The Face of Another by Kōbō Abe Read Free Book Online Page A

shelter from the rain under another’s eaves. This period passed. Then, the work began to make progress, and I was gradually cornered.
    For the ceratin layer of the skin surface, I made a simple, very suitable discovery in the family of acrylic resins. And for the subcutaneous tissue, it would apparently be enough to spray something of the same quality as the skin itself into a sponge and let it harden. The fatty layer was easy: I would simply saturate a sponge with liquid silicon and make it airtight by enclosing it in a membrane. Thus, by the secondweek in the new year I had completed my preparations as far as the materials were concerned.
    With things as they now stood, I could no longer make excuses. If I did not come to some decision about what sort of face to make, I could not advance a step further. But no matter how much I thought about it, my head, like a museum storeroom, was in utter confusion with a thousand sample faces. Yet, if I kept shrinking from making a choice, I would never come to any decision. I borrowed a warehouse storage list, deciding there was no other course open to me except to gather my courage and check the faces off one by one. However, on the first page of the list appeared some unexpectedly obliging instructions, “rules for classification,” which I read with pounding heart:
The standard of value for faces is definitely objective. If one is involved in personal feelings, one makes the error of being taken in by imitations.
There is no such thing as a standard of value for faces. There are only pleasure and displeasure, and the standard of selection is continually cultivated through refinement of taste.
    It was as I had anticipated. When one is advised that something is black and white at the same time, it would be better to have no advice at all. Moreover, as I read along, comparing each face, I had the feeling that every one could be equally justified, and thus the degree of complication deepened. At last I was sick at the thought of so many faces, and I still wonder why I didn’t decide to put a stop to my plans at that time.

    A GAIN about portraits. The paleontologist had made light of my ideas, but I could not help clinging to them. I think that the concept of portraiture, be what it may artistically, embodies a philosophy worthy of deeper inquiry.
    For example, in order for a portrait to be a universal representation you have to accept as a premise the universality of the human expression. That is, it is necessary for the majority of people to be in general agreement that certain identical traits are to be seen behind a given expression. What supports this belief, of course, is doubtless the empirical understanding that face and heart stand in a fixed relation to each other. Of course, there is no proof that experience is always reality. Yet it is likewise impossible to conclude that experience is always a pack of lies. Rather, isn’t it more correct to assume that the more earthy the experience the greater the degree of truth it contains? Within these limits, I think it is impossible to deny completely that there is some good in an objective standard of values.
    On the other hand, we cannot disregard the fact that the same portrait changes its personality with the centuries. Our vision shifts from the classical harmony of heart and face to the representation of character devoid of harmony, completely collapsing into Picasso’s eight-sided faces and Klee’s
False Face
.
    Which in God’s name should one believe, then? If I may express my own personal preference, of course, it would bethe latter standpoint. I think that applying objective standards to the face is, at all events, too naïve; this isn’t a dog show. When I was young, even I used to associate a given face with the ideal personality I wanted to be.
    M ARGINAL NOTE:
That is, this demonstrated a high degree of inclination toward others, stemming from my high degree of viscosity
.
    Naturally, a romantic, unordinary