For my community involvement project, I took calligraphy (書道) lessons. It was a small class that took place at the calligraphy teacher’s house every week.

The students in the class were all of varying ages and levels, so each person would work on their own project and get individual feedback from our teacher.
I came into the class without any calligraphy experience, so I usually spent class learning to write one or two new words or phrases, usually consisting of 1-3 kanji. It was a super fun and rewarding experience overall. I not only learned something completely new but also got to know the teacher and other students over time through our conversations each class.

My advice to anyone who wants to try calligraphy is to be super open to feedback and learning. I had experience painting before coming into the class, and while there are similarities, calligraphy is also completely different than anything I had done before. Everything from posture to the way the brush is held, to technique is very important, and being really receptive to feedback and learning a completely new art form is super helpful. Receiving feedback can be pretty challenging though, since the instructor uses a lot of Japanese terms specific to calligraphy. I came into it not knowing many of these, but trying to ask clarifying questions whenever a new term came up helped me gradually come to understand her instructions a lot better.

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.

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.

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.

私のCIPの活動は囲碁です。私は囲碁の基本的なルールは分かりますが、KCJSの前には囲碁のゲームを終わりまでしたことが全然ありませんでした。KCJSの申し込みの時はCIPのため中学校で英語のチューターをしようかと思っていましたが、日本に来た後、出来ればもっと伝統的な経験がしたいと思ったので、囲碁をすることに決めました。囲碁が日本的なことだというわけではないですが、囲碁は日本でも昔からされているので、伝統的な考え方がもっと含まれているらしいし、戦略ゲームにも興味があるし、様々な理由でし始めました。

今は「京都囲碁サロン」という場所に通っていますが、そこでは囲碁を学ぶだけではなく、他の学生達ともゲームをします。この教室で囲碁の論理についての色々な勉強が出来ましたが、それ以外に日本の文化も観察することも出来ました。特に、囲碁には相互関連（相手との関係）を大事にする考え方が含まれていると思います。もちろん、囲碁の目標は試合に勝つことすが、勝つことに他ならないというわけではないのです。囲碁の試合は会釈で始まって、会釈で終わるなどの囲碁の習慣を見ると、相互関連の大事さが分かるはずです。KCJSの終わりまで私のCIPの目標は囲碁が上手になること、そして、囲碁に含まれている日本的な習慣が分かるようになる、という二つの目標です。

​In the fall of my sophomore year at Swarthmore College, I took a Taiko class for the first time and was immediately hooked. The following semester, I went on to join Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe. In Taiko, both the auditory and visual aspects of the performance are important, meaning that it makes physical as well as mental demands upon the body. I found that this combination energized me and heightened my concentration—something which I very much appreciated and that I was loath to give up upon deciding to study abroad. Luckily, KCJS has a long-standing relationship with a Taiko Association sponsored by Kitano Tenmangu (a large shrine not too far away from Doshisha University). When it came time for us to choose our Community Involvement Project (CIP) placements, I knew immediately that I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to continue practicing Taiko and hopefully improve my skill level.

​The first time I went to Kitano Tenmangu for Taiko practice, the other KCJS students and I were very nervous. We arrived half an hour early and ended up sitting awkwardly in the practice room and making stilted conversation with the Taiko Association teacher. Later, I found out that he was quite personable and relatively approachable, but at the time he seemed very intimidating to talk to. I think a lot of that had to do with our own nervousness. Nervousness is probably unavoidable in those sorts of situations, but I would just recommend trying to interact with the people at your CIP as much as possible. Hopefully interacting with them and gaining a sense of familiarity will help ease that nervousness as fast as possible.Now, as I approach the end of my time as a member of the Taiko Association, I do feel as though I have developed a rapport with some of the Japanese members. The children, in particular, are happy to talk and joke around (especially if the topic in question is Pokemon) now that they have gotten used to me. The adults, while always incredibly welcoming, are more difficult to get to know, but taking advantage of the relaxed atmosphere of group dinners is a good way to do so. I would recommend always taking part in group dinners if you at all have the time.

Having been involved in Taiko groups both in my home institution and in Japan, I have noticed several differences in the ways in which they run. That is not to say that American Taiko groups function in a certain way and Japanese Taiko groups function in some other way. Rather, Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe functions in a very different way than Kitano Tenmangu’s Taiko Association and, as it is possible that future students may be coming from a Taiko group similar to Swarthmore’s, I feel that it may be of some value to share the differences I have noted. First, the Taiko Association here is significantly larger than the troupe I was a part of back home. During the semester I was involved in Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe, there were seven members (including the teacher) and only five of the seven were full-time members. However, Kitano Tenmangu’s Taiko Association has forty members on paper and about twenty-five or so will show up to a given practice or performance. In addition, unlike a college troupe, the Taiko Association includes members as young as eight and as old as around forty-five. By far the most difficult aspect of the Taiko Association to get used to was the fact that there are very few practices compared to performances. Swarthmore’s Taiko troupe practices for three hours a week every week throughout the semester and then performs once or twice. In contrast, during the semester I participated in the Taiko Association, there were only two practices. On the other hand, there were performances almost every week. While this made for many opportunities to perform, I was a bit frustrated by the lack of opportunities to learn the songs so that we could perform. However, despite the lack of formal practice sessions, we did manage to learn one of the songs well enough to perform during the shrine’s annual foliage season. One the other hand, precisely because there were few practices, I fear it would have been next to impossible for someone without any Taiko experience to both learn the basics of Taiko and pick up the rhythms of one or two songs on the fly. Two KCJS students who did not have Taiko experience participated in one or two of the Taiko Association events before deciding to switch CIP placements. To be honest, I would have done the same in their position. For any beginners who are interested in pursuing Taiko with the Kitano Tenmangu Taiko Association, I would recommend figuring out how frequently they plan to hold practices as early as possible and making your final decision based on this information. In the end, joining the Kitano Tenmangu Taiko association has been a very fruitful experience for me, both in terms of Taiko practice and in terms of the inter-personal relationships built. Nevertheless, I think that CIP experiences vary greatly depending on the individual person, their interests, and their personality. As such, while hearing about others’ experiences is always helpful, I would recommend allowing what you know about yourself to lead you in making your CIP decision.