「Activity」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Grace Xu: Doshisha Piano Research Society

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At the beginning of the semester, Director Mason introduced the Community Involvement Project (CIP) to us as, rather generally speaking, a mini-ethnography project. We were all to try our hand at being ethnographers – to find a circle or club activity and act not just as participants but also as observers, doing our best to formulate hypotheses about our activities and the communities we were to supposedly study, making note of cultural practices and rituals while we attempted to learn them ourselves.

If producing an ethnography – or practicing ethnography – was the end goal of the CIP, then I must be completely honest here and admit that what meager observations and experience I have gathered seem wholly insufficient for anything resembling ethnography. After spending most of the semester trying (and failing) to do as Director Mason suggested – in other words, trying to find a circle that I was both passionate about or at least interested in and revolved around a skill/subject I had some talent for – I ended up joining the Doshisha Piano Research Society out of (mostly) frustration and a lack of better options. Looking back, I think that these negative feelings I held during my entrance into the circle were the root cause of my lack of success, so I would like to reflect a bit on my experience here in case it might be of use to aspiring ethnographers among the future KCJS students.

But first, allow me to backtrack a bit. You might be asking yourself, what exactly is ethnography? Simply speaking, the term ethnography refers to a systematic method of studying people and cultures, and is characterized by certain features such as prolonged first-hand study and participant-observation research methods. Leaving aside the more general discussion surrounding the utility and legitimacy of ethnographies as a tool for cultural interpretation, however, I’d like to instead examine a claim by Hoey – that, despite the recurring issue of objectivity in social science research (or in other words, how researchers can ensure some degree of validity and credibility in their work) it is precisely this very human element of reactivity that makes ethnography possible. In Hoey’s own words:

Ethnographic fieldwork is shaped by personal and professional identities just as these identities are inevitably shaped by individual experiences while in the field. Unfortunately, the autobiographical dimension of ethnographic research has been downplayed historically if not discounted altogether[…]The explicit professional project of observing, imagining and describing other people need not be incompatible with the implicit personal project of learning about the self[…]Good ethnography recognizes the transformative nature of fieldwork where as we search for answers to questions about people we may find ourselves in the stories of others. Ethnography should be acknowledged as a mutual product born of the intertwining of the lives of the ethnographer and his or her subjects.

Although I personally may not agree completely with Hoey’s rather poetic description of the relationship between ethnographers and their work, I do agree in the interpretation of the above quote that a deep and personal investment is required in order for ethnographers to be successful in their work. Of course, that is exactly the opposite of the sort of mindset I held entering the CIP, and a large reason why I think truly useful/insightful ethnography is so difficult. The shallow and to be honest, rather superficial observations I made on my meager trips to the piano circle – how, for example, the circle’s club room was tiny and narrow, shunted to a corner of a side campus in a gloomy building along with dozens of other circles, or that despite being called a research society not much research on pianos was actually done in the few hours I accumulated at the circle – reflect more upon myself then the community I was called upon to observe, and if anything show a innate lack of ability for ethnography rather than an admirable, if amateurish effort for social science/anthropological research. I could, for example, posit that the reason why the piano circle is so popular among the university students (there are at least 30 members, judging from the quick glance I had at the sign up sheet) despite there being only 2 pianos available in the circle’s room, is because of a hesitancy to create noise and thus cause meiwaku, or disturbance to one’s neighbors at home. Is this perhaps reflective of a tendency in Japanese culture to put the needs of the group or others before one’s own desires, of a subconscious and constant awareness of the needs of the community over one’s own? And so on.

But more importantly, no effort of mine could conceal such continued and blatant speculation, nor the fact that I wouldn’t even consider myself as having made a single acquaintance from my CIP (does one person who somewhat begrudgingly added me on Line and whom I haven’t contacted once count?), much less any friends or other lasting relationship. I have decided to be completely honest in this summary of sorts and admit that I have absolutely no viable hypotheses regarding this community I unwittingly “joined”. Quite simply, it was a personal endeavor perhaps doomed to fail from the start. On top of my long commute, my decision to take three afternoon electives (for my home school’s engineering major requirements), keeping up with recruiting activities back home and even just enjoying what little time I had with my host family, the additional burden of involving myself in yet another commitment was, I suppose, something I couldn’t help but avoid in order to prevent myself from stretching too thin. Or rather, perhaps it was impossible for me to be successful from the start after so many failed attempts at joining other clubs and with the kind of distant and impersonal expectations I entered with. Perhaps, in the end, it is just as Hoey said: that only in truly deep and intimate involvement – indeed, personal commitment and passion from the very beginning – that ethnographic success can be found.

Sources: Hoey. Brian A. “A Simple Introduction to the Practice of Ethnography and Guide to Ethnographic Fieldnotes.” Marshall University Digital Scholar (June 2014). Available at: http://works.bepress.com/brian_hoey/12

Rosaley Gai: Kyoto Igo Salon

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Every Monday, I go to the Kyoto Igo Salon near Shijo Horikawa from around 1PM to whenever it is I finish my last game, which is normally around four or five in the afternoon. The classroom is not large, and attendance on Mondays is low; usually there are not more than ten or twelve people there, including the instructor and myself. I am always the youngest person there; the other students are generally in their sixties and seventies. At first, I was nervous and did not speak very much to anyone at first, but after a few months, I feel comfortable and can converse with most of the people there. Many of the elderly women are interested in my life in America and how my time in Kyoto has been so far.

Go is not a difficult game to understand on the surface, but it is riddled with complex theory once you become more well acquainted with the game. Essentially, the game requires players to place individual stones on the board and surround empty spaces, which become territory. The person at the end with the largest amount of spaces (counted by the number of blank spaces within one’s territory) at the end of the game is victorious.

The basic structure of every class is the same: first the instructor explains a theory or helps us do tsumego (life or death problems) on the magnetic go boards at the front of the room. Afterward, everyone splits off and plays games, frequently with players at their own level or close to it. Everyone I play is much older than I am, so I frequently have to make sure that I am speaking in a formal form and that I mind my go etiquette very well, especially when they are much better than I am at the game. However, the salon itself is a fairly relaxed atmosphere; there are the occasional outbursts of frustration upon a loss, people laugh and talk over their games, and the regulars certainly often use plain form when speaking to the instructor, even if they call him “sensei” at the same time, though this frequently changes to a formal speech pattern if they ask him a question. I found this strange at first, but I have become accustomed to it now.

My time at the Kyoto Igo Salon has taught me not only how to speak comfortably for long periods in formal Japanese, but I have also been able to learn a lot through observing how the other students interact with each other, particularly regarding their speech patterns and the existing social structure based on respect and experience despite the casual atmosphere of the salon. I have yet to become good at the game, nor have I become a pro at understanding when the other students ask me questions with strong Kansai accents, but it is a continual process, and one that I have enjoyed thoroughly throughout the semester. I think it is important in choosing a CIP to pick an activity that you can become closely engaged with even if it is a strange atmosphere to be in at first, whether it is a sport, an instrument, or volunteering.

Jackie Oshiro: Aikido

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For my CIP I decided to find an aikido dojo. I’ve practiced aikido at home in Hawaii since I was nine, so it felt only right to continue my practice in Japan where aikido was founded. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was for it to feel so different.

Of course there was a difference in style, which took some getting used to, but I was surprised that even the beginners were already really used to that style. Back at home, the beginners generally take a while to get used to the movements and move pretty awkwardly for a while, but here, it’s obvious that the first thing that beginners learn how to do is to move according to the style’s logic. I think that’s a really good way to teach and I’ll probably start incorporate it when I go back to teaching the children’s class at home. I think, though, that this difference comes from the fact that in Japan people tend to appreciate instructions a lot more than in America and tend to deviate less from what they’re told despite the initial uncomfortableness of the movement.

Another thing I noticed that was different, which maybe has more to do with this specific situation than with differences between aikido in Japan and America, is that at my Kyoto dojo, the main sensei is female, which has seemed to attract proportionately more women than normal aikido classes. Truly, there are far more women in my classes here than any other classes I’ve been to with male head instructors. Despite that, however, the class dynamic is no different. There are still people who I prefer practicing with, people who are too gentle, and people who are too rough. Although I previously ascribed rough practice to males, I have found here that in a female-dominated situation, the women have filled that role.

My experience with Aikido Kyoto has been nothing but positive, and I will definitely be keeping with it next semester as well.

Andrew Proebstle: Calligraphy

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My motivation for learning calligraphy as a CIP came from a Japanese professor I had at Brown University.   She was the person who introduced it to me, got me to go out and buy a brush pen, and encouraged me to practice it in my spare time. Up until now, all the calligraphy I had done was all amateur practice because I was just writing with a vague notion of proper form and really just trying to get a feel for handling the brush. Therefore, receiving proper instruction while in Japan was an opportunity I could not pass up.

However, my initial expectations of calligraphy instruction were quite unreasonable. First, I had hoped to receive one-on-one instruction at a location where I could relax and focus easily. Furthermore, I dreamed of being able to work extensively and reach a considerable level of skill in a short amount of time. Then, by copying classical works and adding my own style, I would be experiencing Japanese traditional artistic culture at its finest.

Things didn’t work out that perfectly, and I’m happy that they didn’t. I don’t have the time or money for any kind of extensive one-on-one training, and it’s hard to beat the price I got for four sessions a month. Of course, at that rate there was no way I could get as good as I wanted to, is what I had thought. To the contrary, and thanks to the wonderful teachers I’m lucky to study under, I’ve been able to improve surprisingly quickly. In these past three months I’ve made it from practicing single, basic strokes to writing haiku and semi-complex characters. As far as experiencing traditional culture and art goes, I’m more that happy to settle for experiencing modern culture instead.

At first, I had been incredibly skeptical of being able to observe anything about modern Japanese culture by learning calligraphy. After all, how much can one classroom at 6pm on Tuesdays with two teachers and on average ten-year old students say about the culture at large? Perhaps non-surprisingly, seeing kids learning calligraphy in Japan reminds me of my own experience from that age. Most of the time, it’s the parents that are making their kids go to lessons because that’s what they did when they were kids. The kids who prioritize having fun over artistic discipline spend the time goofing off, while the few that choose to devote themselves are praised for doing so.

Instead of the kids, it was the teachers that I was really interested in. My mom is a public school teacher in America, and through her I’ve become well aware of the American teaching process. While the calligraphy classroom is in no way affiliated with the public Japanese educational system to my knowledge, it’s important to note that in general, at least one private calligraphy teacher exists in any local community. They are as much a part of the primary educational system as the schools are, but their integration with the local community means that the teacher-student and teacher-parent relationships differ from the norm. For example, because the parents live no more than a few blocks away, the teachers not only know the parents well, but also will not hesitate to call the parents in the event that their child is misbehaving. As I still have one more semester to study calligraphy, I hope to develop these observations even further.

Andy Kaesermann : Kyoto Art Center

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As I have previously written, my CIP for this semester was done at the Kyoto Art Center. My original intent in choosing this program was to become acquainted with the art scene here in Kyoto and to make some valuable connections through my volunteering! I would happily say that I think I have achieved these as well as, made an absolutely wonderful group of friends!

Much to my surprise, the actual volunteering tasks I was doing were a lot less based on my ability to speak English. Instead, I was much more like a regular volunteer at the center, taking on one shift a week in the gallery and working one event per month. Seeing the way in which volunteers were organized, events coordinated and how the center worked to make art accessible for the larger community in Kyoto was really enriching.

I have learned many things from my CIP; such as, the way appropriate, formal interactions are conducted in a business-like atmosphere. However, one of the most impressive things I learned over my time volunteering was the ways in which status and group identity inform everyday interactions to an extraordinary degree. This oes beyond the use of 敬語. Aside from the normal difficulties of entering a normal group(let alone one with a language barrier) was the fact that I was the only male volunteer among the members of the incoming batch of volunteers. This had helped me a lot in understanding the complexity of group formation and the position in one’s group, of course through the lens of being a volunteer at an art center. As we all were new volunteers,there was little difference between our “status” in the larger context of the center however, in the allocation of tasks by our supervisor, a type hierarchy emerged. This is what had seemed to be a big influence on the ways the other volunteers would interact with me and each other. Specifically, because of a bit of an initial struggle in properly communicating, most of my interactions with the other volunteers resembled a mother duck helping her pathetic duckling child…which is really funny retrospectively. However, over time I was able to convey my knowledge gained from a background in art history and my being able to speak English both played a role in the change in the ways my interactions toward the end of my time at the center.

I am really grateful I was able to work with the Kyoto Art Center this fall. Not only, did it allow me to continue my interest in art and combine with my stay in Japan, it also deepened my connection with those helping popularize fine art in Kyoto! All within the duration of my stay in Japan! I will miss my cohort at the Art Center but, am happy knowing even as I leave they will continue to bring joy, through art to those living in Kyoto~!

ウィル・フィッツェル：LGBTのサークル

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CIPのために、私はLGBT（同性愛者など）の大阪にあるサークルに入ることを選びました。今まで、サークルのミーティングが一回だけありましたけど、とても大切な経験でした。毎週にミーティングが行われているので、また参加する機会を楽しみにしています。

サークルは「G-FRONT関西」と呼ばれています。私の初めてのミーティングの前に、プライバシー（LGBTの問題）を守るという理由で、大阪に着いた時に、G-FRONT のスタッフは大阪にある南方駅で私を迎えに来てくれました。本当のミーティングは私の思ったこととちょっと違っていました。私も含(ふく)めて全員(ぜんいん)で５人だけでした。全員はテーブルに座って、自己紹介をして、サークルの目的や行事について話して、新しいメンバーとして私に行事とサークルの写真を見せてくれました。その後で、全員は同性愛者の男性だから、「好きなタイプ」（容姿や性格など）というトピックについて話しました。

ミーティングを終わったら、メンバーと一緒に居酒屋に行きました。その後で、グループと私はゲイバーに初めて行きました。レストランもゲイバーで、日本のLGBT の文化について話しました。一晩だけとはいえ、日本に着いてから、本当の日本のLGBT の文化について習ったと思っています。

サラ・ヘイファー：手話サークル

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日本に来る前に、アメリカの手話ができます。私の家族は耳が聞こえないので、うちで手話を使います。でも、どんな手話か国によって違います。日本の手話はとても違います。手話は国の文化を映し出します。ですから、日本語を勉強、日本の手話も勉強した方がいいです。それに、耳が聞こえない人とも話すことは大切です。私は日本の耳が聞こえない人たちの文化についてもならいたいです。

京都で、たくさん手話ができる人がいます。みみずくという会はとても古くて有名です。みみずくは場所が十五あります。（みみずくというのは、大きい耳のふくろうのことです。）でも、みみずくはちょっと大きいです。たくさん人がいます。そのために、ちょうどいい人を見つけるはむずかしかったです。よくメールしましたが、ちょうどいい場所がありませんでした。それから、先生が私をてつだってくださいました。先生は手話のサークルを見つけてくださいました。

そのサークルは、同志社大学にはありません。京都大学にあります。実は、そのサークルは私の家にとても近くて便利です。サークルのメンバーはやさしいです。それに、手話のことがこうふんします。まだ行っていませんが、うれしいです。木曜日に行き始めます。よかったです。絶対にたくさんならいたいです！

ニア・マクドナルド：「GRADATION」サークル

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私はまだGRADATIONというサクールに入っていないから、入りたい理由を説明する。もちろんセクシュアリティの問題は私にとって大切な問題だ。でも、もう一つは社会の問題を通じて文化の違いが分かると思うからだ。日本の文化が分かりたいし、この経験を通じて自分の文化ももっと分かりたいし、日本人のセクシュアリティの生活と考え方について習いたいので、このサクールに入りたいのだ。実はサクールの人からメールで私の意見とセクシュアルオリエンテーションについてはっきり聞かれた。私はそういうのはいいと思った。そしてもし入れなくてもいいと思う。このサクールはセクシュアルマイノリティのための安全なスペースだから、私が外国人であることがめんどくさかったら、それは分かる。結局、一番大切なことはみんなの気持ちと経験について心配しないで話せることなのだ。

ジェニファー･ワン：ピアノ研究会

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ピアノ研究会にいる間、大半の時は他のメンバーと話して、本当にピアノを弾く時間が短い。だから、私のピアノの能力はまだ高まっていないけど、無意味な訳ではなくて、とても楽しみである。二週間前に一年生の晩ご飯に誘われたし、いつもいろいろな話に花を咲かせるから、皆が優しいと思う。良い友達になるのを楽しみにしている！小学の一年生の時、ピアノを始めた。毎日45-60分練習して、毎年演奏会を二回していた。そして、大学に入るまでピアノをしていた。大学に入った後で、授業で忙しくなったから、あまりピアノを弾かなくなってしまった。私は時々友達と一緒に寮の共用のピアノを弾いていたけど、授業が難しくなるに連れて、その機会がどんどん少なくなった。それから、自分で弾くのは当然つまらないし、先生がいらっしゃらないから、ピアノのやる気もなくなってしまった。

だから、同志社大学のピアノ研究会に興味がある。ピアノ研究会は毎日同じ時間に集まるのではなくて、時間があれば、自由に決めて行く。一学期2500円で使えるピアノが四台ある。二、三ヶ月ごとにコンサートがあって、前回は先週だった。コンサートに出たかったら、幹部の前で演奏したい曲を弾いて、もしいいと言えば、コンサートに出られる。とは言え演奏するに興味がなくてもいい。熟練した人に限らず、ピアノに興味がある限り初心者でも誰でも入れる。一年生と二年生は多くて、四年生は就職活動で忙しいから、今四年生が二人しかいない。

ピアノ研究会にいる間、大半の時は他のメンバーと話して、本当にピアノを弾く時間が短い。だから、私のピアノの能力はまだ高まっていないけど、無意味な訳ではなくて、とても楽しみである。二週間前に一年生の晩ご飯に誘われたし、いつもいろいろな話に花を咲かせるから、皆が優しいと思う。良い友達になるのを楽しみにしている！

ショーナ・ムーア：国際交流チーム

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今、私のCIPは東山国際交流チームとよんでいる。毎週、違う活動をするけれども、普通は、東山のへんを歩きながら、まいごになった人に道案内する。加えて、国際交流のイベントを企画している。初めはちょっと大変だった。私はまいごになりやすいから、道案内するのがとくに下手だ。だから、あまり役に立たないが、道のこと以外なら、役に立つかもしれない。英語を教えて欲しいと言われたので、私は外国人に英語で説明するのが仕事かと思ったけど、実は、外国人に会ったら、他の人が説明していた。道が分からないので、英語でも道案内できないので、本当に安心したが、じゃまな感じがし始めた。けれども、後で、「英語のいい文を作って下さい」と頼まれて、そうした。次は、手巻き寿司作りの国際交流イベントのことを決めて、次のミーティングでその材料を買うことになっている。すごく楽しみで、テンションが上がる。頑張るぞ！