Shin Godzilla

Yesterday I went to see Shin Godzilla.

The Hollywood Godzilla they showed on TV the other day looked like a crocodile, and at the end it roared a satisfying “Gyaooo” like in Jurassic World and went back to the sea. But the Godzilla in Shin Godzilla felt like a disaster you can’t reason with. After it ended, I felt like I’d caught a glimpse of a dense world of hardcore fans.
I wondered what the human-like things on the tip of Godzilla’s tail were.

Afterward I browsed an illustration magazine. It was full of illustrations that were each slightly different but gave roughly the same impression, and I wondered, “Don’t the artists ever think there’s no point in what they’re doing when there are so many similar pictures?” But then I reflected that maybe my own sensibility is crude for not bothering to look for the “subtle differences” among similar things, and left.

Later I went to another bookstore, and an art book there struck me like lightning. It was a collection of incredibly detailed miniature-style paintings. Written down it doesn’t sound like much, but it had a refreshing feel, as if free of any constraints, and I thought, “No one could easily copy this.” And I thought: “In today’s world, information comes in but we rarely get to really feel the value of things, and if we’re not careful we think we understand everything and it all looks unremarkable. But we have to discover that hard-to-see value.”

On a whim just now, I took the rubber grip and cone-shaped part off my tablet pen, and it became a slim pen that’s easier to draw with.