From Fighter to Artist Shungo Oyama’s Miraculous Turn After Rare Disease Diagnosis
Absolutely do not take lessons in painting
No matter when you meet them, the Ōyama couple exudes calm. Even their names, “Shungo” and “Junko,” seem in sync. Shungo Ōyama had paint on various parts of his clothes and arms.“When I was drinking with friends at an izakaya, someone suggested, ‘Let’s draw Doraemon.’ So I drew a kind of dark, fallen version of Doraemon, and it really got everyone excited. It was fun, so I started doodling sketches in my planner and posting them on social media. Then I wanted to start adding color to the drawings.
I half-jokingly posted, ‘Can someone teach me how to paint?’ That’s when Professor Fumihiko Nishioka from Tama Art University gave me advice: ‘Ōyama-san, your drawings are amazing. Absolutely do not take lessons in painting.’ He also said, ‘Ōyama-san, your drawings should be preserved for posterity, so make sure to draw on proper paper.’ That was in February.”
Ten months later, Ōyama would hold a solo exhibition that drew a total of 900 visitors in just one week—something the then 51-year-old Shungo Ōyama could not have imagined. Ōyama is a former PRIDE fighter who fought legendary bouts against the “Knee of Terror” Wanderlei Silva, “The Most Fearsome Tyrant of the 20th Century” Peter Aerts, and the Gracie family.
Yet, he had felt a sense that a new life was beginning. He remembered being praised by his judo teacher in second grade: “You’re really good at the shoulder throw.”
“That one comment flipped a switch in me—I fell in love with judo, and my life as a fighter began. Right after receiving Professor Nishioka’s words, I went to an art supply store and bought a sketchbook. I started by asking the clerk, ‘What’s the difference between watercolor and oil painting?’”
Junko Ōyama, a former idol, sleep consultant, and gut-brain therapist, married Shungo in 2010 and naturally accepted her husband’s transition into the arts.
(For the story of Junko’s marriage to Shungo, see:
“80s Idol Junko Kawada Marries the Gracie Hunter”)
“He adds messages to his work, and I’ve long known that he is someone meant to be a messenger. Even using the same words, what he communicates can change people’s lives. We’ve known each other for 20 years, and I’ve seen that repeatedly. I’ve been telling him for five or ten years, ‘You should express more of your own words.’”
Junko recalled, however, that oil painting was refreshing.
“The day after he said, ‘Professor Nishioka praised me,’ he already started drawing. Within a month, he was working with oil paints. I heard that a painter would be doing an event at a nearby bookstore, so we went to study, but basically he taught himself. He learns as he draws.
If something didn’t work, he’d paint over it and draw again. The way he frames his subjects or composes his pieces might seem impossible to professionals, but I think that’s part of his personality.”
The solo exhibition held in mid-December in Tokyo attracted 900 visitors, from fellow fighters like Hidehiko Yoshida (56) and Genki Sudo (47) to diverse figures like Akie Abe (63) and Sahel Rosa (40). Junko was pleased that most attendees were moved by Shungo’s messages.
“I realized again that he really is a messenger. People said, ‘This is the first time I’ve cried looking at a painting,’ with tears in their eyes. Many of his early works feature crying boys, representing his inner child. They reflect the suffering and sadness he experienced as a child.
After processing those feelings, the paintings became more joyful—smiles, flowers, brighter themes. Yet even in the bright works, there’s still a trace of sadness, and people seem to resonate with that.”
Originally, 120 paintings were planned for the exhibition. However, with demand high, works stored at home were rushed to the venue. Including clay pieces, the total number of works reached 162, and all 152 paintings on display were sold.
A Sight Unseen in His Fighting Days
The solo exhibition ended at 8 p.m. After cleaning up and tidying the venue, the volunteer staff went home—but Shungo Ōyama stayed at the venue until 2 a.m.
“I couldn’t process in my own mind what was happening right in front of me. Everyone empathizing with my works and crying, people appearing one after another wanting to buy my pieces—I just couldn’t digest it.
It wasn’t exactly fun, it was a feeling I didn’t know how to describe. Thinking that I might not get to see my beloved creations again made my chest tighten and left me frozen. This is something I never experienced as a fighter. Matches end in an instant—you don’t get to bask in the afterglow for hours or days.”
His creative spaces were his living room and bedroom. Before the exhibition, his works had piled up so much they overflowed into his bedroom. The collection, which once dominated his home with no space to step, was gone in just one week, in the hands of other people. Junko, who had been asked to give her impressions of the works day and night as the first viewer, was especially delighted.
“He’d be painting late into the night, then start up again the next morning, creating nonstop for eight hours without eating. Seeing him find what he truly wanted to do, witnessing that moment when his life was about to shift into a new phase, was such a joy to see up close,” Junko said.
“Seeing your work take shape is fun. Plus, all my past experiences really come alive in my art. The struggles from my fighter days have become energy for creation, a treasure. I sometimes think, maybe I suffered all that just for this,” Ōyama said.
The person who encouraged him to hold an exhibition was his fighting mentor, Takahiro Tezuka, who had supported him from his debut to retirement.
“Every time I completed a piece, I’d take a photo and send it to Tezuka-san. Around June, he told me, ‘Ōyama-kun, you should hold a solo exhibition.’ Then, the president of Just Production, Yasuhiro Terai, said, ‘If you hold an exhibition, we’ll fully support you.’ They handled everything—the venue, arranging an art producer. Everything progressed smoothly, step by step.”
Ōyama describes the lead-up to the exhibition as divine.
Waiting for him at the very start of this second life, however, was a challenge: a serious illness—cardiac amyloidosis. Specifically, transthyretin-type cardiac amyloidosis, a rare disease designated by Japan’s Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare. This is the same type of disease that claimed the life of Antonio Inoki (age at death: 79), someone Ōyama had long admired.
Abnormal proteins called amyloids deposit in organs throughout the body, causing dysfunction. Numbness in the limbs, palpitations, arrhythmias, and heart failure—this difficult disease brings a variety of symptoms. Yet, despite this, Ōyama’s life was about to shine even more brightly.
The Second Life Switch
“The more I researched amyloidosis, the more I realized it’s a formidable opponent. There’s no cure. But once I became aware of my mortality, a second life switch flipped inside me—just like when I first awakened as a fighter. From that moment, I completely immersed myself in creative work. On April 30, right after the diagnosis, I painted a somewhat large piece called ‘Living.’ I didn’t even use a brush—I painted it with my hands.”
Immediately after being diagnosed with cardiac amyloidosis, Ōyama created this work.He skipped denial, anger, and despair, and instead felt gratitude toward the disease.
“Every major event in my life, like joint replacement surgeries, has been a gift. For example, when I was hospitalized for retinal detachment, two friends who had never met ended up running into each other in my hospital room. To fill the awkward silence, they started talking—and in the end, everyone became very close.
I realized, ‘If people share the same space, they grow close,’ and that’s how I started my ‘connection-making.’ I gathered people I liked and introduced them to each other, and my world expanded all at once. Friends brought in other friends, and I formed irreplaceable bonds. I even published a book about these connections.
So when the doctor told me I had amyloidosis, I thought, ‘Interesting—my life is fascinating.’ Back in my fighter days, when I struggled, got injured, and had no friends, I learned to observe things from a broad perspective. When you see things from a distance, the view changes. ‘Life is a tragedy in close-up, but a comedy in long shot.’”
The numbness that began in his left hand spread to both hands. At one point, breathing was so difficult he couldn’t get out of bed for four days. For a while, even holding the solo exhibition seemed uncertain. But after his rare-disease application was accepted and he could receive injections to slow the disease’s progression, his symptoms improved.
“For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like training. I decided to accept that. Muscle loss would have been unforgivable for my old self, but with this disease, I developed a strong awareness: I want to leave proof of life in the world. My muscles may have weakened, but my creative drive ignited.
After that, all I had to do was shape what poured out of my body. People were amazed at my extraordinary focus when they saw the number of works. Without amyloidosis, the exhibition would never have happened. It really was a gift. This disease has propelled my life forward in a big way.
It reminded me of my fighter days, stepping into the PRIDE ring. Being thrown into a massive current of destiny, the whole scene shifting before me—and then suddenly colliding with top fighter Wanderlei Silva in a packed Saitama Super Arena it’s similar to that,” Ōyama said.
Resting, reviewing his diet, taking care of himself—all of that is effective for managing amyloidosis. And when he found a medium he loved—painting—Junko also felt it was wonderful. Truly a gift.
“Hundreds of dear friends I met through connection-making came to the exhibition. Seeing him surrounded by them, I felt genuinely happy. That shared enjoyment is the most important part of his life. I’m sure he’ll spend his entire life creating art,” Junko said.
Real art purifies those who see it
Holding the art book made by his friends, Ōyama now thinks about one thing after finishing his solo exhibition: “Showing that I’m enjoying life no matter what serious illness comes my way.”“I want to leave energy for people 100 years from now. I’m really fast at creating works. I made three pieces even during the exhibition. Once I accumulate more works, I’d like to hold a second exhibition.
I want to keep painting, keep creating, and die doing it. That’s my dream. Fighters retire, but with art, you can go on until you die. So in the end, I hope I can finish a great work, say ‘Nice!’ or ‘Done!’ and pass away happy (laughs).”
“I think that will happen,” Junko said with a smile.
“Nanami Tanimura (38) came all the way from Australia and said, ‘I’ve seen so many amazing works before, so why am I so moved here?’ Professor Fumihiko Nishioka said something like, ‘True art purifies those who see it,’ and I feel that everyone who came to the exhibition left feeling purified.
Above all, the one most purified is him. I think the more he paints, the happier he becomes. If people start or restart their own art because of him, or begin what they truly wanted to do, that’s when his creations have real meaning.
Also, he’s surrounded by many people who have overcome serious or rare diseases—not just one or two. That’s why I believe he will overcome his illness too. And then, he will leave behind thousands of works—probably in no time. Each time, raising his happiness as he goes. That kind of extraordinary life is rare, isn’t it?”
