Writing My Life Forward — The Day I Reached 10,000 Blog Posts
In October last year, something quietly remarkable happened.
The number of blog posts I had written—steadily, day after day for ten years—surpassed 10,000.
This marked a major turning point in my life.
In my twenties, I had the opportunity to exhibit at a prestigious department store gallery in Hiroshima.
It was my first time showing in such a high-level space.
Among local salons, traditional galleries, museums, and department store art salons,
department stores were considered the top tier for living artists.
Of course, I wasn’t exhibiting solo.
It was a group show curated by a seasoned producer, featuring even “sold-out” professional artists.
I was selected as part of the “young challengers” initiative.
My sales? Terrible.
It was my first time exhibiting outside my hometown, I had no local network,
and I didn’t yet understand the unspoken etiquette of such a high-end, conservative gallery.
One day, the gallery owner came over to speak to me.
“Do you know how many works Kaii Higashiyama created in his lifetime?”
Department stores in Japan are notorious for unpredictable staffing—
a food section manager could suddenly be moved to bedding, or fashion to fine art.
But at this store, the art division held exceptional status.
They even appointed an independent, highly cultured figure as a special curator.
He was impeccably dressed in an elegant suit, refined in demeanor, with a stern and distant expression.
Honestly, he intimidated me.
But I was young—and fearless.
I kept talking to him every day, and on the last day of the exhibition,
he finally spoke to me.
(By the way, at these exhibitions, artists are respectfully referred to as “sensei.”)
“Hmm... maybe 10,000 works?” I answered foolishly.
He looked at me with an almost amused disappointment.
“No. It’s 1,000.
In his 90-year life, he produced just 1,000 works.
And that doesn’t mean creating 10 pieces a year will suffice.
You have to produce 100 pieces a year while you’re still young and strong,
otherwise you’ll never catch up.
Even without exceptional talent, quantity can build greatness.
If you don’t keep producing, you’ll never become a taika—a true master.”
Even my foolish self understood that word: taika—a giant, a master of the arts.
I’ve never forgotten that conversation.
Despite being nearly last in sales, there was one thing I accomplished:
I got coverage from the local newspaper.
As an independent artist, promoting the exhibition was part of the job.
So I spent days before the show writing press releases and sending them to news outlets.
Eventually, a journalist from the Hiroshima bureau reached out to cover the story.
The article was picked up online and later featured on Yahoo! News.
Thanks to that, people came to the quiet gallery—
some even carrying the newspaper clipping in hand.
My paintings may not have sold,
but my words reached people.
That gave me confidence I didn’t have before.
When I create art, a big part of my process is putting into words the swirling thoughts and feelings inside me.
I love expressing myself through writing as much as through painting.
From then on, for every exhibition—whether in Tokyo or elsewhere—
I continued sending press releases.
And every time, I was the only artist in the group who consistently received interview requests.
Gradually, I started spending more time writing than painting.
Then, one day… I stopped being able to paint.
I had drawn since I was little, graduated from art university—
and yet, I suddenly felt resistance.
All the pain I used to process through painting no longer had an outlet.
Naturally, I turned to writing instead.
At some point, it occurred to me:
“What if I could create 1,000 works—not as a Nihonga painter,
but through words instead?”
Becoming a taika—a master—not with paintings,
but through writing?
It sounded ridiculous.
It also sounded… kind of thrilling.
So I decided: Let’s try it.
That decision led to my challenge,
which began in 2019.
And six years later,
I hit a major milestone:
10,000 blog posts.
On good days, I wrote 20 posts in one go.
Readers would tell me, “I check your blog every day—it’s my joy.”
Thanks to them, I kept going.
Even now, I still carry a bit of guilt.
“I’m a painter who writes instead of paints.”
But the only thing I can do is trust the me who showed up and wrote,
day after day, for six straight years.
By writing, I draw my life.
And with that, I take my next step forward.
