「KCJS Year」カテゴリーアーカイブ

Hayley Valk: KYOTO EXPERIMENT Kyoto International Performing Arts Festival

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I’ve long been interested in theater and am actively involved through campus groups and internships at home, so when I arrived in Kyoto I immediately sought out an opportunity to be involved in the performing arts here. Kyoto Experiment stood out to me for its contemporary, international focus, and I was grateful that they took me on as an intern based on past experience and my first Japanese resume and interview.

In New York I interned in an American performing arts department that used Japanese as a second language, so it was really fascinating to intern here for a Japanese performing arts department that used English as a second language. The goals and activities of the organization were similar, so I could generally infer what was going on, but I was constantly left wishing that I had a more thorough understanding of what everyone around me was doing. Unfortunately I struggled to balance my desire to ask questions and have conversations with the understanding that this was a professional work environment where I didn’t want to be a distraction or nuisance.

One of my primary activities was translating between English and Japanese for the website, artist submissions, emails, etc. The dictionary was my best friend, and at times I ended up having to translate poorly-written English profiles of dance performances inspired by cannibalism to Japanese, but overall it was great practice and a useful learning experience. Generally the staff had positive feedback towards my work, but an interesting dynamic emerged concerning their desire to constantly check and edit my English, even though their knowledge of English was not strong (despite this being an international festival with almost all information bilingual, I failed to ever find someone on the staff who was really fluent in English and responsible for other translations). At times there would be opportunities for a back-and-forth where they could edit my content and I could brush up the language, but in other cases I wasn’t consulted, and later found my translations edited for the worse. However, I wasn’t surprised by my superiors’ constant desire to review every detail, and I observed that it applied not only to me but to senpai/kohai interactions across the staff. In the end I am proud to have some of my translations (only slightly edited) published on their website.

I would have liked more opportunities for conversation and interaction during my time at CIP, but unfortunately the office was usually quiet and oriented towards independent work, especially after the festival performances ended in late October. I was able to learn a bit about Japanese office culture, particularly linguistic variations depending on position and age. For example, I was able to observe different greetings when someone enters the office and thanks when someone leaves, and the difference between my supervisor’s in-group language (occasionally tending to be more informal towards kohai, especially in chatting situations) and the very formal language she used towards outside parties in phone conversations. I was also able to observe interactions between staff members and patrons at performances, which I found more polite than in the U.S., and had the authentic experience of saying いらっしゃいませ hundreds of times.

All in all the setup of my CIP did not lend itself to many opportunities for ethnography, and I wish that my Japanese language skills had allowed for a more fruitful experience, but I think interning for Kyoto Experiment was a great opportunity to be involved here in Japan in a field that I’m passionate about. I am thankful to have met a community of people with similar interests, for the challenging but rewarding work translating, to have seen (for free) some crazy performances, and to have gained professional experience and connections related to intercultural arts that will hopefully benefit me in the future.

Jared Slawski: Piano Circle

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This semester I participated in Doshisha’s Piano Circle, and it proved to be a very interesting experience, despite being nothing like I expected.  For starters, there was no set “meeting time” for the circle.  Instead, there was just an open room in the Shinmachi campus building where club members could come in, play piano, and talk.  I went to the club almost every week, and stayed for a few hours every time.  However, I probably played a grand total of about 20 minutes of piano.  The rest of my time was spent talking with the club members.  We would talk about all sorts of things, from our majors, to our favorite music, to our favorite characters in Super Smash Bros.  It was a very informal environment, which I think helped me quickly get comfortable with participating every week.

Although convenient, the flexible time schedule of the club did have its downsides.  Since people could come whenever they wanted, and the club was comprised of about 70 people, I would rarely ever get the opportunity to meet the same person more than once.  This made developing any sort of deep connections practically impossible for me.  However, although the people would constantly change on a weekly basis, the general atmosphere of the club remained the same.  People would often bring their lunches to the clubroom, and just chat with the other members there.  Occasionally someone would play the piano, but there was never any real formal practice.

After seeing this week after week, I came to the conclusion that Japanese students use the Piano Circle as a way to meet new people with similar interests, and keep in touch with friends in a smaller, less crowded setting.  Actually playing piano is secondary to talking with people and hanging out.  When I think about it this way, I feel like this concept is reminiscent of my experiences joining clubs at University of Michigan.  While some clubs have serious, regimented schedules, a lot of them exist for the sole purpose of making the campus feel smaller, and providing more opportunities to get to know other people who like the same things that you do.

All things considered, I’m glad the Piano Circle turned out to be the latter kind of club.  It was great getting the opportunity to speak with Japanese students in a relaxed, informal setting.  However, as I mentioned before, it’s a real shame I didn’t have many opportunities to develop any deep connections with people, as I would often see them only once, and then never again.  Despite that, I feel like my participation in the club has taught me a lot about daily student life, and how similar it is to my own.

Augustus Chow: My CIP Blog

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While I started my CIP in a temple and shrine sightseeing circle, the circle’s schedule proved to be unfeasible for a CIP project and I instead joined Klexon. Klexon is a volunteer organization in the Kyoto area that is the equivalent of a meet-up group. In this case, Klexon is a meet-up between fluent English-speakers and Japanese in the Kyoto area who want to speak English.

During my various CIP experiences with both Klexon and the sightseeing circle I’ve encountered a few facets of Japanese culture and society that seem to coincide with what I’ve experienced outside of CIP as well. In CIP, we are asked to make hypotheses and generalizations about the Japanese. But to a large extent, what my CIP experience has taught me is that there are various Japanese people who don’t all believe the same things.

For example, my first night at Klexon, we were asked to draw a fall festival from our hometowns and talk about them. Obviously, I had no choice but to write about Halloween. Others wrote about different festivals. I asked two Japanese people what their festivals celebrated, because they only explained what happened during the festival, and I’m interested in that sort of thing. Both said they didn’t know and seemed slightly troubled by my question, but, after the second time, one of them told me that the Japanese sometimes just hold festivals and that they don’t necessarily mean anything. Now, we weren’t speaking in his native language, so I can’t say for sure. I can think of half a dozen alternatives off the top of my head, but I had the sense that my questions had been offensive or perhaps troubling to him in some way. The next day, I spoke to my Japanese language partner and asked her what she thought of my question, but she thought it was a perfectly normal thing to ask and that the festival probably had some sort of origin.

So, while it is a small example, it still provided an insight that I try to keep in mind. Not all Japanese people will feel the same way about something. So I’m largely reluctant to do anything that involves making generalizations about a group of people.

Having said that, I’m going to make one based off of my CIP experience that has been supported by my interactions with Japanese outside of CIP. During my time with the sightseeing circle, we climbed partway up Fushimi-Inari Taisha. A little way up, we all went to a stone where you would make a wish and try to lift the stone. If you could lift the stone your wish might come true. I lifted it, yay me, but my wish is a secret ;P—Anyway, after everyone tried lifting the stone, people started asking everyone around them if they had a girlfriend, particularly those who couldn’t lift the stone. I got the feeling they were asking whether they wished for girlfriends, but my Japanese wasn’t good enough to tell. Then, they asked me if I had a girlfriend. Now, in the U.S., that kind of question is a little forward, because, if the person doesn’t, that might be inconsiderate. Also, when someone asks you that there’s some level of connotation that they’re asking for themselves or for a friend. Fortunately, I didn’t jump to conclusions and assume I was being asked out. After I said I didn’t, they asked me if I was married; though, I misunderstood them to be asking if I wanted to be married. I said once I found the right person, yes, I’d like to be married. But, after that, I kept on hearing kekkon (marriage) being brought up in the various conversations around me. I was a little surprised, because Americans typically aren’t so forward about those questions with people they’ve just met. But, from what I’ve experienced in Japan both in CIP and outside, these kinds of questions seem to be pretty normal. For example, my friend’s adoptive Japanese family took a few of us out to lunch. In the middle of lunch, the mother turned to me from a long conversation with someone else and, without context, asked me what I thought of Japanese girls. Stunned, I managed to remember how to say that between American girls and Japanese girls either is fine. Another example would be in Klexon. One man I spoke to was quite interested in my love life and asked me if I had a girlfriend. After I said I didn’t, he said I should get a Japanese girlfriend. Upon hearing that I had a host sister, he asked if she was beautiful. The next day, I went to my Japanese language partner and asked if these kinds of questions are normal. She explained to me that they’re pretty normal questions when people first meet new people. So, while these questions may be incredibly awkward and forward in America, they appear to be standard operating procedure here in Japan.

So, yes, I would say that I’m reluctant to make generalizations about groups of people. But, at the same time, there are customs and cultural norms that are different here than elsewhere. I guess that’s just something to keep in mind.

Ryan Hull: Doshisha Animal Life Circle

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If I were to summarize my experience with the Doshisha Animal Life circle into a single (albeit hyphenated) word, such a word would be “eye-opening.” From start to finish, I can say with sincerity that my opinion of Japanese culture, especially that of young people here, has drastically evolved from a generally positive yet uneducated perspective to a conflicted yet informed view on their lifestyles. Via my various interactions with said students (or lack thereof), I can conclude that Japanese students are passionate about their circles, but less so regarding new – read: foreign – members of these organizations.

When I entered my first two meetings alongside a friend from KCJS, I was initially stunned by the small size of the club. I would later find out that nearly no one at the University knew that my circle existed, which I likely should have researched before jumping into the fray. Regardless, the first couple meetings were attended by only a few people, and were fairly quiet. I was impressed, however, by the enthusiast manner in which I was greeted by the president of the organization, both electronically and personally. Via social networking, she expressed her excitement to meet both myself and my friend, and in person, she gifted to us small Japanese candies and confections. This, in conjunction with how kindly the other members reacted to our entrance, led to my initial hypothesis that Japanese university students were eager to accept foreign students into their midst. However, as I will elaborate upon later, this was the warmest response I received all semester. The first two meeting ended on disappointingly anticlimactic notes, as the members sat and discussed administrative manners for about an hour and a half for both sessions. Regardless, I was able to gather that university organizations here are held to a high standard of organization.

As the next few meetings passed, I began to observe a pattern in the students’ behavior: they would appear very excited to see us when we first joined the meeting, but after this initial excitement, would begin to divide into two distinct groups. Said groups consisted of the men, who did not attempt to make conversation with us, and the women, who attempted to keep us involved in the conversation but didn’t exactly succeed. However, it was the thought that counted in this situation, and it was appreciated. I began to hypothesize that a) perhaps Japanese students, especially the males, needed some time to adjust to foreign students entering their organization, and b) that Japanese university students are emotional and financially committed to their extracurricular activities – my friend and I were blown away when every single member of the organization purchased an optional custom sweater that was not exactly inexpensive, in order to support their circle’s financial state.

The next two weeks brought new realizations regarding Japanese student culture. I began to spot a striking similarity which the circle bore to Japanese corporate culture – the length of time needed to make executive decisions regarding the club’s future. As in Japanese corporations, this circle took awfully long to decide on the simplest matters, due to the necessity of having everyone’s consensus. In fact, so much time was spent on making decisions that, coming from an American perspective, not much progress was ever made during these meetings. On a brighter note, I was able to conclude that while not always inclusive, Japanese students remain unfailingly polite – although a community had yet to form between myself and the other members, I could always ask questions and felt comfortable speaking up.

As the organization’s first major event of the term drew nearer, a new ambience began to envelop the organization – that of intense, physical work. Finally, I began to see tangible results of the students’ decision-making, notably the creation of arts and crafts needed to make the circle’s booth at the event look its best. However, as with many aspects of Japanese society, this came with a caveat. Because the Japanese students began to enter a mode of tight focus as their plans came together, they began to speak less and less to each other during meetings, and naturally, less and less to myself and my friend. While I was using my meager art skills to help craft various decorations for the display, I would attempt to engage in conversation with a few people, only to be answered with brief responses. I began to hypothesize that though students seemed to chat frequently and openly during informational or planning meetings, work meetings were a time for just that, and not much else. Looking at the situation from a happier perspective, I noticed that the students were visibly pleased with work, either because a) I was a foreigner, and they didn’t exactly know what to expect, or b) they genuinely appreciated that I had done my best and admired the results. In all honesty, I had expected quite the opposite: large amounts of criticism until my work was perfect.

In the penultimate week of my Community Involvement Project and as my final meeting approaches, I feel that several of my former hypotheses stand true and are only strengthened by the experiences I have had with the members of the Doshisha Animal Life circle. As mentioned earlier, I stand by my belief that it is difficult for Japanese students to accept foreigners into the activities of their circles, let alone become close friends with them. This belief is only further solidified by one glaring disappointment: even though I participated in the preparation for the previous festival which the circle had a booth at (which I could not attend), I never received an invitation to participate in the largest circle event of the year – Doshisha Eve, at which I ran into the members in an uncomfortable situation. In fact, I was never actually informed that the organization would be participating in the event, leading me to the conclusion that perhaps I did not make clear my intentions for joining the circle upon first meeting its members. Stemming from this disappointment,  I remain able to say that Japanese students, though passionate and dedicated to their circles (as can be seen by the Animal Life circle’s relentless attempts to sell its hot chocolate at Doshisha Eve, and large financial investments by nearly all its members) remain unsure of how to accept foreign students into their midst. In hindsight, I would have attempted to make my intentions of joining the circle quite clear upon first meeting the students, so as to avoid an awkward situation like that of Doshisha Eve. These intentions would include being involved in the students’ activities outside meeting times, so that I would be better able to observe these students in more relaxed settings. Regarding my experience holistically, there are many social aspects which I would have altered, but I believe that I benefitted from my experience educationally in that I was exposed to the intricacies of the deceiving culture of Japanese youth.

Alejandro Ruizesparaza: Bazaar Cafe

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When I first joined the Bazaar Café, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was originally drawn to the idea working in a café for the sake of exposure to part time life in Japan. I wanted to use keigo, see how people interact behind-the-scenes of a restaurant and try something new. Admittedly, the prospect of a free lunch was also a lovely addendum. But when I first walked in to ask for a position, found out that one of the two managers (and my main source of contact) is Brazilian, the staff consists of immigrants from all over, and the café is a hub for discussing social and health issues, I realized the experience was going to be much more interesting than what I pictured.

Bazaar Café is only a couple of minutes away from Doshisha University and open Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Each day has a specific regional cuisine dependent on the people cooking that day. I worked on Thursdays, when we would normally prepare Brazilian food. My usual job consisted of washing dishes, helping set lunches on trays and delivering meals to guests. Each Thursday was also a chance to get to know the other workers a bit better and learning how to flow as a group. Early on, I definitely felt like more of a disturbance than anything. But being with the group longer established a sense of unity. Though during work we were focused, at lunch-time we all came together and discussed whatever random topic came up.

My biggest impressions of Bazaar Café, however, actually came from outside of normal working hours. I was invited to help out at a party for some theology students and missionaries interested in the café’s purpose of highlighting social issues. Another time I helped out at a health festival focused on sexual health and STD awareness. Through those experiences I learned that the café had some rather ambitious goals but strove to establish a safe space for those sorts of topics. Through talking to staff I also realized how rare it is to have spaces like that in Japan. But if the home-like café setting and warm atmosphere isn’t convincing, the actions of the workers definitely are.

As my time is coming to an end here in Japan, I find myself sad to soon leave my new friends among the staff. As a final act of warmth, they’ve told me to come in the day before I leave for a Christmas party that will double as a Sayonara party for me. At only a semester, the time at the café was relatively short-lived. But I’m happy to say the experiences and what they had me think about are likely to be long-lasting.

Thank you Bazaar Café!

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~!