「Private or Group Lesson (Non-Sports)」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Nicolle Bertozzi: Chanoyu Lessons

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In addition to continuing my CIP at the Kubota Birendo sudare shop this semester, I began studying the tea ceremony. Thanks in large part to everything the Kubotas taught me about the tea ceremony last semester, I decided that I wanted to learn more about the ceremony myself. In addition to researching chanoyu as part of an Independent Study research project, taking lessons myself seemed like a natural next step. I was introduced to my tea teacher, Arai-sensei, through a colleague of my IS project advisor at the beginning of this semester, and have been taking weekly lessons ever since.

In the world of chanoyu, which is often seen as very rigid and uptight, Arai-sensei is known for being very relaxed. He makes room for casual conversation during his lessons and is always happy to answer questions from his students. As I have never taken tea lessons with anyone other than Arai-sensei, I cannot compare firsthand how his teaching style differs from those of, say, an Urasenke-certified teacher. I can say, however, that the environment of Arai-sensei’s tearoom is very calm. Generally, there are two stations set up for students to practice their temae, the choreographed motions one goes through when preparing a bowl of matcha for one’s guests. At the center of the tearoom, Arai-sensei sits seiza, keeping a watchful eye on the students’ temae. While acting as the shokyaku—or main guest—of the student’s ceremony, he guides the student through the temae, correcting errors and explaining each step along the way.

One of the first things that caught my attention about Arai-sensei was how carefully he pays attention to each of his students’ temae; even when there are two students practicing at the same time, Arai-sensei always keeps track of exactly when the shokyaku is supposed to bow during the course of each ceremony. Additionally, he can tell immediately when something in the temae is out of order, even when that something is as easy to overlook as a cloth folded along the wrong seam.

As opposed to the teaching style one often finds in America, in which students are divided into classes based on experience level, Arai-sensei’s chanoyu lessons are designed for students of all levels. At the same time that I would be struggling through the beginner’s temae, there might be a student practicing alongside me who had been taking lessons for years, for whom the motions of the temae felt natural. Watching these students during their practice is considered a great learning opportunity for beginner students, so I was often invited to observe their temae seated next to Arai-sensei. What surprised me, however, was that the opposite was true as well: Observing the temae of a less experienced student is considered to be just as valuable. It is a chance to revisit the basics, when each movement of the temae is still executed as a conscious effort. There is a term in Japanese—shoshin, or “beginner’s heart”—that is believed to be an important part of any student’s core practice. No matter how far one advances in their training, it is incredibly important to return occasionally to the beginning.

It wasn’t until I explained my tea lessons to the Kubotas that I came to understand how fundamental this philosophy of the shoshin is in the Japanese traditional arts. A student of tea himself, Shinji Kubota nodded along knowingly as I told him about the other students observing my practice. “It really is a great way to learn,” he said. “You notice so much about how the flow of the temae works when you are watching someone learning it for the first time.”

My study of the tea ceremony this semester has proven to be an incredibly valuable experience. It has provided me with many insights into the world of tea, which has of course been central to my research project. More so than that, however, learning tea has connected me to a new community within Kyoto, a city where the art of chanoyu continues to thrive.

 

Jordan LaPointe: Assistant Language Teacher at Ohara Gakuin/Yoga at Tamisa Yoga Studio

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For the Spring semester, I split my time between teaching English as an ALT at Ohara Gakuin (which I go into detail about in my Fall semester post) and doing yoga at the Tamisa Yoga Studio on Teramachi. Ohara was very engaging and it was nice to see the students mature a little over the past 6 months as well as become more comfortable with my presence. Because of this experience, I now have some insight into teaching English to a variety of grades, which may come in handy if I decide to pursue an ALT position with JET.

In respect to yoga, I am learning A LOT, mostly that I am as flexible as a tree trunk. Fortunately, the studio has bilingual instructors so the transition into yoga with virtually no experience hasn’t been to bad. It is also a nice change of pace, to go from being a teacher to being a regular student. Also, I’ve gotten more opportunities to practice my listening skills and silent observation as I have attempted to discreetly check the actions of my fellow yoga practitioners to ensure that I’m doing things correctly…Overall, yoga has been a great experience and I recommend it to anyone interested, regardless of prior experience.

Alan Aquino: La Carriere Cooking School

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Last semester I joined a light music circle at Kyoto University. This semester however, because of final exams for the Japanese university students and their semester ending in March, I decided to pivot and instead take once-a-week cooking lessons at La Carriere Cooking School on Sanjo-Kawaramachi. I found out about the school through a group cooking event organized by KCJS during my fall semester.

Interpret this as you may, but classes are split up according to gender. Further, lesson prices are higher for female students than male students. The women have a wider selection of lessons at their disposal, while the ones that share the same content as men often have an extra dish incorporated into them. As a student, I received a generous 25% discount for my lessons from January to April.

The lessons are divided up as follows: Washoku, Yoshoku, and beginner’s skills. Each month there is one Washoku class, one Yoshoku class, and two beginner’s classes. Since I cook frequently back in America, I went into the first month feeling confident about the beginner’s courses, but decidedly more nervous about the more specialized classes.

For the first lesson or two, I would arrive an hour early and painstakingly translate the entire recipe sheets for the session’s two dishes. We were then directed to our demo room, consisting of 8 workstations made for two people apiece. At the start of the lesson, the head chef and his assistant would demo the entire cooking process for the night, referring to the sheets as needed and adding personal tips along the way. We would then be let loose, and working with our assigned partner (who changed every week), we would go through the sheets together and cook, assisting each other as needed.

What I quickly discovered was that I only needed to know the names and Kanji for ingredients unfamiliar to me, while the actually procedure I could pick up by ear pretty easily from the chef. If I ever got hung up on something, all I would need to do is wave down either the head chef or the assistant chef, or simply ask my partner. Yoshoku lessons became my favorites, because they used a lot of ingredients and techniques that I was already quite familiar with back home. In addition, I developed a fast friendship with the chef that always headed those lessons, a Japanese man who cooked in France for a few years of his life. Of all the teachers I had this semester, he was the one who engaged with me the most.

I kept all of the recipe sheets that I was given, and intend to use some of them again in the future when I’m cooking for myself. Over the course of the semester, I’ve learned a great deal more of Japanese vocabulary, gotten to know some new techniques, and interacted with people from a variety of backgrounds but united by a passion for cooking.

Isabel McPherson : Shamisen Lessons

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As a music education major, I knew as soon as I heard about the community Involvement Project that I wanted to learn a traditional Japanese instrument. The quarter before I came to Japan, I took a class on Asian pop music and was introduced to a duo called the Yoshida Kyoudai, brothers from Northern Japan who play a three-stringed banjo-like instrument called the shamisen. I became entranced with their music and decided I would try and learn the shamisen as well.
Having learned many other instruments before, I expected it to be pretty easy, but it came with its own challenges. Finding the individual pitches was not very hard, but I found the bachi (pick) extremely difficult to use. I worried so much about it that my wrist would get tense and keep me from being able to play properly. My teacher, a very motherly older woman, would tell me to relax, repeatedly. It was something I had heard from teachers before, but it had a different meaning with her. While other teachers had told me to relax so I could play correctly, she would tell me to relax because to her, the emotion behind a piece was so much more important than whether or not each individual note was correct, so it wasn’t worth it to stress over playing perfectly.
In her I also noticed an interesting change of personality during and after lessons that I hope to emulate one day with my students. During my lessons, she would rarely praise me (unless I was extra worried that day and she felt the need to reassure me that I was doing fine) and was very business-like, only saying what she had to to get her point across. However, after my lessons, she would chat away without hesitation, discussing everything from music to the intimate details of her life as if we were old friends. At times she surprised me with how much she felt comfortable sharing not only about herself, but also about her other students. I think Japan and especially Japanese teachers can come off as having a very serious, businesslike approach to things, but as I’ve learned, that doesn’t necessarily mean that people are unfriendly or don’t want to have a close relationship with you. The philosophy is that during the lesson, the teacher’s job is to teach, not to be friends. However, afterwards, the teacher wants to encourage a positive attitude towards learning and having future lessons, and so will talk as if you’re friends.

David Wurtele: Calligraphy

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This semester I joined a calligraphy classroom for my CIP. We met once a week for two hours at varying locations in Kyoto. There is one sensei who sits and does his own work in the front of the class, periodically walking around to check out if the students are making progress with what they are writing. I actually joined a class where most of the students have many years of experience under their belt so I was given a lot of attention as the only first-timer. In terms of linguistic learning, I was at a serious disadvantage because you only speak with the sensei a few short times an hour. Culturally, however, I was able to pick up a lot.

There is a lot of consistency in the way the calligraphy class is held. First, the students arrive, then the sensei. Some students are at the classroom practicing long before the class starts, and the rest come within the five minutes before the start of the class. When students enter, age-related privileges are dropped, and despite differing skill level between the students, there is no concept of senpai or kouhai. There is just student and teacher.

In addition, I learned that you are not supposed to look at others’ work unless the sensei shows it off. Every now and then if the sensei wants to encourage a student, he will hold up the work, display it in the air for the others in the classroom to see, and remark that he is impressed, to which everyone nods and gives an emphatic one or two word agreement. I was surprised to see that the rest of the class will stop what they are doing each time to encourage the student who wrote the character. The reason I am so surprised is that unless someone is whispering with the sensei the room is totally silent. The idea is that every student should be totally focused with a very serious mindset when writing a character. As a beginner I have found it very difficult to get the right balance of focus without overthinking it, and when I do get in that zone, I am very reluctant to get out of it. So for every student to have that focus be interrupted so often by the sensei yet graciously smile every time without fail demonstrates incredible willpower.

I am fortunate to have learned a lot about the atmosphere and customs of calligraphy classrooms, but I am most happy that I can return home not just knowing more brushstrokes but having a deeper appreciation for calligraphy as a whole, as both a physical and mental skill.

Debotri Chatterjee: Calligraphy

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For my CIP, I chose to take private lessons in shodo (brush-style calligraphy). The first time I went over to sensei’s house, I expected to simply talk about future lessons and figure out timings for class, etc. To my surprise, I soon found myself staring down at a piece of washi, brush in hand, with both my host mother and sensei looking on expectantly. I wasn’t completely a stranger to the brush, but I’d never done any sort of calligraphy before in my life. Realizing this, sensei showed me how to make a few basic strokes, and then I was on my own again.

This set the tone for all future classes. I’d come in with some kanji I wanted to practice, or sensei would let me pick a phrase from a massive book of kanji and then I’d try to get my writing as close as possible to sensei’s sample. Shodo is a pretty solitary activity – there isn’t much hand-holding or even teaching, really; all your teacher can do is suggest improvements for next time, and then it’s up to you. Which means that in a typical shodo class, there aren’t too many opportunities for conversation.

However, my shodo sensei wasn’t running a formal class; she teaches shodo because she likes it, and likes teaching people. Because of the informal tone of the class, I didn’t get to practice using keigo at all, but I like to think that I had several very interesting conversations with people from very different walks of life – from elementary school kids, to housewives, to even Buddhist monks! Despite being the new ‘gaijin’ in class, it didn’t take me very long to feel very at home among everyone. One thing I noticed in particular was how quickly everyone dropped their formalities around me and began talking to me in casual speech, as they would to a friend.

What did I learn about the Japanese language/culture through my CIP? There are countless things I could talk about, but one aspect I found particularly interesting is the interplay between the usage of different levels of formality in speech. Using different levels comes easily to me, because my native languages (Bengali and Hindi) have a similar speech pattern (with informal, formal and honorific levels). It was interesting to me how similar the usage of these different levels is, comparing Japanese to say, Bengali. For example, in both languages, I’ve noticed that little children can get away with using informal speech, no matter who they’re talking to, but as they get older, it’s no longer acceptable to, say, approach a stranger and begin talking to them at an informal level. Another thing I found particularly interesting is that sometimes, a means of expressing displeasure/disappointment/anger in these languages is to suddenly switch to a more formal way of speaking. My CIP was one of the things this semester that showed me how to use the knowledge I have about other languages, and channel that into learning yet another, just by virtue of understanding the basis behind the language.

Aside from becoming somewhat decent with my brush, I’ve also learnt so much just by being able to interact with people I normally wouldn’t have the chance to meet. My sensei was one of the nicest and most encouraging people I’ve met in Kyoto, and I appreciate how at home she made me feel. Shodo class was one of the highlights of my week through the semester, and I’m so glad I chose to pursue it.

Angel Mui: Shamisen Lessons + Cooking School Lessons

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For me choosing and settling down on a suitable CIP had been a long process. I took shamisen lessons for the first half of the semester and ended up taking cooking lessons as my CIP instead. Since I am in Kyoto, at first I had my mind set on learning some form of traditional Japanese art as a CIP, which I eventually settled down on learning the instrument, shamisen. Through my Japanese teacher, I was introduced to a shamisen instructor and she offered to give me free lessons once a week. The lessons took place in a small room filled with various instruments (shamisens and kotos, etc) on the 2nd floor of a jazz cafe/bar near Teramachi Shijo. The lessons were not actual one to one lessons, but was more similar to a recital. There are usually 4-8 people in the room putting together and practicing the same song. For me, because I had no previous experience with the instrument prior to coming to Japan, this type of lesson did not suit me well. Although it was interesting to be able to play along with the group while improvising, I felt that I needed something more to fulfill my goal of doing something that suits me while still being able to interact and be integrated into a group.

I decided to take a Japanese cooking class at a cooking school called La Carrière, located at Kawaramachi Sanjo. I really enjoyed learning how to make not only Japanese dishes, but also Western dishes and learning how to bake cakes while interacting with the teachers and other students. The program that I enrolled in allows me to take most basic courses from their schedule, excluding the more advance Wagashi and Kyoto Cuisine classes. The classes are taught fully in Japanese and being the only non-Japanese student there, I really had to learn a lot of cooking-related vocabulary in order to keep up with the class. However, the students and teachers are very welcoming and did not treat me in any special way simply because I am a foreigner. Usually there are 2-3 people sharing a station and although we usually do not talk much while we prepare the ingredients and cook; we do make conversations afterwards while enjoying the meal we have just prepared.

Although I am in Kyoto for only one semester, I have learned a lot from my CIP. One of the most important thing is to know what suits you and what does not. If something does not suit you well and does not work out even after you have really put a great deal of effort into it, it is alright to start anew. For me, starting anew actually takes a lot more courage to do than to stay with an unsatisfactory situation. From my previous CIP experience, I learned how to properly quit. The necessary steps and the carefully presentation of the prepared speech, along with the tone of voice are all of importance. Regardless of what reasons were behind the decision, I learned that it is important to take responsibility and carefully end and say farewell without leaving any hard feelings. In other words, tie it with a good end.

That being said, I then moved on to another teacher-student environment, the cooking lessons. This time however, I was not only a student but also a consumer because I actually paid for the lessons. One thing that I have observed is that the level of politeness for the instructor is still present while the status of the two parties remain approximately the same. The teacher receives respect from the student but she is also the service provider. The students acknowledges the teacher, but they are also consumers. When compared to the shamisen classroom, the level of respect for the teacher who is wiser or more experienced in the subject is not as apparent. The atmosphere in the cooking classroom is, in other words, more balanced and relaxing because we are all on the same level. The social hierarchy does not really exist in this sort of environment.

Although there have been ups and downs, I have really thankful that I had taken the shamisen lessons instead of started with the cooking lessons. The ability to compare the learning environment of the two very different areas of skills and the different background of the students and the atmosphere created gave me much more insight into the Japanese culture.

 

Darbus Oldham: Irish Dance

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For my CIP, I am doing Irish dance. To provide a bit of background to that, I started Irish step dancing when I was in elementary school, have performed with a group that does a variety of styles of Irish and Scottish dancing for the past four years, and also do Irish ceili dancing for fun. Here in Kyoto, I’m doing two styles: set dancing, which is generally done with a group of eight, and modern step dancing, which is individual. In the set dancing class, which meets twice a month, we learn and do two or three dances each class. The monthly modern style class is divided into two halves: soft shoe and hard shoe. Irish (and Scottish) soft shoes are flexible, lightweight leather-soled shoes, whereas hard shoes are more like tap shoes. In each class, we work on a couple dances of each type, doing a mixture of learning new steps and reviewing old ones.

In the step dancing class, I’ve also had the opportunity to teach a couple of dance steps I know. This was an interesting challenge in and of itself, as I do not have a great deal of experience teaching step dancing in English, let alone Japanese, and so figuring out the best way to explain the footwork and timing and answer questions was definitely difficult. I ended up simply demonstrating the step or particularly challenging portions of it a number of times, which combined with some explanation generally ended up working.

On top of the regular set dancing class, one weekend there was a big event called a ceili. There was live music, and there were about a hundred people in attendance, a number of them from Tokyo, Osaka, and other places. The dances were a mixture of ones we had been practicing in class, ones we hadn’t, and one that I have done in the States.

In addition to the dancing, my CIP has also proved an opportunity for a wide variety of interesting conversations during breaks in the class and after class at dinner. For example, there have been discussions of differences between dialects and word order in English and Japanese, and I’ve learned a number of Japanese onomatopoeia and tried to explain a number of odd words and terms in English.

While Irish dance may seem like a strange choice for a CIP, it has worked out really well, I think in large part because I was hoping to dance here regardless of whether it was my CIP. I have previously found social dance to be a good way to meet people where I’m from and at school, and I was pleasantly unsurprised to find that to be the case here as well.

All that being said, I do have a cautionary note for future KCJS students looking at these blogs for inspiration for their own CIP: If you don’t have previous Irish dance experience (or maybe English country dance or contra for the set dancing), this is not the CIP for you. I would have been utterly lost had I not had some previous knowledge of set dancing and particularly of step dancing.

Sol Lee: Ceramics at Asahiyaki Studio

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Before I arrived in Japan, I knew that I had to pick an activity for the Community Involvement Project, otherwise known as CIP. Because Kyoto has a long history and culture of artisans, I decided that I wanted to involve myself in the arts in one way or another. There were so many options but the reason I chose ceramics in particular is that I had thoroughly enjoyed my experience when I took a ceramics class back in my senior year of high school. I honestly would not have minded choosing something I had never done before but at the same time, CIP was something I was committing myself to for the entire semester. As a result, I chose something that I had at least some exposure to so that I had a clear idea of what I was getting myself into.

Now, I knew that taking pottery classes was going to be a bit expensive but I was willing to pay up to a certain amount. With the help of my Japanese teacher, I found two that I thought were reasonably priced and made plans to visit them. The cheaper of the two, unfortunately, was not taking students as the teacher was not in Kyoto that often. As a result, I ended up at the slightly more expensive and slightly further studio called Asahiyaki in Uji, Kyoto. It is about an hour commute for me but Uji is one of the most serene, and most beautiful places that I have ever been to that I feel it is always worth the time to make that trip. To be completely honest, I buy a bento and sit by the Uji River every week before pottery class to reflect on my life and my experiences (lol).

Learning to throw pots at Asahiyaki has led me to many interesting observations. The first thing I noticed was how casual the teacher was with me. Knowing Japanese society and having studied some keigo at this point, I found it very interesting that the teacher omitted all forms of desu/masu and spoke as if I was a friend. However, I noticed this with not just myself, but with the other students as well — and by students, I mean the elderly. The pottery classroom is mainly full of adults and the elderly, which, in retrospect, makes sense. After several weeks of going there, I believe that I am the only college-aged student that goes there regularly. But I digress. My teacher is young, but she is definitely over a decade older than me. She definitely has the upper position in not just status, but also age and therefore, can speak casually with me. What really surprised me was how casually she spoke with the elderly and how they responded in polite form. This led me to believe that in a classroom, no matter the age, the teacher is the one with the most power — the most “erai” person. But still, being that casual with the elderly — some parts of me believe that that is really just my teacher’s friendly personality.
Having grown up in America, many of Japan’s customs and culture is somewhat of a culture shock because the two countries are so different. However, as a Korean, I often notice many similarities between Japan and my own culture and many of these differences suddenly become “understandable” to me. But that does not mean that I fully understand how Japanese society works so studying pottery at the Asahiyaki studio has definitely been a meaningful experience for me. It has allowed me to see a classroom dynamic that is not only different from the traditional school setting, but also different from America’s classroom setting.

Karinne Lorig: Traditional Embroidery

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Camelia, sakura, bamboo leaves, a maple leaf and some spheres.

My work as of the second to last class.

The thing that shocked me first about my embroidery classes was the schedule. We met six times in the term, but the dates were spread out erratically throughout the season on seemingly random Wednesdays. Of course, that was far from the only thing that wound up shocking me. Honestly, I hadn’t expected the class to have nearly as many students as it did. I had expected at first that it would be closer to the knitting and sewing classes targeted at older ladies I had seen in the back of local yarn shops, no more than ten or so beginner students and a teacher sitting around a single table. The embroidery class easily had more than twice that many students and was set up over an area roughly equivalent to the entire aforementioned yarn shop. A brief glance over some of the other student’s work quickly told me why: the class was in no way exclusive to new learners and many—if not most—of the other students were quite experienced already.

I gradually came to understand not only how to embroider maple leaves, cherry blossoms and camellias, but also about the way in which the other students use the class as an opportunity to meet with one another and discuss everything from their plans for their embroidery to family to young people who don’t know how to use keigo. Even through the age barrier, I have been able to have conversations with and learn from the people around me and wound up understanding far more about both embroidery and their lives and observations about society than I otherwise could have.