When I finished speaking, she said “Hmm” with a slightly cold expression.
Then it was Osanai-san’s turn to report.
“Nicolas de Staël was a Russian who was exiled from Russia for the revolution. He painted in Paris and eventually committed suicide. I don’t know the reason.”
So Kengo knew about the exiled Russian’s painting? Again, it’s surprising.
“The prefectural exhibition is held every fall, usually at the end of September or the beginning of October. The eligibility to exhibit is for residents of the prefecture and those who have had an address in the prefecture for a certain period. Probably, there isn’t strict scrutiny on this point, so in practice, anyone can submit.”
Even though I chose a warm chair, the sun is directly in front of me, and even in winter, it’s still dazzling. Osanai-san lowered her face and shook her legs a bit.
“Divided into general and youth categories, adults cannot submit to the youth category, but the youth can submit to the general category. The judging criteria weren’t written anywhere, but not all submissions are displayed, and those that go against public order and morals…….”
Against public order and morals, huh.
“It seems that those that simply don’t meet the level for display are rejected.”
Which means that Shima Taiga’s <The Sight and the Outer, or fortune-cookie> was exhibited in either the youth or general category. Kengo clearly stated that the painting was exhibited, so if there are no mistakes in the story, it shouldn’t have been rejected.
“Just in case,”
Osanai-san continues her words.
“The exhibition is divided into seven divisions: Japanese painting, Western painting, sculpture, crafts, photography, calligraphy, and modeling.”
“Amazing. You can list all seven divisions without looking. Say it again.”
“Japanese painting, Western painting, sculpture, crafts, photography, calligraphy, and modeling.”
“Amazing, amazing.”
Osanai-san remained expressionless and slightly arched her body. She might have intended to puff out her chest, but because of the thick duffel coat, her movements were hard to discern, and she just looked like a person looking up.
Shima Taiga’s painting is a Western painting. This gives us a rough idea of where to look.
“Then, shall we start?”
I said that and stood up from the long bench.
“Shima Taiga is now forty-seven years old. Since he exhibited in his second year of high school, the most likely possibility is exactly thirty years ago. Depending on what month his birthday is, and considering the possibility of repeating a year or failing an entrance exam, it would be best to check the Western painting category for about two years after that.”
“Then, I’ll leave that to you, Kobato-kun. I have something else I want to investigate, so let’s meet in front of the lending counter in an hour.”
Investigating separately? That’s fine, but,
“What do you mean by ‘something else’?”
“It’s a secret.”
“…… You aren’t investigating the taste of fortune cookies, are you?”
Osanai-san also stood up from the long bench, smiled for a moment, and without saying anything more, entered the library floor. Well, she probably has something in mind, and I’ll do my part.
Asking the librarian, I easily found the catalog for the prefectural exhibition. The first one was held exactly forty years ago. So, I should look for the tenth one. I took out the catalogs from the shelves, including those from subsequent years, and carried them to a table for reference. Most of the tables were occupied by students studying and elderly people idly sitting around, and it seemed that not many people were reading library books.
As I started looking at the exhibited works of the tenth prefectural exhibition, youth category, I found the total number of submissions and displayed works written at the beginning of the catalog. According to that, about ten percent of the submitted works were rejected. Curious, I also checked the general category, and it seemed that the judging was stricter there, with about fifty to sixty percent being rejected.
The award-winning works are displayed with photos in the catalog, and I hoped that Shima Taiga’s painting would be among them. As I flipped through the pages, I found that the grand prize-winning work in the youth category of the tenth prefectural exhibition was titled <Myself>. It was an abstract painting with pink and red colors dancing, measuring 130 cm x 194 cm, on board, oil paint. I looked at the excellent and encouragement awards, but <The Sight and the Outer, or fortune-cookie> was not listed. It seems it didn’t win an award.
The complete list of exhibited works was at the end. I checked each name of the exhibitors and their exhibited works written in small letters.
“…… Not here.”
Shima Taiga’s name and the title of the painting couldn’t be found. I checked the list of Western paintings in the general category, but again, neither name was found. I wondered if Shima Taiga was a pseudonym and if there was a different real name, but the painting I saw in the empty classroom had a paper with “Shima Taiga” clearly written on it.
Then, could it be that he repeated a year or something? I checked the catalogs for the eleventh and twelfth exhibitions. First, I looked at the award-winning works with photos, then the lists, carefully tracing both the youth and general categories with my finger to avoid missing anything.
“Hmm?”
Words slipped out of my mouth.
True, it’s not there. I checked twice, but Shima Taiga’s name was nowhere to be found. Are there multiple exhibitions called the prefectural exhibition? I don’t think so, but just to be sure, I went to the reference counter and asked the librarian, and the answer was, “There is only one prefectural exhibition with materials here.”
Then, the information that “Shima Taiga’s painting was exhibited in the prefectural exhibition” itself becomes suspicious. If the painting isn’t exhibited in any exhibition, then it’s just a copy or a study, and there’s nothing to feel guilty about. The information that “the painting from thirty years ago has been stored in the art preparation room because it was exhibited in the prefectural exhibition” was denied in my phone call with Kengo, so even if the fact of the exhibition itself didn’t exist, there would be no contradiction.
Could it be that it was submitted but rejected? Kengo clearly stated in last night’s phone call that it was submitted and exhibited.
No, I should investigate the materials at hand before doubting the source of information. For example, that painting might be classified as a Japanese painting rather than a Western painting in the context of the exhibition. I checked the pages for Japanese paintings.
…… Not there.
To be sure, it shouldn’t be a photograph or a calligraphy. So, is the information twisted somewhere? Kengo’s information that the painting was exhibited in the exhibition should have come from Mr. Koumura. Since it was thirty years ago, could Mr. Koumura have misunderstood? While thinking about this, I flipped through the pages, occasionally checking the time. I thought I had to go to the promised meeting place when I caught a glimpse of the string “fortune-cookie” at the edge of my vision while looking at the list of names and all exhibited works. But in the next moment, my finger flipped several pages at once.
Ah, I involuntarily exclaimed again. The cold gazes of the people around me pierced through. Feeling apologetic, I focused my eyes back on the catalog. What page did I just see?
For the next few minutes, I continued flipping through the catalog in search of the text I had seen. Eventually, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. When I looked up and turned around, Osanai-san was standing there. She spoke in a hushed voice.
“You didn’t come.”
Sorry.
Though, I just found it. I placed my index finger on the text and showed it to Osanai-san. She didn’t seem particularly impressed. She probably thought she had just found the name that should be there in the right place. I slid my finger over the catalog and stopped at the top of the list. Seeing the words written there, Osanai-san widened her eyes a bit. It read “Youth Category, Modeling Division.”
“Modeling division……?”
Tilting her head, Osanai-san looked puzzled. This requires a bit of consideration, but no matter how quietly we speak, discussing it here would draw disapproving looks. As a Petit Bourgeois…… no, even if not a Petit Bourgeois, I want to maintain the tranquility of the library. While I was thinking about what to do, Osanai-san suggested,
“There’s a good place on the second floor.”
As Osanai-san guided me, we arrived at a small chair for one person, surrounded by bookshelves, without sunlight, dusty and quiet, in an unfrequented area. On a holiday in a public library where all the reading tables were nearly full, I was impressed by how she could find such a hidden spot.
I placed the prefectural exhibition catalog on a small desk, and Osanai-san placed a large magazine on it. There was only one chair, so Osanai-san sat down, and I stood next to her, looking around. Here, it seemed safe to speak in a low voice.
“Modeling division……?”
Osanai-san repeated the exact same words with the same intonation as before. I opened the list of exhibitors in the modeling division of the tenth prefectural exhibition catalog again. “Shima Taiga, <The Sight and the Outer, or fortune-cookie>, 165 cm x 102 cm, canvas, oil paint”.
“What does ‘modeling’ mean?”
I asked, and Osanai-san tilted her head as well.
“Making shapes…… but it shouldn’t be the same as sculpture.”
There’s a separate sculpture division, so it should be different. We don’t need to ponder over it. The catalog has photos of the award-winning works. By looking at the modeling division’s, we can immediately understand what it refers to.
The grand prize in the modeling division of the tenth prefectural exhibition was something titled <Cage>. It can only be described as something. Iron rods and boxes are combined, both rusted, and it has an ominous feel to it. The excellent award is <Beyond Time>, shaped like an egg with wings. The encouragement award is <Shape of Growth>, which can be described as a strange shape resembling a mushroom writhing in abdominal pain. I don’t know the exact definition, but when lined up like this, the atmosphere comes through. The modeling division is essentially,
“Other, free division, maybe…….”
Osanai-san used a more appropriate term.
“Object, maybe…….”
On the modeling division page, I said.
“What does it mean that Shima Taiga’s painting was exhibited in the modeling division?”
“That it’s neither a Western painting nor a Japanese painting.”
Osanai-san answered.
“To be precise, it means that it was more a work of the modeling division than a Western or Japanese painting.”
I hadn’t believed Kengo’s words that “this painting has a hidden true meaning” until this point. I thought it was a somewhat uncharacteristic escapism for Kengo, a way to turn away from the fact that he had become the starting point for spreading Shima Taiga’s plagiarism to the world. I would do as much as I could, and while I thought I might be able to uncover whatever “true meaning” existed, I also believed that such a thing probably didn’t exist in the first place. But the wind was changing. That painting…… no, that object has something.
As I realized this, strange points began to emerge.
“Osanai-san. This ‘165 cm x 102 cm’ is the size, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it vertical times horizontal or horizontal times vertical?”
Osanai-san and I checked the other modeling works. Comparing the numbers before and after the multiplication sign, for vertical works, the first number is larger, while for horizontal works, the second number is larger.
“Vertical times horizontal.”
Osana-san answered. Then, something strange arises.
“Osanai-san hasn’t seen it yet, but the painting found at our school is horizontal. The width of 102 cm isn’t strange. I think it was about that size. But the height…….”
It’s hard to imagine that the work was meant to be viewed vertically. The original painting by de Staël is horizontal. Osanai-san nodded and pointed to part of the list.
“They all have the materials used written. <Cage> is iron and aluminum, <Shape of Growth> is plaster and feathers. Kobato-kun, was Shima Taiga’s work made of wood?”
“…… I wonder.”
There were wooden parts, but not all of it was wood.
“The frame was wooden. It might be beech.”
“You know,”
Osanai-san said.
“I think this work was in the shape of ‘a painting leaning against an easel’.”
A bold deduction. The basis is thin.
Though I thought it was that as soon as I heard it. If it were an easel, the height would be just about that. Or even if it didn’t have the shape of an easel, the de Staël copy might have been placed on some kind of decorative stand made of wood—maybe in the shape of a box of oranges or a vaulting horse. I was almost certain of it. The dimensions in the catalog are for this state.
“Do you think Shima Taiga’s work only made sense when combined with the easel?”
When I asked, Osanai-san tilted her head.
“I can’t say for sure since I haven’t seen it, but…… I don’t think so. Because the painting found in the art preparation room had a paper with the title attached, right? So, that painting alone was sufficient as a work. Even if the easel provided the vertical length to the entire work made of wood, it might have been part of the work, but I don’t think it was inseparable.”
“You’re right. It certainly is.”
But even if that painting was part of an object rather than a painting, it doesn’t mean we’ve reached the “true meaning” Kengo is looking for. That object has something. But what is it?
Out of nowhere, Osanai-san closed the catalog.
“By the way,”
She said, showing me the cover of the magazine she brought. It’s the March issue of a magazine called “Art Depth.” Since it’s February now, this must have just come out. The cover prominently features the Pre-Raphaelites as this month’s special feature, and in the corner of the cover, there were the words “Shima Taiga Interview.”
“Huh.”
Words of admiration slipped out louder than I intended. I quickly covered my mouth, looked around, and confirmed that there were still no people, then spoke in a low voice.
“You found it well.”
“I thought there might be something. I was hoping to find something in past articles, but I thought maybe the latest issue would have the award interview.”
“Have you read it yet?”
“I just saw the opening photo. The interview wasn’t that long, but I thought it might be rude to skim through it.”
Then, let’s get started. Osanai-san opened the pages of “Art Depth.”
On the first page of the interview, there’s a photo taking up the entire page. What appears in it is something indescribable.
If I had to describe it, it looks like a Western-style ghost statue covered with a sheet. The size of the statue is much larger than the adult man standing next to it. I wonder what it is made of. The sheet is rippled and wrinkled in many places, and torn in places, revealing something. One wrong step could turn it into a horror movie fog, but when I first saw it, I thought it looked lonely. Lonely and somehow scary. When I thought that, I realized that the impression I got was the same as the impression I got when I saw the copy of Nicolas de Staël yesterday after school.
The title is “The Gaze and the Shell.” Gaze and Shell. Is this the work that won the Black Bear Award at the San Francisco Biennale? And…… it wasn’t a painting, but a three-dimensional work?
Osanai-san said.
“I thought it was necessary to see this photo. I don’t know much about art, but I know that many artists find a theme and continue to pursue it. The one found in the art preparation room is titled <The Sight and the Outer, or fortune-cookie>, right? Then <Gaze and Shell> should be its development.”
I momentarily lost the logical path. Why is it necessary to look at the current work <Gaze and Shell> to question the true meaning of the thirty-year-old work <The Sight and the Outer, or fortune-cookie>? Just because many people pursue a single theme doesn’t provide much basis.
As if she noticed my confusion, Osanai-san added a brief explanation.
“Gaze means sight.”1
“Oh…….”
I felt my face turn red. How could I not have doubted the connection between the past and present works, which were so blatantly connected, until it was pointed out to me? I was too careless to even have words for it.
“Osanai-san,”
I attempted a futile resistance to protect my self-esteem.
“Did you know the word ‘gaze’?”
If she knew it, it would be a matter of knowledge rather than observation or reasoning. But Osanai-san shook her head.
“Except for the fortune cookie, I thought maybe it was the same because of the way the title A and B is given, so I looked it up. I kind of knew about ‘shell’.”
Then, there was almost no difference in knowledge between Osanai-san and me.
“As expected of Osanai-san.”
Osanai-san arched her body again. I wonder if it’s her recent favorite gesture…… I should tell her someday that it doesn’t look like she’s puffing out her chest.
So, we both turned our eyes to the magazine page at the same time. We read the interview.
- Congratulations on winning the Black Bear Award. Please tell us your feelings.
Thank you. This is my tenth time exhibiting at the San Francisco Biennale, and most of the works I thought were “amazing” have usually received either the Black Bear Award or the White Bear Award (editor’s note: the award for the most votes from visitors). So, when I’m told that my work falls into that category, it feels strange.
- You are the first Japanese to win the Black Bear Award for an object. What do you think is the charm of objects?
Actually, I’m not particularly attached to objects. Every time I think about what to do, and when I create something thinking that this is the only way, it ends up being classified as an object.
- It was a work that stimulates the viewer’s imagination and is very exciting. I always want to see the hidden parts of your work, Shima-sensei.
That’s right, imagination is important. It’s an important part of my theme.
- The title <Gaze and Shell> has been used several times.
Indeed, it’s a bit of a one-trick pony (laughs). Including the old ones, this is probably the fourteenth work. If I don’t get the number 14 right, I might lose track myself. Well, some people make their works “Untitled,” so mine is kind of like that.
- What was the first <Gaze and Shell> like?
Oh dear. It’s an embarrassing sketch. The essence of what I’m doing hasn’t changed much from now, but the method was crude. I don’t have it on hand either.
- What kind of attachment do you have to the <Gaze and Shell> series?
I’m often asked this, but…… I can’t say it well. Sometimes I talk about it, but when I was a child, I lived in San Francisco and often went to Chinese restaurants with my family. After the meal, we would get fortune cookies. Have you ever eaten fortune cookies?
- No, I haven’t.
I see. It’s a harmless thing where you break it open to see the fortune inside, and it’s fun to read the fortune, but sometimes you come across a poetic line that takes your breath away. It seems that this city has developed like that. I still remember a place called Red Dragon nearby, and their fortune cookies were delicious.
- So memorable?
Yes. They had a hint of coconut, but it wasn’t just that. Unfortunately, the store is no longer there, so I can never taste it again. It left a deep impression on me as a child. Fortune cookies are meant to be broken open to see the fortune inside. If there are a hundred people, a hundred people only care about the fortune. I do too. Yet, the people at that store thought about how to make the cookie outside everyone’s consciousness delicious. I think they went through quite a bit of trial and error. The taste changed sometimes, so they must have continued to improve it. I can’t say it well, but I think there’s something in that that makes this world worth living in. I feel like my reason for continuing art is to shape that intuition from back then.
- The shell is the outer shell, right? Then what does gaze, sight, mean to you, Shima-san?
Things that caress the surface. After all, human eyes can only caress the surface. So if you want to convey something to others, you have to present your spirit on the surface. Whether it’s something you love or something you hate. But is that surface the same as the inner depths? No, it’s not that simple. Nothing is simple.
- What kind of things do you plan to create in the future?
I’m not sure, but I think the theme will ultimately be one. It’s the fortune cookie.
- Finally, please say a word to the Japanese readers.
It’s getting hotter every year. Please be careful of heat stroke.
- Thank you very much.
(In the San Francisco Atelier)
I couldn’t help but look at Osanai-san. She had a face like a pigeon that had just been hit by a bean cannon. When she noticed my gaze, she shook her head vigorously.
“I didn’t know.”
She hadn’t said anything yet. But just in case, I said it.
“It was a big problem whether the fortune cookie was delicious or not.”
“I didn’t go knowing that.”
“Then?”
“It’s all coincidence, not superpowers or prophecies.”
I wondered why she was so adamant about it.
Anyway. While looking at the black-skinned sheet ghost, I said.
“I think I understand how Shima Taiga wanted that painting to be seen.”
Osanai-san nodded.
“I think I’m ready to see the painting.”
“The problem is the width and depth.”
“Yeah. And the fortune cookie.”
In a deserted corner of the library, we whispered to each other.
The San Francisco Cookie Mystery (Part 4) | Contents | The San Francisco Cookie Mystery (Part 6)