For my CIP I joined a Wadaiko class taught by a group called Bati-Holic.  Prior to this semester I had never done Taiko before, or indeed practiced any sort of drumming.  I was nervous that I wouldn’t have enough experience, or that I wouldn’t understand enough Japanese, to be able to participate.  Luckily both of these fears were unfounded.  Most people in this class were complete beginners to Taiko, and in addition to the fact that my sensei spoke a smattering of English, there were several other foreigners in the class and learning Japanese as well.

It quickly became apparent that these classes were mean to be fairly casual.  The class consisted of mostly women in their 20s or early 30s, though there were a few other men.  Many people would come for only one month and then stop; in fact by the time December came around I was one of only four or so students who had been there for over 3 months.  As such it was difficult at times to keep track of the people I met, and I forgot names often.  Still, I feel like I became fairly close with those other long-term students.

Because of the casual nature of the group I did not experience much of the senpai-kohai relationships that many other KCJS students have mentioned in regards to their CIP.  In fact I hardly ever heard keigo at all.   My teacher, 黒坂先生, asked us to call him by his nickname Kuro.  It seemed to me that most people, especially the senpai students, seemed very comfortable talking to Kuro and often used short-forms and casual speech.  Furthermore, he was addressed almost always as Kuro-san, not Kuro-sensei.  This was surprising at first, as it clearly went against my expectations of the structure of a Japanese club or class, but it also made for a very comfortable and relaxed atmosphere.

I was happy to find that, perhaps because of this relaxed attitude, everyone was very open to having me, a foreigner and a beginner, as a member of the group.  The first few lessons I was approached with the standard “Where are you from?” “Why are you in Japan?” “Your Japanese is very good!” that I have come to expect when meeting a new Japanese person.  However after a while, perhaps when I became a familiar face, conversations became a bit more personal, regarding subjects such as what I was studying in school, what I had done over the weekend, as well as the songs that we were playing in class.  Of course, this being only my third year studying Japanese, there were many conversations that I simply couldn’t participate it.  In many ways I still felt like an outsider, but I think this is the result more of the language barrier, and certainly not because of any rejection or exclusion from the group itself.

In the end I am a bit upset that I am leaving this winter and won’t be able to continue taking Taiko.  It feels as though I am finally starting to make some connections and form some friendships in my class, and it will be tough to leave those behind.  I am very glad to have had this opportunity to meet and talk with members of the Japanese community outside of Doshisha.  And of course, I have now fallen in love with Taiko, and plan on studying it further when I return home.

My CIP experience couldn’t be called a success in the strictest sense of the word. If I had to pick, I guess the closest word I can think of is “adventure”.

And it was, to an extent, kind of adventurous. From the very first day, spent running feverishly through the backstreets of a tiny neighborhood with a printed out google map, trying to find a location with no signs or labels, there was always an element of waiting disaster. Not least of which were my clay related activities.

Before this CIP, I had no idea that one individual could destroy so much clay in so short a period of time. Of course, before this CIP I also had no idea that a group of individuals could fix it (most of the time). Throughout my time at the studio, I have made clay too wet, made clay too dry, had too much clay, had too little, held tools in the wrong hands, held tools in the right hands but upside down, spun wheels backwards, collapsed towers of clay, shaved off the entire top three-quarters of a cup, and generally gone about creating a collection of pottery that could, at best, be called eclectic.

This isn’t, in and of itself, too surprising. A little high school pottery does not match the twenty or so years of experience that most people at the studio have. We were a different class, entirely, which is why I found it so surprising when people would laugh at what I had produced.

In the US, as a general rule, experts at something don’t really take the time to comment on the very beginner’s work, but when they do, they usually find a compliment to say along with a suggestion. It is rare, and frankly rude, to insult something done by someone significantly less experienced than yourself or to critique it harshly, even if these critiques are legitimate, since they don’t have the same years of experience you have. Not so much at this pottery studio.

I won’t deny, the adventure for the first couple of weeks consisted largely of wondering what I could do to not make something giggle-inducing that day, and as a direct result, I didn’t make much of anything at all. I sat, and wedged clay for hours, or shaved off excess material at a rate of dust particles per hour, or did other tasks to waste time and avoid having to actually make something. Given that pottery classes met for five hours at a time, I can honestly say that high school paid off because I had clearly become an expert in procrastinating.

All around me, people would go fluidly about their business, sticking handles to cups and pouring molds and scratching designs into the delicate porcelain surfaces of cups. Every now and then, I would try to ask what people were making and how they were making it, but it was frequently a lost effort on me. Besides that, for the first few weeks, my conversation consisted mostly of explaining to each person individually where I had come from and what I was doing there and then I would embarrassedly slink off into silence as they produced one masterpiece after a next. It became a routine that was both monotonous and terrifying, as every week I would wonder if my tilted cups were bad enough to break whatever tentative bonds formed between me and the other students.

I won’t lie. The first weeks were unpleasant that way. It took me a while to figure out what exactly was going on. I was getting increasingly frustrated before my Japanese teacher finally explained something to me.

Apparently, praising beginners and trying to make things especially easy for them is not necessarily a priority in Japan in the same way it is in the US. Within the studio, the culture is very much one of each individual trying to push themselves to their best. And that means taking criticism. Frankly, it means taking criticism with more grace than I had. It’s a culture of ongoing improvement, and constant confrontation of weaknesses, no matter how tiny. It’s a noble goal, in and of itself, but for me, coming from a culture of constant validation, beginner tutorials and X-box achievements popping up every fifteen minutes, it was strange and disheartening. In America, if you don’t give a compliment it means you hate something. In the studio, if you don’t compliment something, it means you’re thinking about how to make it better.

I wish I could say from that moment of epiphany on, I learned to take the help the students were offering me graciously and integrate myself into the community better. Truthfully, it was not so smooth as all that. It was slow going and awkward. There were backfired thank-you’s and a boat load of apologies and misunderstandings galore. And even knowing that people were trying to help, sometimes it was hard to swallow that hurt feeling that arose instinctively.

But at the end of the day, I guess what I can say I learned is this. You can wedge clay without shaking the whole table if you know how to do it right. Stiff clay can be sliced into pieces, dipped in water, and stored under a towel to soften it up. Except when it’s too stiff, in which case you just need more clay. Some pieces are worth trying to salvage and some aren’t.

And each time I come out of the studio, I come out with a thicker skin, a few more conversations under my belt, and another couple poorly made plates. Not a success, per se. But absolutely an adventure.

最初、日本に着いた時、どんなCIPをすればいいか分からなかった。でも、去年のKCJSの学生が参加した活動のリストを読んで、陶芸のレッスンに興味を持った。日本で教室を探すことは、難しかったが、先生に色々な教室を探していただいた。すぐ、少し恐くかったが、瑞光窯という教室に電話して、見学に行ってみた。瑞光窯は、小さいところだが、壁は、全部棚に覆われて、棚は、全部茶碗やお皿に埋めつくされてりる。瑞光窯の鈴木先生は、いつも関西弁で話すが、親切な方で、工房の中の説明してくださった。それで、鈴木先生とはな先生に、陶芸を教えていただくことにした。

一週間後の、土曜日に、クラスを初めて取った。クラスメートのきくちさんは轆轤（ろくろ）で茶碗の作り方を教えてくれた。私は、高校の時少し陶芸をしたことあったのが、轆轤で物を作ったことがなかったので、本当に大変だった。でも、きくちさんと他の学生さんは、困った時、アドバイスとをくれたり、助けてれて、楽しくなった。他の学生さんは、皆長い間瑞光窯に行っていて、とても上手だ。皆、すばらしい物を作っている。一人は、宮崎のトトロのテーマの茶碗を作った。その日は、五時間陶芸を練習して、とても面白かった。次の火、腕が痛かったが、私は、嬉しかった。

毎週、陶芸教室に行くのは、楽しい。先週は、手作りカップの作り方を習ったり、茶碗を作る練習をしたりした。来週は、何をするかまだ分からない。でも、楽しみにしている。

http://www.zuikou.com/class/index.html

僕のCIPは太鼓です。バチ・ホリックと言う太鼓グループとレッスンを受けています。子供の時から、僕は色々な楽器を弾いてきたけど、日本に来る前、太鼓をしたことがありませんでした。日本らしい音楽を習いたいから、太鼓はいい選択肢のようでした。

まだレッスンは三回しかないけど、もう大好きになりました。太鼓の先生は黒坂とおっしゃいます。でも最初のクラスで「僕を『くろ 』と呼んでください。」とおっしゃっていました。カジュアルだから僕はちょっとびっくりしました。

クラスでほかのKCJSの学生はいないけど、週によって5人から10人生徒がいます。たいてい日本人ですが、アメリカ人とタイ人もいます。最初、先生の指示がわかるかどうか分からなかったし、全然太鼓をしたことがないし、緊張していました。でも実際は、くろ先生は英語が話せるし、以外の生徒も初心者だし、大丈夫です。