「The University of Chicago」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Elizabeth Smith: Dancing- Ballet and Nihon Buyou

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For my CIP, I’ve taken ballet classes at K.Classic Ballet, and private lessons in Nihon Buyou- classical Japanese dance. It has definitely been a highlight of my time in Japan!

I had no idea how much ballet would make Kyoto feel like home. Throughout my life, ballet has followed me everywhere I’ve gone- I’ve been dancing seriously since I was about eight, helped direct my college’s ballet company, and have also studied a ballet academy in Paris. Ballet classes are remarkably similar all over the world- so enrolling at K.Classic ballet felt less like being the “new kid,” and more like re-joining a community where I’ve always belonged. Additionally, I’m so lucky to have found such an inspiring place to take class- several students from the school have placed in internationally-known competitions, and last week, the class was visited by a recent alumni- who is now dancing professionally at American Ballet Theatre!

Being in the ballet studio has really helped me learn to pick up on small social cues and cultural differences. The atmosphere in most good ballet schools (anywhere in the world) ranges from disciplined to strict, and K.Classic Ballet is no different. On my first day, I remember the teacher making a speech to her students (in somewhat difficult to understand Kansai-ben) about the importance of working hard, and not wasting valuable time in the studio. As the semester has passed, I’ve noticed that the students here seem to define hard work differently than I have in the U.S. At home, there are often clear times when it is and is not appropriate to practice on the sides of the floor, (for example, when the teacher is working with another student, it is considered polite to stop dancing and watch.) Here, the students spend a much larger percentage of the time practicing on their own. They are constantly tweaking their technique and working to apply corrections, through repetition in every free moment, especially at times when in my past experience, it would be customary to be still and observant. Additionally, when Sensei gives her students a correction, I’ve noticed that in comparison with most American teachers, she leaves about twice as long for students to practice applying it. In order to fit in, I’ve had to carefully pick up on these different cues, and adjust my working style to match the other students.

Nihon Buyou has also been an incredible experience. I originally started Nihon Buyou in the U.S., when I was about four, and continued until I was about twelve. I had the opportunity to take it up again over the summer in Hokkaido, and was lucky that my sensei from then was able to put me in touch with a sensei in Kyoto. I absolutely adore my sensei here- she is one of the warmest, most understanding people that I’ve met. She spends a lot of time making sure that I understand the technical vocabulary that she uses, but has a sense of humor when things become confusing or difficult. Furthermore, something that has surprised me about Nihon Buyou here is the slight emphasis on developing a personal relationship with the teacher. In every lesson, the two of us start and end the lesson with a cup of tea, where we discuss everything from my host sister’s undoukais to her recent trip to Tokyo. I’ve taken private lessons in ballet before, and music as well, and although I’ve always gotten to know my teachers very well, there has never been an established time to stop and pause and talk with each other.  For me, especially with the occasional language barrier, taking time to drink tea together has helped me to better communicate with my teacher during the lessons themselves.

Overall, dancing in Kyoto has enriched my experience in two ways. Ballet has helped me find a place where a shared interest has helped me find a sense of belonging, while Nihon Buyou has helped me make the most of my time by helping me learn something that is incredibly difficult to pursue in the U.S. I’m incredibly grateful for the experiences I’ve had this semester, and can’t wait to see what the next will bring!

Nicolle Bertozzi: Chanoyu Lessons

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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.

 

Lindsey Henderson: SOIC (Sodefure International Community) Dance Circle

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Sodefure is a “Kyoto-style dance” which incorporates a variety of traditional Japanese dance styles and imagery into its routine. SOIC is one branch of a large Sodefure Community which has participating circles across a number of university campuses in Kyoto. Each group must learn the primary dance for Sodefure as these individual groups will come together and dance as a single group at festivals held in Kyoto. The largest of these events has over 1000 members dancing at once, the result of which is a beautiful and uniquely synchronized performance that is truly amazing to watch.

One of the particularly unique qualities of the SOIC Circle is that it is primarily directed towards international students. This means that I got to interact with a variety of students from around the world who were studying abroad in Kyoto. Naturally, there were also experienced Japanese Sodefure members present to help guide, teach, and interact with the international students.

What I ended up learning the most from by participating in this circle was not from the dance practice itself, but from watching the Japanese students interact with the foreign students. There was an incredible range in Japanese language ability among the study abroad students, and the Japanese students were not fluent in English. However, this didn’t deter anyone in the least from trying to build friendships across the language barriers. Members who were more proficient in Japanese helped out other students who were beginners, and we worked to teach the Japanese students new words in English. When all else failed, we simply pulled our cell phone dictionaries or tried our best to mime what we wanted to convey.

The most fascinating aspect to me was the casual atmosphere that arose incredibly quickly. Japanese students often started addressing new foreign students in the polite form (think desu/-masu), but soon relaxed to using casual speech and their home dialects within the span of one practice. The keigo and kouhai/senpai relationships which are so ubiquitous throughout Japanese-only circles was seemingly non-existent. The formal phrases I had practiced before going to the first meetup turned out to be unnecessary. People tended towards using first names instead of last ones, and due to the lack of formalities, it was difficult to tell who the leader was, or if there even was one at all. When the Japanese students gave me my own nickname to be used within the group, I fully came to understand how much they wanted to break down any walls of formality, and I started to feel really accepted into the group. I think that being part of a group that was directed towards foreigners allowed Japanese students to drop formalities more quickly than they can in other situations.

Being able to watch this dynamic and participate in it myself made me realize just how eager and willing people are to make international friends. In Japan, where many of the social interactions can be formal, even to the point of being outright cold, it was fascinating to watch how warm and open the Japanese students were when trying to break down the barriers between themselves and the foreign students. Having the opportunity to become part of such a large community has been an invaluable experience for me.

Nicolle Bertozzi: Kubota Birendo Sudare

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This semester for my Community Involvement Project, I have been working with the Kubotas, a family of Kyoto artisans who make sudare screens for private homes and temples. Once a week, I go to their shop near Shijo, where I learn about the craft of sudare making and, through conversations with the artisans themselves, about life as an artisan in one of the most historical cities in the world.

One of the things that has stood out most clearly to me through working with the Kubotas is how closely their line of work connects them with traditional culture of Japan. In a country as modernized as Japan, it can be difficult sometimes to find traces of the culture’s long and rich history. When I’ve asked Japanese friends about their exposure to some of the most known traditional elements of Japanese culture—the kinds of traditional elements like shodo calligraphy and sado tea ceremony that are often presented to foreigners during cultural exchange events—their responses are largely of non-interest. For the artisans of Kyoto, however, this is not the case. The very nature of their work forces them to confront the divide between traditional and modern lifestyles in Japan on a daily basis. And as a result of this, they often find themselves exploring other aspects of traditional culture, aspects that have no connection to their particular craft.

Through working with the Kubotas on my own sudare, through talking with them as I bound the bamboo together strip-by-strip with twisting threads, I found that our conversations often tended to drift to this topic. Over a cup of matcha tea one week, we wound up talking about the tradition of the tea ceremony, something that I had been asked to participate in for cultural exchange events many times but still knew next to nothing about. When I mentioned this, Shinji Kubota, the oldest son and next in line to inherit the family business, began to tell me about how working as an artisan had inspired him to study tea ceremony. Although most Japanese had very little interest in the ceremony, had never even experienced one themselves, he found the ceremony beautiful and has been studying it for many years. Mayu, Shinji’s younger sister, also mentioned how central their background as traditional artisans was in sparking their shared interest in the ceremony.

When I came in the next week, I found the tatami room cleared and prepared for a tea ceremony. A piece of calligraphy hung in the tokonoma, beneath which sat a flower arrangement. Water boiled away in a kettle over the fire of the sunken ro hearth. Shinji and Mayu took me through the ceremony, explaining how every proper tea ceremony had a theme, which the host decided upon and would then carefully select each utensil to match. Through inquiring about the particular calligraphy piece hanging in the tokonoma, for example, you would be able to work your way through the various connections it shared with the other utensils of the ceremony. This ability to appreciate details is one of the most important elements of the ceremony.

The care with which Shinji and Mayu then walked me through the ceremony was truly amazing. It was clear how much they respected the ceremony’s tradition, how much they wanted to do justice to its history. Which of course connects to the way they treated their own craft as well. Throughout this whole semester, I have noticed lots of very tiny ways in which the Kubotas honor the history and tradition of their craft. They explained to me, for example, how the natural darkening of bamboo material over time is something beautiful, something worth noticing and appreciating. Which I don’t think is something I would have thought about in that way before.

My time with the Kubotas this semester has broadened my understanding of traditional Japanese culture as it exists in the modern age. Through making my own sudare, I have come to appreciate the incredible level of craftsmanship that goes into the making and maintaining of these traditional crafts. And through exploring the connections that exist between those who are continuing Japan’s craft tradition and those who are carrying on other aspects of the traditional culture, I have come to see the degree to which these traditions are still very much alive, still being constantly innovated.

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Shauna Moore: Volunteering at the Nursery

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I understood from the start that my new CIP experience would be largely different from my past one, as I would be engaging an entirely different slew of people. At the nursery, rather than being surrounded mostly by male senpai close to me in age, I am surrounded wholly by women whose ages I am too nervous to determine, who give off an air of adulthood, maternity, and warm indifference. This is different than the tight nervousness I’m accustomed to, in working with or being friends with people who are close to me in age, who seem to be more acutely aware of senpai-kouhai precariousness (when to speak politely, when to expect a foreigner to speak politely, when to be offended if not spoken to politely, how to determine how close a relationship is through the wall of keigo, etc.). In working at the nursery, all of the women treat me with kindness, speaking to me in varying levels of keigo, but all regarding me with mostly the polite dispositions of women who are secure in their seniority, and therefore lacking nervousness to which I had become accustomed.

When I first arrived at the nursery, I had set up a meeting with a teacher days previously, and I was waiting in the small play area outside of the classrooms. I was greeted for several minutes by a host of different teachers or assistants, who all seemed to be of various rank, encouraging me to wait a bit longer until the designated teacher could approach me. This was the first sense I had of a hierarchy within the nursery, as many of these other teachers and assistants seemed to defer to this more mature, casual teacher. When I met her, she spoke to me in keigo, and kindly, but it was predictably without the ‘deferent’ body language that I have come to expect in nervous first acquaintances or greetings exchanged between people whose ranks are unknown to each other, or, of course, in business situations (i.e. lots of bobbing head bows and wide smiles, accompanied with, usually in women, soft and placid voices).

Of course, this was a huge relief to me, in the sense that I immediately understood how to behave and also my basic irrelevance (a sense of irrelevance allows, for me, more freedom in observation, conversation, and general solicitation). This sense of hierarchy didn’t change over time, but did become more complex. For example, the teachers whom I mainly saw during my volunteer hours were some of the younger teachers. They were very casual with each other and spoke to me only rarely (though, not at all out of unkindness—there was more a sense of separate worlds in which we operated. Whenever I attempted to speak with one of them, I was mostly ushered towards the kids, as time together was limited). I seemed to be more in the way of a couple of these teachers at first, and I quickly realized that I should ask as few questions as possible in order to make their jobs as simple as possible.

At first, mostly teachers of a very young age, or women who looked and behaved somewhat like interns, only spoke to me, and usually in English, nervously about my schedule and what types of activities I wanted to do, trying to make me as comfortable as possible. They behaved similarly to me: quietly, relatively unobtrusively, standing in the back of student ranks while smiling in a vaguely dazed manner. But after the first couple of afternoons, I rarely saw those ladies again, I had no idea where they had gone.

This was in contrast to the more mature teachers, who frequently spoke to me and addressed me in the middle of class (much to my surprise), using much more high keigo than some of their younger staff members. This made me wonder how tenacious the use of keigo really was in hierarchical relationships. What did it mean that some teachers spoke to me in keigo, used the humble body language of keigo, and some did not speak to me in keigo at all, let alone with the physical aspect of highly polite speech? In some cases it seemed a case of age, but over time, I gradually began to feel as if the level of politeness actually indicated who thought that I was doing them a favor, and who thought that they were doing me a favor. With some teachers, I seemed to be treated more brusquely (althought not unkindly); I was understood to be a volunteer, but also justifiably someone who was kind of clumsy and likely to interrupt the working pace of the nursery. They seemed to understand that I was basically purposeless, and so left it up to me to make my experience valuable. With other teachers, I was much more gently regarded, as someone who was, perhaps, bestowing English powers upon the tiny ones, or otherwise regarded as someone who could sufficiently occupy them for a short period of time. Like a vaguely unintelligent playmate, which I was, for which one fosters great affection. In these times, keigo was used much more signficantly.

This, though perhaps simplistic in retrospect, seemed a big revelation after weeks of determining what exactly my role was at the nursery. But a “role” is something that mostly one determines for oneself, within certain boundaries. You have to consider the trouble you cause people in almost any position (except for, perhaps, English conversation circles, or others where you remain an esteemed guest). For me, passive observation was more crucial to my growth this semester, but last semester I had a completely different, more relationship-based CIP, and I felt completely different about each of those experiences. When starting a CIP, I think it is best to set vague goals about what you are expecting to “happen” or “receive.” There are a lot of factors, not just “Japanese culture,” positive attitudes, keigo, or one’s inability to assimilate, so nothing is wrong as long as one is actively learning, I think. I think it’s best not to feel the need to revolutionize your entire concept of Japanese culture through the CIP experience, or you will get skewed results, anthropologically and emotionally speaking.

Hopefully this experience at the nursery also allowed me to volunteer there with appropriate humbleness. I was, after all, encroaching upon the kindness of many women during the work day. I felt that I was able to learn significantly through my experience at the nursery, and I encountered various other questions and answers that I would like to explore more experientially throughout my remaining daily life in Japan. Even as I feel sure now that some of my spoken and unspoken assertions are correct within certain limited groups, or in groups composed of individuals with predictable temperaments, I cannot speak with any degree of confidence about the definite social nature of Japanese people. And that is for the best, I think. Still, the process has allowed me to, at the very least, become socially malleable, and that is an important first step in becoming a productive member of society no matter where I might go.

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.

Rosaley Gai: Kyoto Igo Salon

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Every Monday and, if I have the time, Wednesday or Saturday, I go to the Kyoto Igo Salon from around 1PM to 5:30PM. Most of the other customers are retired adults, so the average age of the salon’s students is around seventy. I have been going to the same go salon for the entirety of my time in Kyoto, so it has been about six months since I began. At first, I was a beginner who barely knew the rules. The sensei there taught me through first a stone-capturing game, then with real games. I have risen eighteen ranks in six months, and am now at twelve kyū.

Go is ranked from thirty kyū (complete beginners) to nine dan (the highest level). I started at thirty kyū and slowly worked my way up to my current twelve over the last two semesters. It feels slow to me, of course, but the other students there are much older and take much longer to improve. I hear a lot of “Young people sure improve fast!”, not only directed towards myself but also towards the other young students. Last semester, I was one of the only young adults who regularly went to the salon, but lately there have been more young people at the salon, including two other KCJS students. They generally go on the same days as I, and it feels like the atmosphere of the salon changes somewhat with their presence.

Perhaps it is their energy that makes things different; maybe it is their voices. Somehow, though, their presence brings a sort of liveliness to the salon, which used to be generally quiet aside from idle chatter between games. One of the KCJS students is very friendly and the other is more reserved, but their interactions and excitement over learning the game from scratch seemed to imbue everyone else with the same kind of enthusiasm. It was their presence that really made me understand that participating in something requires not only input from the environment, but also output from the individual. I feel as though last semester was a more passive learning experience for myself. While I was able to learn how to better speak in formal Japanese and communicate with people of a completely different age group than I, I am not sure how much the other patrons got out of speaking to me.

When I began to participate more actively in the salon beyond games and shallow conversations, I felt like I had a stronger bond with the other students in the salon. I brought them omiyage from various trips I made and felt their gratitude during the afternoon snack break. In turn, they began to ask me more questions beyond my life in America, like whether I was going to miss Japan and how my weekend trips were. They even began to laugh and joke more with me. I now feel like a part of the salon rather than simply an outsider who has managed to extend one hand into a foreign environment.

In picking a CIP, I thought all that the most important thing was doing an activity that I enjoyed and would be able to do consistently. While this is still true, I have learned that simply going to and existing in a space is not as valuable a learning experience as interacting actively and enthusiastically with the other people there. I think I have become very close with the other students, and will miss them very much when KCJS is over.

ムーア・ショーナ：善立寺保育園

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今学期、私はCIPとして善立寺保育園でボランティアすることにしました。もともと、YWCAでボランティアしたかったですので、同志社大学の近くのYWCAの支社を訪問して、ボランティアに関して問い合わせました。子供のボランティアの関連の仕事をしている方がいらっしゃいませんでしたので、私は連絡の情報を書いておいて窓口の方に渡しました。そして、ボランティアを始める代わりにYWCAを案内されて、カフェに連れて行かれました。自己紹介したり、お茶を飲みながらおしゃべりしたりした後で、YMCAに別れを告げました。

YWCAからの返事をしばらく待ちましたけれども、なかなか来ませんでした。そんなわけで、善立寺保育園でボランティアすることにしたのです。お電話した後で、そちらにうかがって、また連絡先の情報を書きました。やっと、昨日、初めて保育園でボランティアすることができました。一人の先生に紹介されて、鼻に付いている乾いた鼻水をベロベロをなめている可愛い子供達が私のほうに集まって来て、私はすぐ子供と遊べました。子供がおもちゃを片付けて手を洗って昼寝をしに行った後で、私は布団と毛布を広げて、子供に「おやすみなさい」と言いました。それから、終わりまで、おもちゃを洗ったりしました。非常に楽しい経験でした。次の子供と遊べる機会を楽しみにしています！

大城ジャッキー：合気道

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私は通年の学生なので、CIPとして秋学期と同様合気道をしています。先学期たいてい毎週月曜日か木曜日の夕方に稽古に行っていました。でも、今学期午後の時間がフリーにしたかったから、朝練に行くことにしています。稽古は月曜日と水曜日の午前７時から８時までですから学校のスケジュールと合ってはちょうどいいです。でも、道場はホストファミリーの 家からちょっと遠いので５時半までに起きなくてはいけません。

時間が全然違うのは別として、朝練と夕方の練習はだいたい同じです。先生と他の弟子とか練習技は 同じです。でも、朝練は夕方より気持ち良いから、５時半に起きなくてはいけなくても楽しく行っています。

ロザリー・ガイ：京都囲碁サロン

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私は先学期と同じように毎週月曜日に四条堀川の近くにある京都囲碁サロンに行っています。そこで、１時から５時頃まで、他の学生と一緒に囲碁を打って、囲碁の理論と定石などを学びます。サロンの皆は、私と他のKCJSの学生以外、ほとんど６０歳以上ですが、いつも元気に囲碁を打ちます。みんなはいつも最初に「こんにちは」などの挨拶をして部屋に入って、そして先生が前に行って囲碁教室を始めるまで他の人と話したりします。そして１時頃、先生が囲碁の問題を皆とし始めますが、誰かの答えが間違っても、問題の最後まで打ちます。そしてサロンの人はどこが正しくなかったかを先生に説明していただいて、１時半から試合をします。

サロンの中に、掲示板があって、みんなの名前とランキングが書いてあります。私は１月から今までずっと１８級でした。級に応じて人のハンデが変わるので、それを決めるために書いてありますが、それを見ると、早く上に上がりたい気持ちが強くなってきます。でも、先生は負けても勉強だとおっしゃるので、「負けは勝ち」の意味がしっかりわかるようになるまで、１８級の私は頑張り続けます。