Which would be the most-viewed painting in the world? This is hard to say, especially because we would first have to clarify what the question actually means. Is it about viewing works of art since their creation? Nowadays? On a specific occasion (e.g., the Venice Biennale)? Whatever, if we ask art historians and other experts, there is a certain probability that they will name famous works that everyone knows: Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Johannes Vermeer’s Study of a young women, or Vincent van Gogh’s Self-portrait. They conquered the world and their creators could later do nothing against the cunning marketing experts whose “business model” is to misuse such icons for branding.

Advertising with classics. Photo: Florian Coulmas

In an age where there is practically nothing left that cannot be marketed, branding, advertising and (self) promotion are not dirty words for many people. Talking about advertising in this context is appropriate also because maximising visibility has become the most important thing of all, and marketing experts have developed all sorts of methods to measure and enlarge the number of viewers and thus the success of advertising campaigns. And then it’s all about finding the clue that makes what you want to show go viral.

Aside from the Covid-19 pandemic, which has brought its original meaning back to our attention, viral is something desirable that only happens in virtual space. And here, on Earth, among pedestrians? Perhaps it’s a relic of bygone times, but there are still people who don’t just look on their portable screens, but want to see works of art in the original. Every year, 10 million visitors (except youths and seniors) pay admission to see the treasures housed in the Louvre in Paris. The Museo Reina Sofia in Madrid recorded over 3 million visitors a year after its pandemic-caused closure ended. In the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam they were fewer, but still 1.6 million. And so on.

These are impressive figures, but they are not easy to interpret. How many of the Louvre visitors go to see the Monalisa? Surely not all of them, and the same will be true of the other crowd-pleasers in their museums. What is more, ‘having seen’ is not the same as ‘viewed with interest and attention’. This also holds for a work of art that is linked to viewer numbers of a completely different dimension and which is not exhibited in a museum but in a train station.

The station is in Shibuya, the second busiest station in Tokyo and therefore Japan and probably the world, only surpassed by Shinjuku, also in Tokyo. 2.8 million passengers pass through Shibuya every day, which adds up to over a billion a year, a number that makes the Louvre’s impressive 10 million pale in comparison. Of course, not everyone stops to look at the picture attentively; most people rush past it on their way to or from work without giving it much of a glance. However, enough remain to make it a serious candidate for the title of the most-viewed painting in the world, which it deserves for several reasons.

The picture in question has been undergoing restauration since the end of last year. Although it is displayed indoors, it is exposed to more wear and tear in an unprotected, unheated public space than it would be in a museum. Public access is of course welcome, and a museum with a 30-meter-long wall would be difficult to find. That’s how long and 5.5 meters high Okamoto Taro’s “Myth of Tomorrow” is. “In order to preserve the work and pass it on to the next generation, we ask for your understanding,” reads a sign board on the tarpaulin that covers large parts of the mural and behind which restauration work is carried out, which will take months if not years to complete. Those asking for our understanding are an NGO dedicated exclusively to the preservation of Okamoto’s unique work.

Okamoto Taro’s mural Myth of Tomorrow (1969), due to restoration work partly obscured. Photo: Florian Coulmas

The mural is unique not only because of its size. The Myth of Tomorrow was created at the same time as the 70-meter-high Tower of the Sun, the landmark of the 1970 World Expo in Osaka – where, incidentally, another world expo takes place this year – which made Okamoto world famous. “At the same time” is to be taken quite literally here; for while creating the two artworks in 1968/69, Okamoto travelled several times back and forth between Osaka and Mexico. The mural had been commissioned there, in Mexico. After the completion of the two works, only the Tower of the Sun attracted attention, at the Expo where the world was a guest. But the Myth of Tomorrow disappeared in obscurity because the hotel whose wall it was meant to adorn went bankrupt before it even opened. The painting was dismantled and stored somewhere in a suburb of Mexico City, where it was then forgotten. It was only 34 years after its completion and seven years after Okamoto’s death that his wife, Okamoto Toshiko, astoundingly rediscovered it and raised the money to transport it to Japan for restauration. In 2008, it eventually found its permanent home in Shibuya Station.

It surely doesn’t happen often that an NGO is founded with the sole purpose of caring for a painting and preserving it for posterity. The Myth of Tomorrow is an striking work whose visual impression is irresistible when standing in front of it. No less important to the NGO is the subject matter or theme of the panting, which depicts what no one can imagine, the moment of the explosion of an atomic bomb. At the end of the 1960s, when Japan, as testified by the Osaka Expo, slowly left the Second World War behind, this was more than unusual; for a long time, the atomic bombs were not a topic of discussion in Japan. During the seven-year postwar occupation, nothing about Hiroshima and Nagasaki could be published without American approval, and even thereafter, the atomic devastation remained taboo for a long time, as the government in Tokyo had decided to accept Washington’s offer to become its ally in East Asia. Allies must not be embarrassed.

In 1955, the organization of atomic bomb survivors, Nihon Hidankyo was founded against this background. It promoted a world without nuclear arms, for which it was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2024. The fact that it received the award at this time is a frightening sign of our times, in which the use of nuclear weapons is once again discussed, something that was unthinkable at the time of the first Osaka Expo, 1970. It is of utmost importance that the horrors of nuclear devastation not be forgotten. This is the main concern of the NGO that is committed to preserving Okamoto’s monumental work. With it, Okamoto not only addressed the greatest act of annihilation in human history – 140,000 civilian deaths in one fell swoop in Hiroshima alone – but also the threat to the survival of our species, though with the title of his work he added a positive aspect. The Myth of Tomorrow was born on the moment of greatest hardship and most terrible cruelty: There will be a tomorrow, we believe in it and thus overcome the horrors of war.

In an age marked by child murder through bombs, terrorism, slaughter on battlefields with ever new weapons, and the opening of cyberspace as a new theatre of war, the resilient myth of tomorrow can give hope. Given humanity’s undeniable ability to render its own planet uninhabitable, this is more important than ever. In his painting, Okamoto brings together the unimagined horror of the atomic explosion with the unbroken will to live. The tension between the two, which applies not so much to Hiroshima and Nagasaki than to humanity, is what makes this work so special. Never give up hope for survival, not even in the face of the worst inhumanity. That is the message the mural sends out into the world in a unique way, day after day.

Before the restored Myth of Tomorrow was moved to Shibuya Station, it was exhibited for seven weeks in Shiodome, a residential area of Tokyo, where it was seen by some 2 million people. Theoretically this translates to approximately 14 million a year, further confirming its status as the most-viewed painting in the world. This is a great success for the NGO which has set itself the task of preserving Okamoto’s work. Its impact is, however, limited by the fact that the overwhelming majority of all viewers are Japanese, for whom being reminded of the nuclear apocalypse is, for obvious reasons, less urgent than for the nuclear powers, which have today around 9,500 nuclear weapons, more than enough to wipe out humanity.

The threat of nuclear annihilation must not be forgotten or trivialized. The world’s most-viewed painting may be able to contribute to this, but Okamoto’s myth is very local. It must go viral.

Okamoto Taro, Asu no shinwa (Myth of Tomorrow), Copyright: Kōeki zaidanhōjin okamoto tarō kinen gendai geijutsu shinkō zaidan (Taro Okamoto Memorial Foundation for Contemporary Art), with kind permission.

Art, Culture, Installation