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

ロザリー・ガイ：京都囲碁サロン

投稿日時: 投稿者:

私は毎週月曜日に京都囲碁サロンに行きます。サロンは１時から６時まで開いていて、私は１２時４５分ぐらいに着きます。他の人は「こんにちは」と静かだが元気な声で着いた人と先生に挨拶をします。声は静かだが、感情は元気です。やはり皆は囲碁ができて嬉しいが、うるさくしないために静かな声で挨拶するのでしょうか。他の皆は大体６０代か７０代の女性だが、四分の一〜三分の一は男性で、時々年上の人も年下の人も来ます。私はいつも月曜日の参加者の中で一番若者であるだけではなく、たった一人の外国人でもあります。普段その日に来る人は一時間前に着くので、１時頃、先生はいろいろな問題を前のマグネット碁盤にセットして、皆で一緒に答えます。皆が間違っても、先生はその一手を打って、次に間違っている所を説明します。そして、次の人の答えを聞いて打って、正解するまで打ちます。問題を４つか５つした後、先生は皆の相手を決めます。

囲碁サロンは部屋の左の壁に大きいコルクボードがあって、そこに囲碁サロンに来る人の名前とランク（３０級から１級まで）が書いてあります。私は今、25級から29級の間にいるが、先生は私がアメリカに帰る前に、１０級か８級になって欲しいとおっしゃっていました。その期待に応えるために頑張っているが、どうなるかわかりません。

William HB – Urasenke 2

投稿日時: 投稿者:

 

My second semester of Urasenke has been an enlightening one.  I have learned many things about tea ceremony, not least of which were the final steps of the process itself.  While gaining an initiate’s grasp of the movements themselves and allowing muscle memory to develop, I have taken a class pertaining to the history and cultural background of tea ceremony. I have been able to discern, to some minor extent, the meaning of the aesthetics of tea ceremony and the importance of the pottery, and the philosophy behind each tea gathering.  Understanding the way tea ceremony changes according to season is another facet of tea ceremony I have enjoyed studying.  I wish there had been further opportunities to study, as only two sessions a month is rather few, but each one is rewarding and helpful in a new way.  Finally beginning to understand the minimalist wabi-sabi aesthetic with my own hands is something that has had a profound impact on my understanding of Japanese culture and history.

My study of Japanese history has changed substantially during my time in Kyoto because I have been able to connect to historical Japanese people in a way I could not before.  Tea ceremony has been a large part of that.  Making the same movements in the same order as Date Masamune or Toyotomi Hideyoshi; it brings an entirely new meaning to my understanding of the role tea ceremony played in their lives and decisions.  Those connections to Japan’s history lie in more than just the movements in the process.  Each tea style is a family-owned franchise which only sons can inherit.  The various providers of tea utensils are themselves family run and approved by the family heads of the tea schools.  The answers to many things about Japanese history lie in the microcosm of Japanese society that is the tea room.

My CIP has been a critical piece of my learning experience in Japan.  I have met many people and learned about the meaning tea ceremony has for them in their everyday lives.  I have connected with the community in Imadegawa and Kyoto in a way I could not have otherwise.  My study of tea ceremony has also enabled to me to form a better connection with my host family.  My host grandfather’s matrilineal grandfather was a famous potter and there is an entire family of potters living in our neighborhood, not to mention a tea ceremony teacher.  I have come to realize that different pieces of tea ceremony, whether it is the philosophical tenets or the material tools, permeate Japanese society at every level.  I fully intend to continue my study of tea ceremony to the extent that I am able once I have returned to America.

Miles Bothwell: 茶道

投稿日時: 投稿者:

Tea Ceremony

After nearly a year of practicing Tea Ceremony, I may not be another Sen no Rikyu (famous master), but I do feel like I have learned a lot more from my bi-monthly lessons than just how to prepare and serve tea to someone in a chashitsu.  For the first semester, and much of the second I spent my time devoted to memorizing rule after rule, and proper form after proper form, but did so in the company of salarymen, fellow Doshisha students, old ladies, and of course a fellow kcjs friend.  Through this multitude of interactions, I have seen the inner workings of a society entirely incomprehensible to outsiders, both foreign and Japanese.  And, thanks to participating in various non-tea related events with the organization, I have seen how many of the members live and behave outside of their tea room personalities.

Last semester, the only interactions I had with other members were very limited. It consisted of two experiences outside of the classes: one at yet another tea ceremony at Doshisha’s yearly event, Eve, and one time eating lunch with a fellow Doshisha/Urasenke school student.  Because of this, I may have been “in the Urasenke community”, but did not know anything about anyone in it beyond what they would say in a jikoshokai.  However, this changed early on in this semester when HB and I went to a Urasenke dansei nomihodai/tabehodai party on a Tuesday night.  With a limited Japanese vocabulary, and even more limited speaking skills considering the circumstances, it was a miracle we managed to hold even small talk conversations, but we did.  We did, and we were actively part of the group for once instead of being the gaijin shuffled off to the side room to practice tea ceremony for the week like we normally are. And as a result, each time I participated in tea ceremony classes after that, interactions between us (the only gaijin) and the other guys in the school felt more comfortable; it was on some level an informal “initiation into the club”.

While I started this CIP as a way to get hands on in my previously researched-only studies, I think I have appreciated the experience a lot more because I was also given a modern culture education. Had I just taken private lessons, this would not be the case.  In this way, I am less concerned about the fact that I still cannot perform a full tea ceremony with a kama yet, and am limited to using a thermos for hot water.  Of course there also have been a few hiccups along the way that slowed my progress down to cause this, like my parents coming to one of the lessons.  Looking back on it all, I know I will continue Tea Ceremony schooling as soon as life permits, but for now I am glad to have come as far as I have.

 

Nguyen Phuong Anh: Ikebana

投稿日時: 投稿者:

Ikebana, or Kado (花道), the way of flowers, teaches me more than simply how to arrange flowers. It is a discipline through which Japanese people express their philosophy of life as well as their culture.

From my experience, simplicity seems to be method towards attaining beauty and perfection in ikebana. Whenever my ikebana sensei, Ishikawa-sensei, fixes my work, she always mentions that if I think a branch, a few buds, or even multiple leaves are unnecessary to the form, I must not hesitate to cut them out. In order to reveal what is important, one should eliminate any distractions. I find this philosophy very enticing, and actually practical, as it helps me gain determination carrying out my intention.

Interestingly, although ikebana may seem entirely like a creative expression, within its core lies a set of rules expected to be followed. Depending on the season, only certain flowers are chosen to be arranged.  As the meaning of each flower varies, certain ones are meant for certain events. In addition, practitioners must sit in seiza form, hold their scissors properly, and cut the stem at the right angle. Then comes the rules of arranging a specific style itself. The length of the stem, the direction and angle of the flower, and the vessel used vary depending on what style the practitioner chooses. This is Saga Goryu’s approach to achieve 「花を知り、花と語らう、その心と技」.

 

Such rules, I believe, are to help the practitioner reach simplicity in the final work easier.

 

However austere my description of practicing ikebana may sound, my experience with ikebana, in fact, teaches me how to be happy. Through hard work and complicated rules, the final work is a simple expression of achievement. Then with some tea and sweets, we reflect on our work, on the process we have been through, and be content with a simple flower in the centre.

I also found a contradiction between my expectation and reality while practicing at sensei’s house. I’ve always imagined a serene setting with high concentration, but there were a lot of interactions among the senpais during practice. In addition to admiring and commenting on the work after someone finishes arranging, the conversations between senpais revolve around daily life things as well.

My experience with ikebana through doing CIP has been a combination of both modern and traditional Japan. While the teachings are strict, the environment within the sensei’s house is completely casual. It is amazing to see both happening at the same time and place.

Emily Scoble: Kyoto Cooking Circle and KLEXON

投稿日時: 投稿者:

This semester I participated in two CIPs, the Kyoto Cooking Circle and KLEXON, an English conversation circle.   The Kyoto Cooking Circle unfortunately only meets once a month, but I was able to attend a few meetings, cook some delicious food and have interesting conversations with the people I have met there.  KLEXON meets almost every week, and a volunteer session involves speaking with people both one-on-one as well as in small group settings.  In participating in both of my CIPs, I interacted with many people who spoke Japanese but were also looking to practice English, or other foreign languages, so it was interesting to be able to easily see the differences in interactions in both English and Japanese.

At a typical Kyoto Cooking Circle meeting, members are divided into tables where we first listen to a teacher’s instruction on how to prepare the entire meal.  This explanation is usually a fairly formal speech style, but members are able to interject with questions or comments if needed.   When we return to our tables, the conversation topics are usually fairly casual, as we talk about ourselves and cook the meal together and, unless the members recognize each other from a previous meeting and speak more casually, desu/masu style is usually used.  Conversation over the meal is usually fun and it is a great feeling to enjoy a meal that everyone has helped to prepare.  After everyone is finished, there is a “self-introduction” time, something that is very Japanese.  Even if we may have been speaking casually before, these self-introductions are usually pretty formal, as well as formulaic in their content and expressions.  Still, it is always interesting to hear about people’s occupations or hobbies, in addition to the names of people from different tables, before everyone cleans up the kitchen together.

KLEXON has also been an interesting experience, and I have had the opportunity to speak to many different people, both college students and young workers.  While speaking one-on-one has primarily been in English, many of my group sessions have used Japanese to converse.  It has been a good experience to speaking in-depth about various topics with a wide variety of people, and I have learned a good deal about people’s personal experiences, Japanese culture or even recommended spots around Kyoto.  All in all, my CIPs have afforded me the opportunity to meet many different people, with some good conversations and meals as well.

Alexa VanDemark: Koto Lessons

投稿日時: 投稿者:

When I started learning koto back in September, it was a musical experience like I’ve never had. From the beginning, I considered the presence of both “uchi” and “soto” within that world. Is the student in the sphere of “uchi?” Or maybe “soto?” As it turns out, it’s not black and white – both are valid, though I think one is more appropriate to my particular situation that the other.

In America, I have taken clarinet, piano, and guitar lessons, among others, and they were all done in local music studios. This kind of lesson is certainly a “soto” experience. I would go to a school-like building with individual classrooms, take my lessons in the room that my teacher is renting, and leave that room when my lesson is over. On top of that, because my teachers were borrowing those rooms from the music studio owners, doesn’t that mean that my teachers were also in a “soto” sphere within that space? You can hardly call that an emotionally close experience. However, my koto lessons here in Kyoto are taught at my teacher’s, Noda-sensei’s, own home. Considering that, I had to consider whether this was an “uchi” or “soto” world, in comparison to the clearly “soto” world of my previous lessons. If I were to say “soto,” there are certain formal and polite interactions to consider. For instance, when my teacher is talking to me, not only about her other students and acquaintances, she uses the Kansai-ben word “iharu.” I wondered why on earth she would use keigo with me, her considerably younger student. Through using this language, though she uses it out of kindness, it’s as though my teacher is carefully handling our teacher-student relationship to keep a social barrier between us.

Though I say that, I find the argument that this situation is “uchi” more compelling. Because my lessons are done in my teacher’s home, there are also plenty of experiences that aren’t “soto.” For example, because I’m going into someone’s house, I have to use the appropriate greetings, and sometimes I meet members of my teacher’s family by coincidence. I was recently talking to my teacher about the coming of spring, and I asked if she was planning on going to a hanami. She responded that although she wasn’t planning to go, since she dislikes the bugs that live in the sakura and the crowds that accompany a hanami experience, she can enjoy the ume in her own backyard garden, and opened the shoji separating the classroom and the living area so that I could see through to the ume outside. If I had been taking these lessons in a music studio, there’s no way I could have had this experience.

On top of that, lessons aren’t the only thing I receive from my teacher. She lends me a koto for free so that I can practice on my own at my host family’s house, and so that I don’t have to spend money on my own music, she lets me borrow her own sheet music to copy at school for a fraction of the cost. In addition to that, because I am doing my independent study on the tegotomono genre of koto music, my teacher has given me various things in preparation for that project. For instance, because she works as a koto performer in addition to teaching lessons, she gave me three CDs of tegotomono music that she recorded to use as sources – all for free! These kinds of experiences where I receive all these things from my teacher are certainly “uchi.” That is to say, all of the above-mentioned freebies that I received would normally be paid for, and would be a “soto” relationship, right? But Noda-sensei is not only my teacher, but also my mentor, and as such she helps in any way she can to make my experience a good one, which convinces me that this is more of an “uchi” relationship than a “soto” one.

Of course, you could reasonably say it’s “soto” or “uchi” – it all depends on what specific experiences you consider to be more telling. However, I have found that my relationship with Noda-sensei is more meaningful than the relationships I have had with previous private lesson instructors, and so I consider it to be “uchi.” If I were to take lessons again when I return to America, I have to wonder if I’ll pay attention to these same kinds of interactions more than before I took my koto lessons.

Daniel Moon: Igo

投稿日時: 投稿者:

My first day in the Kyoto Igo Salon began with me walking into a classroom full of elderly ladies and being greeted by their curious stares. Upon telling the instructor that I am a foreigner trying to take Igo lessons, the classroom buzzed with whispers of “He’s a foreigner!” Needless to stay, the unwanted attention was more than enough to reconsider going back to the salon.

I’m happy to write though that it feels a lot more comfortable attending the class now. The class, including the instructor, is very friendly, and a lot of the students have been eager to talk to me about life back in the states, my thoughts on Kyoto, Igo, and so on.

Each week, the instructor lectures the class for half an hour about new strategies. After walking me through a brief overview of the basic rules of Igo, the instructor has allowed me to listen in on the lectures along with the rest of the class. The basic idea of the game is to build one’s base as large and secure as possible using “stones,” which are the basic unit of the game. The lectures have been mostly about conducting offensive and defensive moves based on predictions of the opponent’s moves. According to the instructor, veteran players can predict the flow of the game multiple moves ahead of time, though I’m not confident that I can predict beyond one or two moves at best.

I have to admit that I have yet to win a game (and I don’t imagine that I’ll be returning to the states with a win on my record), but strangely enough, despite my competitive personality, I haven’t found myself stressing about losing in Igo. My guess is that there is a certain atmosphere about Igo (or perhaps an atmosphere specific to my salon) that allows both the winner and the loser to walk away from a game with satisfaction.

What kind of atmosphere? What I view as the attractions of the Igo game come mostly in comparison to other strategy board games that I have played in the past, namely chess. Granted chess has its own appeals, I would characterize Igo as a game that places relative emphasis on respecting the opponent. Some of the customs of Igo (bowing to the opponent before the game, placing the first stone in the upper-right hand corner, avoiding making sounds or touching the opponent’s stone when placing one’s own stone, etc.) are purely for the sake of paying respect to the opponent. Of course, mannerism is present in any game, including chess, but clearly Igo comes with a longer list of intricate customs and manners that are virtually considered rules.

Besides the general rules and customs of Igo, it is also the informal atmosphere of my salon that allows for a relaxed few hours of lectures and practice. It seems that the students here have been regulars for a long time, since they all seem to know each other well and speak to each other in informal Japanese. While they address the instructor as “sensei,” it was surprising to see that they also speak to the teacher in informal Japanese, as does the instructor. I have been able to talk with a number of students, though the talks mostly consisted of them asking me questions about where I am from, why I decided to come to Japan, why I chose to study Igo, and so on. The students had a strong Kansai Accent, and it might be a safe guess that talking with them helped grow my ears for the Kansai Accent.

I can’t say that there’s been a major breakthrough that suddenly elevated me to become adept in the workings of Igo. What I can say, however, is that over the course of the semester, I steadily grew a good amount of understanding of the logic and dynamic of the game. I dare to say that along with better understanding came a better appreciation of the game in its unique charisma.

Deanna Nardy: Manga

投稿日時: 投稿者:

I don’t want to write this blog, because it means that my time in Okamoto-sensei’s manga class is almost over. Out of all the events and opportunities provided by KCJS, nothing made me feel more valued as a member of the community than my Manga CIP. I have made real Japanese friends (not just hey-we-met-once-and-added-each-other-on-Facebook-but-actually-what’s-your-name-again “friends”), people I will keep in contact with and, when I come back to Japan, will go out of my way to meet again. Manga class has been the one piece of home in a time abroad.

The incredible thing about my manga class is that everyone is completely supportive of one another. Whenever I felt dejected and thought “I will never be as good as A-san so what’s the point,” everyone was quick to tell me that my art is my own style and no one can draw the way I do, because the pictures I draw are mine, are special. It sounds cliché now, but that encouragement has meant the world to me.

This may just be the artist talking, but sometimes I look at what I’ve drawn, and I think, “Wow, I haven’t improved at all.” It’s easy to think this when Okamoto-sensei always couches praise between criticism: 「この辺はいいけど、この辺はちょっと…」. However, recently, a girl who had previously attended the manga class but is now a published artist has been visiting. Whenever she is there, Okamoto-sensei talks about me as if I’m not there and praises my work minus the disclaimers. “This is her first time inking, and you can see she understands when to make thin lines and thick lines,” “You should have read her Cheesecake manga, the action scenes were well done,” “She’s very patient and doesn’t rush, that’s why her art is clean” – after hearing all of this (for the first time!), I couldn’t stop smiling the entire class.

Now I realize that Japanese people in general feel more comfortable showing praise indirectly. Because I was only ever told points I could improve on, I interpreted that as I wasn’t doing anything right. However, that’s not the case at all – the second another non-student was there to listen, Okamaoto-sensei said only good things about my work. Perhaps directly praising someone runs the risk of discouraging the other students, or maybe you don’t want the student to get too cocky, but either way this dynamic is different from what I experienced in American classrooms.

I will never forget Okamoto-sensei, the kind assistant Fujita-san, the always-drawing-male-love-scenes-that-make-the-sensei-shake-his-head student, the two high school girls that are always squealing 「すげー！！」about something probably Sonic related, and the boy who offered me his heat pack that he fished out of his back when I said my hands were cold when we went out to eat ramen after class. Until we meet again!

Aubrey Harper: Pottery class and Klexon

投稿日時: 投稿者:

I started off this quarter doing the same project as last quarter, pottery lessons.  I started the lessons late so they carried over to the first half of this quarter.  I really enjoyed the lessons, but when it was over I wanted to find a CIP that didn’t cost as much money. One that cost no money would be even better.  So that narrowed my options down to clubs and volunteering, unfortunately the circles at Doshisha weren’t very active this semester because the Japanese students were on spring break for two months in February and March.  I began to look into volunteering opportunities, but I was wary of committing myself to something when I was going to be gone in a month and a half.  I was rereading the other student’s entries to try and find something and I stumbled upon Klexon.

Klexon is an international language exchange organization.  They have a meeting each week; they also have special events on weekends occasionally. I have only gone to a few meetings, but it isn’t as awkward as I thought that it was going to be at first.  I am a rather shy person; I’m not big on talking to strangers in English, let alone in Japanese.  But I found that many of the other people at Klexon, were just as nervous to talk to me, which somehow made it less daunting.  Many of the Japanese people at Klexon are students, but there are also a lot of office workers, who are transferring to an English speaking country or have spent time working in an English speaking country before. I also met a man who just quit his job and was planning on traveling the world.  Because Klexon is meant to be a language exchange program, talking to and making friends with the other people is expected and I found that while many people were shy like me, it wasn’t so hard after a few minutes to keep a conversation going.

With pottery lessons on the other hand, I felt like an outsider very keenly for most of the classes. I was not only a foreigner but also much younger than the other students and a first-time potter. Eventually I began to feel like I was gaining ground in the group, but soon after that the classes were over. I think that if it had been a longer class I would have been able to make more progress. I’m not sure that there is really a secret to making integration into the group easier, if there is I would like to know it. For me it just took time and being polite.

Jameson Creager: Shamisen

投稿日時: 投稿者:

One of the things I anticipated dreading most before coming to Japan was not having access to a guitar. I was thrilled when I learned that my host family in fact had one lying around that I could borrow. That is to say, I haven’t had to abstain from one of my most immediate needs, to make noise. I’ve also discovered another means of stress relief and enjoyment though my CIP, learning the shamisen.

With regard to the instrument and music itself, the experience has been demanding. As opposed to guitar, in which anyone can pick up a few chords and be on their way within thirty minutes of having touched the thing, shamisen requires diligence in order to achieve its potential. That is not to say the physical action of producing a tone is difficult, like learning a woodwind, but that one must be very conscious of their technique and take care to not play more than what is written. A good shamisen player is precise in their movements. There is also a barrier of entry for first timers: To play along with others, I had to learn how to read a new type of music notation that is counter-intuitive to the notation I am familiar with. Learning has made me much more grateful for how easy it is to make pretty sounds on my guitar at home. The real treat, however, has been playing with others at the studio.

For my first month or so, I visited Greenwich House, a small Japanese music studio, twice a week. I would go once for a group meeting of musicians and once for individual lessons. Recently, I have just been going to group meeting, although I have been spending just as much time there. Last week, I spent five and a half hours playing and lounging, which included dinner out with my teacher. The place has a really laid-back, friendly atmosphere, and in between pieces we snack on sweets and drink coffee that has been prepared in the jazz bar on the first floor.

The individual lessons have been incredibly helpful in the process of learning the fundamentals, but the group meetings are what I’ve come to treasure. A few times a week, shamisen, koto, and shakuhachi players gather at Greenwich House to play together. Depending on the day, the attendance varies. There have been times at which the tiny studio in which we meet has been uncomfortably crowded with players of all types and times in which my teacher and I are the only string players, helping a group of shakuhachi players keep rhythm. The smaller gatherings are preferable in terms of time the teacher can spend correcting our mistakes and teaching technique, but there is something magical about hearing it all together, as the individual parts play off each other and form a lush aural image. While traditional Japanese music is rather humble in light of the music we listen to nowadays, it has stark and devastating beauty when executed well.

I wish that I could continue going to the music studio after I leave Japan. My teacher and the other members of the studio have been incredibly welcoming. This CIP allowed me to integrate with a tiny, very specific group of people in Kyoto who share my interests. Just as I am becoming comfortable playing and conversing with the other players, my departure looms over me. I have thoroughly enjoyed involving myself with this group of people and learning from their experience and company.