This work reimagines the spirit of Harue Koga’s Shōwa-era avant-garde through a serene yet subtly disquieting seaside tableau. Pepe reclines on the sand in a vintage navy bathing suit, echoing the interwar fascination with modern leisure and coastal landscapes. Beside him, a woman kneels quietly in the water, her introspective posture contrasting with the cartoonish calm of Pepe’s presence. Above the scene, three oversized fish drift across the sky, an unmistakable nod to Koga’s surrealist lexicon, where marine creatures float free from natural laws to embody the instability and wonder of early modernity. The distant town, the slow-moving steamship, and the striped lighthouse evoke the tension between progress and nostalgia typical of 1930s Japanese modernism. Geometric, stylized trees complete the composition, reinforcing the flat, harmonious, gently uncanny atmosphere. The result is a dream-shore suspended between innocence and strangeness: a metaphorical space where the logic of reality loosens, and Pepe becomes both observer and participant in a surreal coastal reverie, half-modern, half-mythic, unmistakably Shōwa.