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

James Hilton: Kyokushin

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For my CIP, I chose to practice Kyokushin–a full-contact form of karate. Coming to Japan, I pre-designated two martial arts that I planned to study: Judo and Kyokushin. I had my Judo experience over the summer in Hokkaido, so Kyokushin was the target for my time in Kyoto.

OSU!

Sensei and senpai have both recommended that I use a more “relaxed” or “loose” style during close exchange of blows. Due to my boxing training, I use more closed-off stance–as to minimize damage incurred. I prefer to employ a parry-and-counterstrike fighting style, but Kyokushin demands preemption over calculated defense. While I am not completely sold on this strategy, I can definitely see it’s value. I pursue efficiency from the perspective of self-preservation; Kyokushin aims for effectiveness–obtain victory. I seek to disable the opponent while sustaining as little damage as possible. The Kyokushin way is to subdue with overwhelming force, and allows for damage taken–so long as it makes way a greater allotment in return. An efficient fighter wishes to minimize risks, which leads one to sacrifice opportunities to win. In other words, in Kyokushin, offense is defense; but I am of the mind that defense produces offense.The effective combatant does what must be done to triumph and considers the self-preservation aspect secondarily. Due to the associated trade-offs, there are circumstance under which either approach is superior and the other will lead to ruin.

During my most recent practice, I was finally able to utilize a more “relaxed” and Kyokushin-y offense (For an example: There is no evasion in Kyokushin and punches to the head are illegal–a considerable tactical conundrum for one who relies on those methods heavily) in combination with a conscious defensive effort. I am proud of this development because 1) previous attempts to adapt to the Kyokushin way only resulted in impaired performance and subsequent injury (the blending of multiple disciplines with contrary principles while in the heat of battle is no easy feat, I assure you); 2) relaxed focus leads to flow; and 3) I was able to construct a holistically more effective–and surprisingly more efficient–style for myself. My establishing a middle ground between defensive and offensive orientations, I get the benefits of both without much consequence.
My default fighting style is the combination of a number of disciplines. Never before have I had such trouble learning and incorporating into my own style another art. The issue is a mental one. All of my life, I was taught restraint in martial arts. As a once angry and aggrieved young fellow, I can admit that I needed that centering. Kyokushin forces me to walk the cusp of aggression that was always taboo. It makes me uncomfortable; and that is the reason why I must conquer it. A true warrior has balance. It is time for me to once again become comfortable in the role of aggressor–something that us young Black men are taught to avoid if we desire social mobility, lest we be abased as scourge and menace.
OSU!

Veronica Winters: Dance Class and Church

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For the 2017 Fall semester at KCJS, I originally had decided to take group lessons at a studio in Osaka, located close to Umeda station. The vocabulary used by the instructors was fundamentally the same as dance instructors in America; for example, “From the top”, “One more time”. The register changed depending on the instructor; friendlier teachers tended to use the plain speech styles while colder, more detached teachers used polite form. About halfway through the semester, I realized that 1) I was not gaining any major cultural insights and 2) while I do enjoy dancing, I did not enjoy taking formal classes.

For the second portion of the semester I have been going to a church with a multi-national congregation. I was shocked at how similar service was to my church in America. I usually go to a majority black Church of God in Christ (COGIC) church in the U.S. where it is common practice to interject with “Amen” during a sermon to show your agreement, to pray aloud individually but simultaneously during worship service and greet your neighbor between programs. The church that I attend in Japan does the exact same thing, except that services are either conducted in Japanese, Korean, Chinese or in all three. More than 70% of the congregation is Chinese, however the pastor is Japanese, so for regular services there is a Japanese-Chinese interpreter present. If necessary, there are a two international students who regularly attend the church that will interpret services into English.

I did realize that the pastor gave the sermon using polite speech, since she was address the congregation; however, during prayer, on behalf of everyone, the pastor would use keigo as a means of exaltation. Also, during my first visit, some members of the church did a coordinated praise dance in honor of the guest Korean pastor. The praise dance was done with fans, using moves from traditional obon dancing, while wearing a kimono.

Furthermore, after learning about difficulties amongst Chinese, Japanese and Koreans in Japan, I was pleased and surprised to find this space where they all cooperate without tension. Since, they share the religion of Christianity, “We are all brothers and sisters in Christ,” is a commonly said phrase at church. Also, the phrases that the pastor uses during the sermons and communal prayer are very similar to the phrases used at my church in America. Nevertheless, this is most likely be due to a shared text, the Bible, which is full set phrases that are very popular among Protestant Christians. I am thoroughly enjoying the experience for my personal enrichment.

Nevertheless, I realize that the church is a bit separated from Japanese society as whole, so to make the most of my study abroad in Japan and get more of a first-hand view of the inner-workings of Japanese society, I will participate in a more integrated CIP during the spring semester.

Eva Czapski: Yoga Lessons in Kyoto

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Many people who come to Kyoto for travel or study-abroad come with expectations and preconceptions about its deep-rooted history, attachment to tradition, preservation of old customs and places, and general loyalty to the ways of the past. Tourists enjoy the torii gates at Fushimi Inari Taisha, the restored streets lined with machiya storefronts in Gion, and the countless hundreds of temples and shrines left over from the era of the Samurai. I spent a good amount of my first semester in Kyoto seeking out many of these types of historical-cultural experiences– I even chose a traditional art form, sumi-e, for my CIP activity– and even now, I love walking around the historical districts or visiting old temples on weekends. However, along with getting used to modern, everyday life in Kyoto, which has in fact developed into a very livable and culturally diverse city, I’ve gotten to know a side of Japanese life that isn’t tied to tradition or ancestral ways. In a place where everyone expects to see ancient buildings, traditionally-dressed Geisha, and narrow, lantern-lit alleyways (of which there are plenty to be found), there also exists a thriving, internationally-influenced modern culture, and a giant boom of lifestyle trends that closely resemble what was around me back home in the U.S.

Yoga is an ancient practice in itself, but the yoga trend in society is relatively new, and extremely current. Living in Boston, I was constantly surrounded by yoga classes, yoga wear, yoga images with inspirational Buddhist quotes, “yoga challenges,” and so on; as well as all the other facets of the yoga lifestyle, like trendy vegan cafes and specialized yoga clothing boutiques.

I was definitely surprised to find, once I’d started exploring a little deeper into everyday Kyoto life and society, that the same kind of trend is alive and flourishing here as well. I chose yoga classes as my CIP because I wanted to find out more about the Japanese philosophy and treatment toward the yoga lifestyle. Back at home, I was used to taking Vinyasa yoga whenever I did take a class, so I decided to continue the same thing here (they offer many levels of Vinyasa almost every day of the week at the studio I chose).

My yoga studio, Tamisa Yoga, is on the popular shopping street Teramachi, and includes a vegan cafe as well as a shop that sells yoga wear merchandise and imported organic foods. Tamisa reminds me so much of the kind of studios and organic cafes/smoothie-bars I am used to seeing back in the states– if even more hip and well put-together than ours are. It was so interesting to observe the way that people in Japan have embraced this globally-trending lifestyle, and taken their own spin on it both aesthetically and in practice. (The photos below are courtesy of tamisa-yoga.com.)

cosy cafetamisa1As far as the Vinyasa classes themselves, the main difference I noticed in the class culture was that everyone was more laid-back, including the instructor. Classmates smiled at each other and said a friendly お疲れ様ですat the end of each class, even offering to put away other people’s mats. The instructors spoke mainly in Japanese (although bilingual lessons are also offered), but some Vinyasa-esque phrases were reserved for English (“Relax your body, relax your mind, relax your heart”), and it seemed like everyone in the class understood what these meant. The fact that English and Western culture (foods and clothing from America, words written and spoken in English) is so tied to the yoga culture here, which had probably spread throughout East Asia to Japan far before America was even a country, was a very interesting point of study for me during my experience.

For anyone interested in taking beginner’s yoga classes, I recommend the activity both as a way to practice your Japanese listening and social skills, and to observe a very current and influential part of Kyoto culture. I’ll definitely be keeping up with the classes and the studio community while living here this summer.

Joseph Martin: Aikido

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Coming into KCJS I was still undecided about what specific CIP I wanted to pursue, but I was interested in some sort of physical activity. After searching several possibilities, I eventually discovered an Aikido dojo and decided to give it a try. For the first class I was only allowed to observe. Following this session of observation I began practicing and immediately found myself in a situation contrary to what I had expected.

Having no previous experience in Aikido, I began training at a level far below that of all of the other dojo members. Consequently I made mistakes often, and at times was asked by the sensei to sit in seiza and observe the movements more carefully before attempting them again. Thankfully one of the senior members at the dojo took me aside and began teaching me more basic movements and techniques to help me progress, and through his help I was able to improve a great amount. After the first month I began to feel more comfortable in the practices as I was no longer making fundamental mistakes nearly as often. As a result I was able to place a greater focus on the techniques that the sensei would teach to the entire class rather than being isolated for fundamental work.

While communication outside of the dojo was quite limited, I did have opportunities to practice my Japanese during the lessons. Depending on the sensei, they would either speak entirely in Japanese or occasionally use English to explain certain movements. In the lessons we would partner up with other dojo members and take turns performing what the sensei had instructed us to do. In this setting I was able to communicate with my partner in Japanese and ask questions accordingly, although comprehending their responses posed some challenges at times. Nevertheless, I would ask clarifying questions and felt that this setting was a great way to put my Japanese from a classroom setting to use.

About half way through the semester I also began attending morning zazen sessions in the dojo on the weekends. These sessions were an entirely different experience than the usual physical aspects of our lessons as they were mentally intensive. I found these sessions to be extremely beneficial in clearing my mind of any stress inducing thoughts and always left feeling more relaxed.

The aspects of this CIP that I struggled with the most and never quite mastered were the nuances involved in such a formal class structure of martial arts. In nearly every practice I forgot or was not aware of certain practices of respect, such as the correct time to bow, when to sit in seiza, and how to speak with my partner. In my experience with boxing such formalities were not common practices, and holding this mindset when beginning Aikido caused me difficulties. Regardless, my biggest takeaways from this experience have been that Aikido, like many other aspects of life, requires a constant commitment to improve at a gradual pace. I would advise future students to choose an activity that they have previous experience in due to the time constraints of the semester.

Eva Czapski: Learning the Japanese Art of Sumi-e

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I painted this in October.

Painting from October.

For my CIP, I have been studying the Japanese art of Sumi-e– paintings done with Sumi ink and a calligraphy brush– in a small-group lesson with a Kyoto woman. Fujiwara Sensei is trained in Chinese ink painting but has been working in the Japanese style for the last decade. She hosts the lessons from her studio, which she shares with her husband who runs a kimono printing workshop upstairs.

When I attend the class most Wednesdays, I find myself in a circle of two to five older women who are extremely friendly, funny and talkative. None of them take the class or their painting hobby too seriously, yet most of them are incredibly talented. They use a combination of the black Sumi ink and pigmented watercolors to create vivid, professional-looking pieces. It’s so valuable to me, as an amateur artist who is new to the Sumi-e style, to have these Sempai classmates’ skill to aspire to. Fujiwara Sensei, of course, is a master of the art–not just when creating her own pieces, but even when assessing others’ work for its design or technique.

I painted this in November after visiting the garden of a Zen temple in Nagaokakyo.

Painting from November of a Zen garden.

Calligraphy brushes (fude) and ink stone (Sumi), the only two tools needed to create Sumi-e paintings. Just add water. (Image taken from http://www.juanaalmaguer.com/)

Calligraphy brushes (fude) and ink stone (Sumi), the only two tools needed to create Sumi-e paintings. Just add water. (Image taken from http://www.juanaalmaguer.com/)

There is much more technical training involved in learning Sumi-e than I had expected going into the classes. As with any of the Japanese “ways”–Sadou (tea ceremony), Shodou (calligraphy), and so on–there is a particular way to go about Sumi painting that does not leave much room for free interpretation. I think that as I grow as a Sumi-e artist I would like to be able to change some of these traditional standards in my own art, in order to create something that is individual and unique to the times and to my own ideas, but before I put my own spin on the ancient art, I must really master the techniques that my Sensei is teaching me now.The first thing I was taught, starting on the first day of class, was the vocabulary of terms central to the art. Particularly important are the names of the three elements necessary to every “complete” Sumi-e painting, each of which refers to a different way of combining the brush, ink, and water to create part of a picture. These terms are especially interesting to me because their dictionary meaning is very simple, but their connotation in the Sumi-e world is infinitely important. For example, “nou-dan” literally means “light-dark,” but it refers to the vital gradient between light and dark that is used in good Sumi-e work.
The other two main brushwork elements are “nuzume”–to spread or bleed–and “kassure”–to graze. A piece without all three of these features is considered to lack true atmosphere or flow; it merely depicts objects without showing their relationship to one another.

See the example below, which is a fall Sakura tree that I painted last week. The leaves together create the “nou-dan” gradient, while the trunk is an example of “kassure”. In order to incorporate “nuzume,” I added the blurry falling leaf to the right.

Painting from last week. The trunk is Kassure; the falling leaf is Nijime; and the leaves together create the nou-dan gradient.

kassure, nou-dan and nuzume.

I am still working on mastering these techniques, as well as the art in itself of layout and composition, but Fujiwara Sensei has been very helpful in that process and I am pleased with the work I’ve done so far. I am also glad that I have had so many chances to practice conversing in Japanese with the Sensei and my older classmates, on a wide range of topics from our artwork to our families to aspects of Japanese culture and tradition.

Jackie Oshiro: Aikido

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As a full-year student, I had the opportunity to continue my CIP for the entirety of this school year, and although I had extensive experience with aikido prior to coming to Japan, this semester allowed me to practice in a way I had never experienced before. Last semester, I went to practice in the way that I was used to – after school in the evenings. This semester, however, that didn’t work quite as well with my class schedule and because my dojo offered it, I decided instead to go to practice in the morning before school.

If martial arts are supposed to be a way for you to train your discipline and self control, then it seems to me that early morning training will double your benefits. Not only do you have to discipline yourself in practice, but the very act of getting up before the sun in a frigid bedroom definitely ups your discipline as well. I’m not going to lie – although I enjoy practice and think of myself as a morning person, waking up and getting motivated to go to practice at 5:30 am was a real struggle. And yet, it seems to be a natural part of seriously practicing a martial art here. The people I saw in the morning were the same people who regularly attended evening classes and held the most responsibility in the dojo. And although aikido is clearly an important part of their lives, they also hold regular jobs and do things outside the dojo.

Back at home, in my experience at least, this sort of culture doesn’t really exist. You hear of people going to the gym or going for a jog in the early morning before work or students going to sports practice before school, but this sort of lifelong commitment to a practice that isn’t your work seems to be rather unheard of in America.  Again, I could be totally unaware of a significant portion of American society that contradicts my broad, sweeping statement, but perhaps it has to do with differences in societal values. I feel like maybe Americans might be reluctant to commit themselves to this type of strict practice because it would further limit their time at home, something that’s highly valued. Or maybe even that Japanese people and American people don’t see this type of training and its benefits in the same light.

Although there were times that I would definitely rather have slept in (and some times that I did), I’m incredibly grateful to have had this opportunity to take my practice to a new level.

Morgan Hearne: Kyudō

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My time at Kyōto’s Budō Center learning from Kawaguchi-sensei was a great privilege. From gradually finding a better sense of balance when taking off my shoes before practice (though never a sense of grace), performing the correct form over and over again without complaint (in the cold, without feeling in toes or fingers), to releasing my first arrow, I have gained a lot from my CIP experience. Many of the things I have learned have been through nonverbal experiences, but nevertheless I believe they certainly say much about the process of studying a Japanese cultural art form.

To shoot or not to shoot— this depends on what I would call the Kyudō Trifecta: Respect, Discipline, and Patience. My observations point to these three values as key in determining your success in studying kyudō.

Every practice began and ended with formal aisatsu, which consisted of waiting for and greeting sensei when she became free, and respectfully expressing our appreciation for her guidance in zarei (seated bow position). Only after completing aisatsu could we retrieve our equipment or take our leave. At the same time, there was not a strict, tense atmosphere like I imagined there would be. Rather, while taking practice seriously, the older students often joked with sensei, who also often displayed a dry sense of humor. I think it was because a high level of respect already existed between students and teacher, as shown through aisatsu at the beginning and end of practice, that this kind of warm atmosphere could be created. The importance of respect feeds into the other two pillars of the Kyudō Trifecta as well.

In practicing the same form endlessly, respecting the subtleties between each step, and keeping both the mind and body focused in silence takes, as you can imagine, great discipline. In my mind, this was an area of particular importance in which to succeed because I have always imagined it as (besides a general area of weakness in myself) an area of weakness in those not socialized into Japanese culture. Because sensei was often busy helping a number of students, practicing in silence while learning as much as possible from older students was vital. Without saying anything, experienced students would generously hop in front of us to practice and let us take careful note of their form. I really appreciated the sense of camaraderie created because students knew the difficulty and importance of preserving through moments of weak resolve. Luckily, patience, as the third pillar of the Kyudō Trifecta, made me more forgiving in the moments when my shoulders did slump and my eyes searched for a clock.

Patience also, I found, was key to finding the joy in chilly afternoon practices of repetition, repetition, repetition. In fact, the same level of patience required of us was vastly lower due to the nature of our short visit. Kawaguchi-sensei actually sped up the timeline in which we received a bow to hold, an arrow with which to practice the form, and the permission to actually release the string. Normal students would have been practicing the form for about two months before even holding a bow. And yet all the same, even in the short and far more ‘action-packed’ time I took kyudō lessons, I know that patience is what completes the Trifecta. From the tremendous range of students’ ages, I saw right from the start that kyudō is an art form you learn over a lifetime. In this way, I was able to relax in knowing that while striving for a kind of perfection, it was finding the joy and awe in the learning process that made my CIP experience so memorable.

Emily Thurston: Kyuudo

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For my CIP, I chose to do Kyuudo, or Japanese Archery. I had no experience with archery before, so I was certainly expecting a challenge. However, Kyuudo is so distinct from other forms of archery that I did not feel disadvantaged compared to those who had archery experience.

Practicing archery allowed me to get a glimpse of Japan’s hierarchical dojo community. I was expecting it to be somehow more rigid in structure, but my first lesson illustrated quite the opposite. The other KCJS students and I were mostly left to practice on our own, with occasional feedback. Moreover, the sensei even left when to end of the lesson up to us. We practiced for an extra half and hour waiting for her to signal the end of the lesson until we finally realized that it was our duty to do so.

Practicing kyuudo was a very rewarding experience. I learned a lot about proper patterns of speech when addressing one’s sensei. I noticed that even women who seemed to be around the same age as the sensei spoke to her in keigo, indicating that she was their superior within the dojo. Although I did not get to know anyone in the dojo very well, the other members were very welcoming and always greeting us warmly. This atmosphere, as well as the actual act of practicing kyuudo are very unique to Japan, and thus this experience has become an important aspect of my time here.

 

Phoebe Horgan: Kyudo

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For my CIP I chose to practice kyūdō, or Japanese archery, twice a week for an hour. I chose it mostly because of my previous experience with archery in the US. I practiced and competed in archery all throughout high school, but once I got to college I didn’t get the chance to keep up with it, and ended up dropping it completely. In my CIP, I wanted to try something uniquely Japanese, but also building off of my personal interests, so I ended up with kyūdō.

I was really interested in learning the differences between kyūdō and archery, as there are many. You draw back with your thumb, not your fingers, and wear this massive stiff glove on the hand you use to draw back the bowstring. You place the arrow on the outside of the bow, not the side closest to you. But overall the objectives of kyūdō and archery are very different. In archery, the goal is to hit the target dead center with precision and accuracy, so you can make the same shot over and over again. Every adjustment you make, and every time you change your form is just to better your score. But in kyūdō, the emphasis seems to be more on the act of shooting itself, and less on the results. There’s a formality to it that you find in martial arts and not so much in sports. Just a couple of months isn’t really enough to learn a great deal about practicing kyūdō, but I am thankful that I had the opportunity to try it.

Even so, I ended up quitting it a few weeks before the end of the semester, due to time constraints and stuff. Anyway, apparently it’s really important to Japanese people to have a proper formal farewell and apology if you ever decide to stop doing something, so the three of us who had continued doing kyūdō all had to go and explain our reasons for quitting and thank sensei profusely for all that she had taught us so far and for taking the time to teach us. Although to be frank, the teaching style for Japanese martial arts is very hands-off, so it didn’t particularly seem to take sensei much time at all. Still, it felt marginally better to have that closure than to just stop showing up, so I guess that’s a good thing.

Jaime Guzman : Aikido

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For my CIP, I practiced aikido at aikidokyoto located a few blocks away from Senbon dori and Imadegawa. From learning how to fall and do shikko to having instructions taught to me in a strange blend of Japanese and English, the experience for me was a fun and interesting one. Although I’ve only been able to practice for a short amount of time, I felt like I’ve learned a lot from both of the sensei, and of course was always looking forward to eating McDonald’s after practice on Tuesday. But in all seriousness, I have very little regrets about my decision to try out aikido. The 45 minute walk to and from the dojo may have felt long some days and the lack of interaction between the other students and me outside of lessons were probably not ideal but that did not take away from my experience at all.

Taking aikido at an actual dojo, in Japan, made me get a better glimpse at what practicing martial arts in a more official setting, and not a college setting, is like. For example, when I did karate back at Amherst, we had to use the gymnasium and did not have an official dojo so we never had to do anything like bowing to the dojo when entering or getting on the mats. We also rarely had to sit in seiza, the only times were when we were late and had to wait for the sensei’s permission to join the class or during promotion, however at this aikido dojo we it felt as if half of our time was spent in this position. When we are waiting for the sensei to start class, when we are bowing to the sensei, when we are observing a new technique before practicing it ourselves, and even for when we do certain techniques, we are required to sit in seiza. At the beginning of the class, my foot would usually feel an unbearable pain but as the class goes on sitting in seiza became a little bit easier. Of course when I walk the 2 miles back to my apartment, I am still able to feel the pain in my ankles but after a certain amount of classes even that became enjoyable and part of the aikido experience.

One main thing I noticed in my aikido class is that when there is a new student that has only been there for about 2 months or so, they’d always pair them up with a much more experience senpai wearing a hakama. For the first few classes, I was rotated among the same senpai until they were certain that I could do the majority of the basic moves before having me actually allowing me to learn techniques. When I did practice techniques it was usually with the same people until recently and I noticed that each senpai have their own way of showing techniques. Some are a lot stricter and forceful while others go through it slowly and walk me through every move. It’s interesting practicing with different people because some of them are fluent in English, some are native French speaker who sometimes try to talk to me in English and Japanese and others only speak Japanese. However the chance to speak in Japanese for me is very limited because I rarely get to speak to anyone after class and when I have it was for asking how to get my gi or a receipt and the person I asked always responded in English.

I’m very grateful for my time at the dojo however I feel as if I have not really been able to fully integrate into the dojo community. I walk there, practice, and then walk like many other people do. On Thursday, there’s always another class following mine and on Tuesday, after we clean, everyone is quick to zoom out of there. I may not be able to talk much with anyone there but at least I’ve learned a lot about aikido and some vocabulary for the parts of the body that I never actually remembered before.