Suba Samaguchi's blue period is probably one of the best mongers ever to tell of the monga publishing industry. It captures something that most marker and other media like try to capture an orphaned fate. And that is relatable authenticity. From the highest budget glamorous tragedies of hollered to the claimed runners of a student film, the race for authenticity is prominent. This is a result of the way the measures success of these media, art or even a person. The metric for success today is to convince the largest audience of people that they can find their emotions in story, the characters or the content you put out. Feed fear, laughter, love or hate. But inevitably when the metric for success is so visible, people will try to gain the system. This is obvious in the one-note self-insid is the kind of new anime and even some of the highest budget shows in the West. But more often than not, it doesn't work. After all, if you manufacture authenticity, it loses its substance. Despite all this and the entertainment industry being saturated more chaotically than a Jackson Pollock, there are some stories that pop up out of the footwork and still manage to carry with them the most important thing a story should carry. A soul. This is Blue Period, a monga that has an overflowing soul. It may seem like the unassuming life of a high school who makes rash decisions to pursue his passion sporadically. But Blue Period has some of the most relatable characters put to page in modern manga. The period follows the life of a diligent delinquent Yato Raiology who breathes past life making other people happy. The people please, who does things for the sake of normality or who's over thought about the future to the point of logically eliminating every part that could possibly rear him of course his perfect life. This in part is where the story comes from. The author Tsubaseyam Gyuji is also a graduate artist. And while the story at times feels autobiographical, the most impressive thing about Blue Period is the amount of space it leaves for us. The readers and the watchers to walk along with Yato Rai. Its companionship disguised as unitability. And what could be more authentic than a heart looking print? Blue Period has its techniques and impressiveness analyzed from every angle possible here on YouTube. A monga soul authentic it could be mistaken for a video essays is a dream. But I am not a video essays. So I'll be coming at this video from the perspective of an artist. Here in the womb and fuzzy art community, the word we throw around like an oxwood graduate throws around semi-colons is the word talent. No one wants to have someone use it on you, but upon seeing the glorious art of someone you admire, it slips up. Oh my god, the talent. If you ever want to know who the artist of a piece of displayed artist, wait for an unassuming art critic to walk up to the image and commit on the raw talent of the piece. And look around the room, the person who's shaking the hardest in a fit in the back, that is the artist. Talent is a beautiful insult, a sword that cuts right through the cool demeanor of any artist. Because it closes its way in with the genuine compliment and kills you with its impleness. Art is not a talent, at least not for us artists. Talent is the concept that grabbed my attention in the monga. Because unlike the cotton dry, blue period proves that cultivation beats aptitude. The real reason I wanted to make this video in the first place is this idea, a promise that art is a skill and not something you're born with. Yatura starts off knowing next to nothing about art. He doesn't even start with supplies. The first chapter itself had me hooked, not because he's a badass or correct or because he's impressive. The only thing that was going for him was that he was vulnerable and vulnerable enough to feel, compelling him out of the shell that he had cocooned himself in. More often than not, the characters in a monga will have an early realization. Compelling them into a cold, cool and utterly different person, but Yatura isn't like that. He isn't driven by magic or by an unfaltering sense of purpose. He isn't going to be the best, the strongest. He works hard because he's afraid of losing his charms, because his parents can't afford the unalternative. And that is so often what motivates us, an immense fear of not being able to keep drawing, to keep doing what you like. Blue period is, if nothing else, a montage of experience. Among other teaches people not to be so harsh on others, just because you don't understand the complexity of the craft, their performance, or the importance of the skill they've built. As I said earlier, Blue period gets so much praise for being a story that emphasizes hard work that goes into making and cultivating a skill. But Blue period's greatest gift to the world is the painstaking detail put into its purpose. Although this may have been unintentional, each chapter contributes to an overall struggle. A skill that more often brings misery than reward, pain, then pleasure, and an overwhelming amount of fear, loneliness and isolation, illness and ache. Art is hard, but artists are hard working. That is the story. But the message is to the reader, not the readers who understand. An artist doesn't need to be told the pain of creating art. Blue period, while enjoyable in its relatability, is not a manga for artists. Those of us who understand Yatora and his struggles, understand him all the way. We artists, no matter how skilled, begin as or otherwise, even the greatest artists in the world live in a dome of trans lives and talent. Therefore, Blue period isn't for us. It's for the rest of the world. Blue period is special because it teaches its readers to respect art and artists alike. And to look past the illusion of talent and the cultivation of skill that it takes to put a character on a page, that is Blue period.