The true value of a museum: Escapism, not authenticity
What if a single museum could display every masterpiece you can name? Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, Picasso’s Guernica—all in one place. Logically, this is impossible; they are scattered across Paris, Tokyo, and Madrid. Yet, in Japan, such a “what-if” place exists: the Otsuka Museum of Art in Tokushima Prefecture. It exhibits virtually every masterpiece you can think of.
As you correctly guessed, they are all replicas.
But here is the uniquely Japanese approach: these aren’t cheap copies; they are high-quality, official ceramic reproductions. The location is fitting, as Tokushima has a 200-year history in ceramics. Experts meticulously measure and record every single brush stroke on the originals to ensure faithful reproduction.
The advantage of ceramic over oil on canvas is durability. There is no worry about aging, and, crucially, you can get a much closer look, calmly, without being swept along by the mob. This is completely antithetical to the everyday chaos of the Louvre.
To me, the true value of visiting a museum is not the authenticity of the artifact, but the experience of the extraordinary. Think about it rationally: it’s utterly surreal to be in a quiet space, staring silently at a wall, surrounded by strangers doing the exact same thing in a place exclusively designed for that purpose. It seems surreal enough that people gather to look at a stationary painting when countless entertaining videos are available for free. If the atmosphere is spoiled by a suffocating crowd—as I hear happens constantly around the Mona Lisa—then the whole point is lost.
The bliss of not understanding art
I must confess, I don’t understand art at all. My enjoyment comes from the non-ordinary, surreal experience itself. I genuinely like myself when I stand in front of a painting with a “knowing nod,” pretending to grasp its profundity. To enjoy this level of blissful self-deception, a perfect, quiet atmosphere is essential.
This is why the Otsuka Museum of Art is arguably the best option in the world for my type of visitor. You can leisurely examine every detail of the “Mona Lisa” replica without a tourist mob pressing you forward.
The only drawback? Tokushima is far from the metropolitan hubs of Tokyo and Osaka.
The Tokyo alternative: Artizon Museum and the perfect lunch
If Tokushima is too far for this surreal pilgrimage, let me offer an excellent metropolitan alternative: the Artizon Museum in Tokyo. It holds fewer major masterpieces (though it does have beautiful works like Berthe Morisot’s Woman and Child on the Balcony), but it excels in what matters most to the conscious museum-goer: atmosphere and design.
The interior and exterior are beautifully designed, creating the necessary sense of quiet removal from everyday life. And, crucially, the museum café serves a high-quality lunch. You can enjoy your meal there, sitting on one of our good chairs, perfectly composed after your non-ordinary artistic experience.
This is the true, subtle luxury: the ability to process the surreal world of art in quiet, deliberate comfort, whether the masterpiece is real or a highly durable ceramic simulation.
I confess that I’m a man who enjoys the ‘knowing nod’ in front of a ceramic masterpiece, because the true value of art isn’t in its DNA—it’s in the surreal escape it provides. We’ve brought that same museum-grade escapism into your home. Our Hatsune Miku Art Chair is the ultimate simulacrum: a physical throne for a digital legend, blending the durability of Hokkaido craftsmanship with the vibrant turquoise-green of a world that exists only in our hearts. You don’t need to travel to Tokushima or the Louvre to find the extraordinary; you just need to sit down. Now, here is a doorway to your private museum: the image below is your link to the special site. If you prefer the noisy, exhausting ‘authenticity’ of the crowd, do NOT click it. But if you’re ready to enjoy the luxury of a perfect, quiet masterpiece in your own living room, go ahead. Take your seat. —— The Hatsune Miku Art Chair.
Photo credit: https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e7853.html
Shungo Ijima
Global Connector | Reformed Bureaucrat | Professional Over-Thinker
After years of navigating the rigid hallways of Japan’s Ministry of Finance and surviving an MBA, he made a life-changing realization: spreadsheets are soulless, and wood has much better stories to tell.
Currently an Executive at CondeHouse, he travels the world decoding the “hidden DNA” of Japanese culture—though, in his travels, he’s becoming increasingly more skilled at decoding how to find the cheapest hotels than actual cultural mysteries.
He has a peculiar talent for finding deep philosophical meaning in things most people ignore as meaningless (and to be fair, they are often actually meaningless). He doesn’t just sell furniture; he’s on a mission to explain Japan to the world, one intellectually over-analyzed observation at a time. He writes for the curious, the skeptical, and anyone who suspects that a chair might actually be a manifesto in disguise.
Follow his journey as he bridges the gap between high-finance logic and the chaotic art of living!