This semester I continued to attend group koto lessons with Iwasaki sensei. We were joined by two more KCJS students, giving us the chance to work on learning and preparing to perform a piece together. Although I have been learning to play the koto, our new classmates took up the shamisen. Because of this I was able to learn a bit about the shamisen and even got the chance to try playing the shamisen once.

One major difference with my previous musical training, having only been exposed to the Western musical tradition before this, lies in the way the instruments are tuned. For example, although the shamisen reminds me of the violin in form, its tuning changes depending on the piece. The same is true for the koto. This reminded me of the way wind instruments in Western style orchestras sometimes receive music that has been transposed to different keys, although the instruments retain their standard tunings. With the koto, the tuning of the strings changes while the musical notation remains constant. While this makes the music much easier to read, because the notation is relative it has made understanding the music theory much more difficult.

Another characteristic of the music that I have noticed involves the way it is arranged. Most of the pieces that I have heard, even more difficult ones, are more sparsely arranged than much Western ensemble music. The spaces and pauses are more integral to the music, I think, than in music I am more familiar with. Only the shakuhachi and the vocal line provide sustained melodies, while the stringed koto and shamisen are plucked. This allows for longer spaces of time to elapse between end of one note and the start of the next.

One of the most pleasant aspects of this semester’s weekly koto lessons has been our sensei’s hospitality. Every week she provides hot tea and sometimes sweets or other snacks. Many weeks she also invites the students who are able to attend out to dinner. This welcoming atmosphere gives a homey atmosphere to Iwasaki sensei’s studio, making it easy for her students to look forward to returning each week.

Right from the start of KCJS, I knew that I wanted my CIP to involve music. While not particularly accomplished, I have played the violin since I was very young. I found it hard to imagine my life without orchestra and lessons every week. Because of this, I initially contacted the Doshisha orchestra, but found that their rehearsal schedule conflicted with my own schedule. Although I was disappointed, I was soon presented with another opportunity. A friend who is excellent at the Chinese version of the koto had found a KCJS recommended koto instructor whom we could take lessons with.

Although I did not expect to have the opportunity to take lessons on a new instrument, my experience learning to play the koto has been very rewarding. Having played only Western classical music in the past, I have found that learning an instrument that is so different from what I have been used to has stretched my understanding of music in many different ways. One aspect that I found particularly challenging was the music notation. Music for the koto is transcribed using numbers denoting the 13 strings of the instrument. Because there are only 13 strings, there are a limited number of notes available with any given tuning. The music can, however, require the pitch of a string to be changed by a half step or a whole step by depressing the string to varying degrees. Although the tuning of the pieces did not come very naturally to me, I nonetheless found myself relying on my ear more than I do with Western music notation, which I know how to read much better. I hope that this ear training will help me to become more acclimated to Japanese music harmonies as I continue to practice the koto.

One other interesting aspect of my time spent at koto lessons involved the other people we took lessons with. For the first couple of weeks, we joined a large group of adult students who variously played koto, shamisen, and shakuhachi. These folks were very kind and welcoming, helping demonstrate techniques for me on the first day and eventually taking us out to dinner on one occasion. One thing that surprised me was how easygoing and approachable our sensei could be, while still presenting rigorous material and expecting our best work. There were also several younger students who joined us at varying times, including one young woman who proved to be a very patient and understanding teacher when she stood in for our regular sensei once or twice. All in all, I believe that studying the koto has been a very positive experience for me and I am enthusiastic to continue next semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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