The San Francisco Cookie Mystery (Part 4) | Contents | The San Francisco Cookie Mystery (Part 6)
Before going to sleep, 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 was a Saturday, but it Osanai-san apparently intended to proceed with the investigation. She really was quick to act whenever she decided to do something.
Osanai-san’s message means this: From the conversation with Kengo, we 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 we 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.”
Thsy way, we could access a wider variety of materials, and more importantly, it was closer to my house than the art museum. After a quick breakfast and getting dressed, I headed to the prefectural library on my bicycle. Based on yesterday’s painful experience, or rather, the painfully cold experience, I chose a lined jacket for additional warmth.
We’d 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. Her face was buried in a scarf, her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her duffel coat, and she was sitting on a long bench near the entrance, observing people coming and going. When our eyes met, she nodded slightly.
I didn’t think a greeting would be necessary, so I started with a question.
“Do you want to investigate right away? Or would it be better if I told you more about what Kengo said?”
Osanai-san’s reply was brief.
“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 you told me that earlier.”
She had probably positioned herself where she could see me coming in. Osanai-san was sometimes strangely conscientious, and I didn’t really understand when that conscientiousness would come into play.
The prefectural library was a space that used plenty of glass, creating a sense of openness. It was so open that it felt hot in summer and cold in winter, and had received great praise from patrons for allowing them to feel the changing seasons on their skin. The interior also featured an open-concept design, so it felt anything but cramped, but was also impossible to efficiently heat or cool. The long bench that Osanai-san chose was bathed in the warm winter sun, and was indeed much warmer than any other spot in the library. 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 sheet of paper from my bag.
“I’ll tell you about what Kengo said again, even though I lightly mentioned it in the message.”
Then, I looked down at the copy, recalled Kengo’s answers, and conveyed them 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.
Now it was Osanai-san’s turn to give her report.
“Nicolas de Staël was a Russian who was exiled from Russia because 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, in a word, that was 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 of time. This point probably isn’t strictly enforced, so in practice, anyone can submit a work.”
It was good that we’d chosen a warm seats, but with the sun is directly in front of me, it was dazzling, even in winter. Osanai-san lowered her face and shook her legs a bit.
“It’s divided into general and youth categories, and adults cannot submit to the youth category, but youths 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 meant that Shima Taiga’s “The Sight and the Outer, or Fortune-cookie” was exhibited in either the youth or general category. Kengo had clearly stated that the painting was exhibited, so if there are no mistakes in his story, it shouldn’t have been rejected.
“Just in case…”
Osanai-san pressed on.
“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 facing up.
Shima Taiga’s painting is a Western painting. That gave us a rough idea of where to look.
“Shall we start, then?”
I said and stood up from the long bench.
“Shima Taiga is now forty-seven years old. Since he exhibited the painting 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 reading room. Well, she probably had something in mind, so I should do my part.
After asking the librarian, I easily found the catalog for the prefectural exhibition. The first exhibition 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.
I immediately started looking at the exhibited works of the tenth prefectural exhibition, youth category, and 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 were 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”, which was an abstract painting with dancing pinks and reds. There was some information on it: 130 cm x 194 cm, board, oil paint. I looked at the excellence and encouragement awards, but “The Sight and the Outer, or fortune-cookie” was not listed. It apparently 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, which were 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 piece of 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?”
I let out a sound.
The names still couldn’t be found. I double-checked, but Shima Taiga’s name was nowhere to be found. Were there multiple exhibitions called the prefectural exhibition? I didn’t think so, but just to be sure, I went to the reference counter and asked the librarian, and the answer was, “This is the only prefectural exhibition we have information on.”
This made the statement that “Shima Taiga’s painting was exhibited in the prefectural exhibition” become suspect. If the painting wasn’t displayed in any exhibition, then it was just a copy or a study, and there was nothing to feel guilty about. The statement that “the painting from thirty years ago was 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 that it was exhibited ceased to exist, there would be no contradictions.
Could it be that it was submitted but rejected? ButKengo 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.
It couldn’t be considered a0 photograph or calligraphy. So, is the information distorted 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 misremembered? 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 let out a sound 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.
But 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 that I’d found the name that should be there as a matter of course. 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 muttered. This required 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 I wasn’t, I wanted 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 guided by Osanai-san, we arrived at a small table for one person surrounded by bookshelves, in a dusty, quiet, unfrequented area without sunlight. I was impressed by how she could find such a hidden spot in the public library on a Saturday when all the tables were close to filled.
I placed the prefectural exhibition catalog, and Osanai-san placed a large magazine on the small desk. 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 was a separate sculpture division, so it should be different. But we didn’t need to ponder over it. The catalog had photos of the award-winning works. By looking at the modeling division’s photos, we could immediately understand what it referred to to.
The grand prize in the modeling division of the tenth prefectural exhibition was some thing titled “Cage”. I didn’t know how else to describe it. It was a combination of iron rods and boxes, all of them rusted, and gave off an ominous feel. The excellence award went to “Beyond Time”, which was shaped like an egg with wings. The encouragement award was for “Shape of Growth”, which could be described as a strange shape resembling a mushroom writhing in abdominal pain. I didn’t know the exact definition, but seeing all the works together allowed me to get a sense of their atmosphere. Basically, the modeling division was…
“An other, free division, maybe…”
Osanai-san used a more appropriate term.
“Perhaps it’s for objets1…”
While looking at the modeling division page, I asked.
“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 about the painting having a hidden 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 wanted to do as much as I could, and while I thought I might be able to uncover whatever this “hidden meaning” was if it existed, I also believed that such a thing probably didn’t exist in the first place. But the winds had shifted. There was something to that painting… no, that objet.
As I had that realization, a strange points began to emerge.
“Osanai-san. This ‘165 cm x 102 cm’ is the size, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it vertical by horizontal or horizontal by 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 was larger, while for horizontal works, the second number was larger.
“Vertical by horizontal.”
Osana-san answered. But that led to a contradiction.
“You haven’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 was hard to imagine that the work was meant to be viewed vertically, since the original painting by de Staël was horizontal. Osanai-san nodded and pointed to part of the list.
“There’s a list of materials. ‘Cage’ is made of iron and aluminum, ‘Shape of Growth’ is made of 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, but the evidence for that was weak.
However, it hit me when I heard her suggestion. 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 were for that 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 stuck to it, 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.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
But even if that painting was part of an objet rather than a painting, it didn’t mean that we’d found the “hidden meaning” Kengo was looking for. There was something to the objet. But what was it?
Out of nowhere, Osanai-san closed the catalog.
“By the way…”
She said, and showed me the cover of the magazine she’d brought. It was the March issue of a magazine called “Art Shinsou2.” Since it was February now, it must have just come out. The phrase “Pre-Raphaelite” was written in big letters as the month’s special feature, and in the corner of the cover were the words “Shima Taiga Interview.”
“Wow.”
A sound of admiration slipped out louder than I intended. Quickly covering my mouth and looking around, I confirmed that there were still no people, then spoke in a low voice.
“Good find.”
“I thought there might be something. I was hoping to find something in old articles, but I thought that the latest issue would have the award interview.”
“Have you read it yet?”
“I only saw the photo at the beginning. The interview wasn’t that long, but I thought it might be rude to skim through it.”
Let’s get started, then. Osanai-san opened the pages of “Art Shinsou”.
A photo took up the entire first page of the article. Depicted in it was something that was hard to put into words.
If I had to describe it, it looked like a Western-style ghost statue covered with a sheet. The statue was much larger than the adult man standing next to it. What was it made of, I wondered. The sheet was rippled and wrinkled in many places, and torn in others, revealing something underneath. One wrong step could turn it into a horror movie monster, but when I first saw it, I thought it gave off the feeling of loneliness. It felt lonely, yet somehow scary. When I thought that, I realized that the impression I got was the same as the one I got when I saw the copy of Nicolas de Staël yesterday after school.
The title was “The Gaze and The Shell”. Gaze and Shell. Was 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 spoke.
“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 advanced version.”
I momentarily lost the line of reasoning. Why was it necessary to look at this 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 for that.
Seemingly noticing my confusion, Osanai-san added a brief explanation.
“Gaze means sight.”3
“Oh…”
I felt my face turn red. How could I not have noticed the connection between the past and present works, which were so blatantly connected, until it was pointed out to me? I was speechless at how foolish I was.
“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 me and her.
“As expected of Osanai-san.”
Osanai-san arched her body again. Could it have recently become her favorite gesture… I should tell her someday that it didn’t look like she was puffing out her chest.
Thus, we both turned our eyes to the magazine page at the same time, and started reading 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 am told that my work falls into that category, it feels strange.
- You are the first Japanese to win the Black Bear Award for an objet. What do you think is the charm of objets?
Actually, I am not particularly attached to objets. 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 objet.
- It is 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 is an important part of my theme.
- The title “Gaze and Shell” has been used several times.
Indeed, it is 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 was 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 am often asked this, but… I cannot explain 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 have not.
I see. They are innocents things which you break open to see the fortune inside. It is fun to read the fortune, but sometimes you come across a poetic line that takes your breath away. Apparently, it originated from that city. I still remember a place called Red Dragon near my house, and their fortune cookies were delicious.
- That memorable?
Yes. They had a hint of coconut, but that was not all. 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 improving their recipe. I cannot say it well, but it made me think that there is something that makes this world worth living in. I feel like my reason for continuing with art is to turn that intuition from back then into a shape.
- 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 is something you love or something you hate. But is that surface the same as the inner depths? No, it is not that simple. Nothing is simple.
- What kind of things do you plan to create in the future?
I am not sure, but I think I will ultimate only have one theme, which is the fortune cookie.
- Finally, please say a word to the Japanese readers.
It is getting hotter every year. Please be careful of heat stroke.
- Thank you very much.
(From 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 peashooter. When she noticed my gaze, she shook her head vigorously.
“I didn’t know.”
I hadn’t said anything yet. But I spoke anyway for posterity.
“So it turns out that the question of whether fortune cookies are delicious is a significant one.”
“I didn’t say it with knowledge of this.”
“Then?”
“It’s all coincidence, not superpowers or prophecies.”
I wondered why she was so adamant about it.
Deciding to put that aside, I looked at the sheet monster that won the Black Bear Award and 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)
- Short for objet d’art, which translates to “object of art” and describes a small, three-dimensional item of some artistic value. Paintings and large sculptures are not included.
- “Shinsou” translates to “the heart of the matter”. There’s also a “Shinsou” magazine in Hyouka, so I decided to leave the word untranslated.
- “The Sight and the Outer” is in Japanese, while “Gaze and Shell” is in Katakana using English borrowed words, and “The Gaze and The Shell” is in English.