14. Ultramarine →

In the watercolor set used in elementary school, there were two mysterious color names. The aforementioned "ultramarine" and "viridian." I was slightly intimidated by these names I had never seen before, and every time I opened the paint box, I struggled with how to use this dark blue and dark green.

At the time, art class was a disaster. During sketching sessions, even if I drew landscapes or buildings exactly as I saw them, I would be accused of things like, "It wasn't this color, was it?" and my grade would be docked. The subject I drew at this time was my favorite shrine, which was right next to my house and which I greeted every morning and evening. There was no way I could have been wrong. How could they criticize me without even understanding?
Perhaps it was largely because we didn't get along that I couldn't follow the teacher's instructions every time. Anyway, I didn't feel motivated because I thought that no matter what I drew, it would be criticized.
As a form of escapism, while I pondered how to use the intriguing "ultramarine" and "viridian," the drawing paper remained white until the end, and my mind was also a blank slate. I was the kind of child who, if given clay, would just knead it until the final bell rang.

When I entered junior high school with the negative spiral cultivated over six years coiled up like a spring, I found that art class was just a renamed version of the same thing, and it was nothing but depressing.
(↓ Click here for episodes around that time)

However, thanks to the fact that the art teacher's teaching methods and way of thinking were a bit unusual (for Ministry of Education standards), my aversion gradually faded.
Then, one day, a "free assignment" was given. It was a task where we could draw anything we wanted, as long as it was within the specified size and thin enough to be sent by mail. The materials were free, and the theme was free. This was a relief.

As always, I was a slow starter—the kind of person you'd wonder how many years it would take to come up with a concept—but at the time, I was obsessed with Jun Togawa, so I thought about it while listening to her album.
Ah, I'll visualize "蛹化の女" (Woman of Chrysalis)! As soon as the idea struck, I started sketching on rough paper with a pencil. This is good, this is good. The brush seems to glide.

I made a good sketch, but I couldn't draw the same thing on the final paper. After thinking about it again, I decided to tear up the rough sketch paper and paste it on. I played Jun Togawa's record the whole time I was drawing, but it was the first time I had been so immersed and able to face art with such a fun feeling. And I submitted it without incident.

Just when I had completely forgotten about the painting, I was stopped in the hallway by a junior in my club.
"Your painting is posted up, senpai."
"Huh, seriously?"
"It's so beautiful!"
"... (///blush)"

When I went to check the bulletin board, there was indeed a painting I recognized posted there.

With this evaluation, my trauma from elementary school was brilliantly shattered, and I overcame the "'somehow' of 'anyway'." People grow when they are praised.

Thinking it's embarrassing is just my own subjective view; it's all in my head. The painting I drew might look clumsy to me, but to someone else's eyes, it might appear "interesting" or "good."
Even if someone says, "What's that?" or "That's weird," it's just that person's subjective opinion.
What matters is whether what you create causes trouble for someone, involves life-or-death matters, causes someone to suffer a loss, or hurts someone.
If that were the case, it would be a problem, but if not, I came to think that I shouldn't worry about the heckling from the sidelines and should feel free to draw (write, photograph, create) whatever I like, just as I want, without hesitation.

Well then, next! "Ro"