I want to start by defending my justifications as to why I didn’t think much of Japanese art at first. Growing up in New York, I remember going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan and being absolutely blown away by not only the immense collection of art there, but also by the individual paintings themselves. The detail and life found in Italian, French and Spanish artwork was absolutely breathtaking and worthy of all praise that it receives. After spending what felt like an eternity admiring those European works of art, I wandered into the Japanese exhibit and felt immediately let down. The detail, vibrance, skill and beauty of the European selection I had seen minutes before was nowhere to be found in the Japanese art exhibits. Of course, the paintings had their own style which was easy to recognize, but I couldn’t seem to find the same level of appreciation for them. “What was the artist thinking?”, I thought to myself as I looked at “Irises at Yatsuhashi” by Ogata Korin. Comparing that with French or Italian paintings of the same period, it was almost as if the Japanese artists weren’t even trying. I left the museum with a newfound appreciation for European art, but a feeling of confusion and disappointment for Japanese art.