I think I was a dirty brat. During the elementary school days, I used to take a bath with a book in my hand. Often, I did not wash at all, and would get out of the bath where the only difference was that I have progressed with the reading of the book by several pages. My mother used to accuse me of "a crow's bathing", after a popular expression in Japan referring to a bath taking without the cleansing elements.
As a result, my hair would often get oily, as if a natural additive was applied to the head shrub. I was literally an oily boy.
Nowadays, I take shower and wash my hair every morning. And yet, I do not distinguish between soap and shampoo. Most often, I wash my hair with a bar of soap. The brat element has not left me.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Dinner party
I was invited to a dinner party in honor of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Rowan Williams, at the British Embassy in Tokyo.
I was introduced to the Archbishop by the British Ambassador to Japan, Mr. David Warren. Mr. Warren is a warm man with a robustness of quick wit and sound judgments. It was a great pleasure to accept Mr. Warren's kind invitation to this special dinner.
Dr. Williams was educated at Cambridge and Oxford, and is known for his liberal views on the role of the Anglican Church. He is an poet in its own right. Before the dinner, some of his poems were set to beautiful music by members of British Embassy choir.
At dinner, I sat next to The Bishop of Leicester, The Rt Revd Timothy Stevens. I had a lively conversation with Tim.
During the conversation, something struck me.
I said to Tim, "you know, something just struck me" "What is it?" "Well, it just occurred to me that in English culture, at a dinner table like this, people carry on talking as if the food on the table does not matter." "Yes, it is probably very much true." "My mentor was Prof. Horace Barlow at Trinity college, Cambridge, and I sometimes had dinner there. I remember well how people appeared not to pay any attention to the dishes on the table, which were actually excellent. Why is it?" "Well, as an English person, I probably don't realize the reasons for the particulars of my own culture. Probably the English people do not think what you eat is very important in your life."
After the dinner, during the port, I was discussing the London Underground, and a question arose. Mr. Jason James, Director of the British Council and the Cultural Counsellor at the British Embassy, told me he would send an e-mail later on why the underground card is called "Oyster".
Here's the e-mail from Jason.
-------------
Subject: World is your oyster
From: Jason James
To: kenmogi
According to Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, the expression "the world is his oyster" means 'the world is the place from which he can extract success and profit, as a pearl can be extracted from an oyster.'
A quote from Shakespeare is given:
Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.
Pistol: Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
(Merry Wives of Windsor, II, ii (1600))
These days, it just means "You have complete freedom to do whatever you want.' It is usually used with reference to people's career prospects - e.g. we might say that if someone gets into Tokyo University "the world is his/her oyster."
Best regards,
Jason James
-----------------
On the way back on the taxi, I received a phone call from the Kabuki actor Ichikawa Ebizo, who has just returned from a successful performance in Monaco. Ebizo is going to Hakata this weekend for his performance there in October. I commented how super his Roppo action was during his performance of Ishikawa Goemon with his father Ichikawa Danjuro.
I was introduced to the Archbishop by the British Ambassador to Japan, Mr. David Warren. Mr. Warren is a warm man with a robustness of quick wit and sound judgments. It was a great pleasure to accept Mr. Warren's kind invitation to this special dinner.
Dr. Williams was educated at Cambridge and Oxford, and is known for his liberal views on the role of the Anglican Church. He is an poet in its own right. Before the dinner, some of his poems were set to beautiful music by members of British Embassy choir.
At dinner, I sat next to The Bishop of Leicester, The Rt Revd Timothy Stevens. I had a lively conversation with Tim.
During the conversation, something struck me.
I said to Tim, "you know, something just struck me" "What is it?" "Well, it just occurred to me that in English culture, at a dinner table like this, people carry on talking as if the food on the table does not matter." "Yes, it is probably very much true." "My mentor was Prof. Horace Barlow at Trinity college, Cambridge, and I sometimes had dinner there. I remember well how people appeared not to pay any attention to the dishes on the table, which were actually excellent. Why is it?" "Well, as an English person, I probably don't realize the reasons for the particulars of my own culture. Probably the English people do not think what you eat is very important in your life."
After the dinner, during the port, I was discussing the London Underground, and a question arose. Mr. Jason James, Director of the British Council and the Cultural Counsellor at the British Embassy, told me he would send an e-mail later on why the underground card is called "Oyster".
Here's the e-mail from Jason.
-------------
Subject: World is your oyster
From: Jason James
To: kenmogi
According to Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, the expression "the world is his oyster" means 'the world is the place from which he can extract success and profit, as a pearl can be extracted from an oyster.'
A quote from Shakespeare is given:
Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.
Pistol: Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
(Merry Wives of Windsor, II, ii (1600))
These days, it just means "You have complete freedom to do whatever you want.' It is usually used with reference to people's career prospects - e.g. we might say that if someone gets into Tokyo University "the world is his/her oyster."
Best regards,
Jason James
-----------------
On the way back on the taxi, I received a phone call from the Kabuki actor Ichikawa Ebizo, who has just returned from a successful performance in Monaco. Ebizo is going to Hakata this weekend for his performance there in October. I commented how super his Roppo action was during his performance of Ishikawa Goemon with his father Ichikawa Danjuro.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
A good gardener
The brain is able to adjust its functions according to the particular context in which the subject is expected to do well. For example, cramming for the entrance examination is a context. Common sense tells us that those who do well in the cramming context do not necessary perform excellently in the general arena of life. It is simply because the contexts are different.
The orbitofrontal cortex, together with other related circuits in the brain, is responsible for the fine tuning of the coordination of brain's various circuits so that it functions properly in the context given.
It is one thing to do well in the particular context that one confronts at a particular time. It is another to choose the context in which one is supposed to perform, with minute care and unlimited imagination.
Many people, as life progresses, falls into a particular pattern of context, and learn to do well in it, but fails to have a metacognition of the context itself.
Choosing the context is an art of cultivating the vegetation that is the self, which can grow only slowly and by daily customs. One must be a good gardener in the "plantation" of the brain, making decisions on the context setting with wisdom.
The orbitofrontal cortex (from Wikipedia)
The orbitofrontal cortex, together with other related circuits in the brain, is responsible for the fine tuning of the coordination of brain's various circuits so that it functions properly in the context given.
It is one thing to do well in the particular context that one confronts at a particular time. It is another to choose the context in which one is supposed to perform, with minute care and unlimited imagination.
Many people, as life progresses, falls into a particular pattern of context, and learn to do well in it, but fails to have a metacognition of the context itself.
Choosing the context is an art of cultivating the vegetation that is the self, which can grow only slowly and by daily customs. One must be a good gardener in the "plantation" of the brain, making decisions on the context setting with wisdom.
The orbitofrontal cortex (from Wikipedia)
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The magical transformation
Yesterday, there was a shooting for the "Untitled Concert" (Daimeino nai Ongakukai) program conducted and introduced by Yutaka Sado. The Untitled Concert program is broadcast by TV Asahi weekly. The venue was Opera City, in the metropolitan Shinjuku district.
The theme was the music of Antonín Dvořák.
I appeared as a guest, and had conversations with Yutaka Sado, accompanied by the master of ceremony Ms. Naoko Kubota.
Yutaka Sado is an extraordinary man.
A conductor, by the very nature of his job, remains silent. He is, in a sense, deprived of speech. The only way to express himself is through the baton, and the orchestra does the actual physical expression for him. Because of the deprivation of voice, the conductor becomes passionate. The volcanic fire comes from the non-existence of speech.
Therefore, it is an unusual and difficult job to alternate between being a speaking person on one hand, with all the friendliness that one can command, to reach the general audience, and being speechless on the other, putting all one's existential weight on the baton.
Yutaka Sado does exactly that. Now he is talking expressively about the charm of Dvořák. The next moment he is conducting, with the baton as his only way of expression. Yutaka is speechless, while the orchestra plays heavenly music. The magical transformation has been accomplished.
With Yutaka Sado and Naoko Kubota on the stage from an earlier broadcast.
The theme was the music of Antonín Dvořák.
I appeared as a guest, and had conversations with Yutaka Sado, accompanied by the master of ceremony Ms. Naoko Kubota.
Yutaka Sado is an extraordinary man.
A conductor, by the very nature of his job, remains silent. He is, in a sense, deprived of speech. The only way to express himself is through the baton, and the orchestra does the actual physical expression for him. Because of the deprivation of voice, the conductor becomes passionate. The volcanic fire comes from the non-existence of speech.
Therefore, it is an unusual and difficult job to alternate between being a speaking person on one hand, with all the friendliness that one can command, to reach the general audience, and being speechless on the other, putting all one's existential weight on the baton.
Yutaka Sado does exactly that. Now he is talking expressively about the charm of Dvořák. The next moment he is conducting, with the baton as his only way of expression. Yutaka is speechless, while the orchestra plays heavenly music. The magical transformation has been accomplished.
With Yutaka Sado and Naoko Kubota on the stage from an earlier broadcast.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Vulnerable for change
Being assertive is important in life. Without putting forward one's values and opinions in an explicit way, nothing changes in the tranquility of the universe. On the other hand, I think it is equally important to be a skeptic, being doubtful of one's own view.
From time to time, I encounter people who are quite positive about what they think and feel. When there isn't an accompanying element of self doubt, I feel a bit strange. I get suffocated even, having the sensation of being driven up against the wall. It is actually those people who are cornering themselves towards dead ends.
By being doubtful of the self, one opens the door for learning and growth. Looking back on my own past, I realize that I have never been completely sure of what I held to be my own opinion. There was always a remnant fluctuation, a vibrating center of the self swayed to and fro by the invisible wind.
I am very proud of my vulnerable nature. Being vulnerable for change is the only way of life.
From time to time, I encounter people who are quite positive about what they think and feel. When there isn't an accompanying element of self doubt, I feel a bit strange. I get suffocated even, having the sensation of being driven up against the wall. It is actually those people who are cornering themselves towards dead ends.
By being doubtful of the self, one opens the door for learning and growth. Looking back on my own past, I realize that I have never been completely sure of what I held to be my own opinion. There was always a remnant fluctuation, a vibrating center of the self swayed to and fro by the invisible wind.
I am very proud of my vulnerable nature. Being vulnerable for change is the only way of life.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
When I was around 10 to 15 years old, I really loved the musicals. As I recall, the film that kick-started the whole thing was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which was shown in a local film theater when I was 10.
When you think about it, the way some memories are associated with a particular period of life is strange. I vividly recall that I was exactly a 5th grader when I saw the film in the darkness of my favorite film theater.
As one gets older, memories are not so well designated to a specific period. For example, it is sometimes difficult to temporally pin down the initial viewing of some memorable films (e.g. Solaris, El Sur, L'Albero degli zoccoli) that I encountered in my 20s. The childhood days are marked by vivid and colorful progressions of time. As one passes adolescence, the segmentation of time becomes less clear.
Back to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. There were some features of the film that captured my imagination. For example, the contraptions that the mad inventor father (played by Dick van Dyke) builds in the film fascinated me. One of them cooked an egg and made a sandwich at the breakfast table, with some disastrous results.
There were some lovely tunes, like "Doll on a Music Box", where Truly Scrumptious (played by Sally Ann Howes), pretending to be a mechanically constructed doll, dances on a music box, ostensibly presented as a special gift to the tyrant Baron Bomburst.
There is a clip of this beautiful scene on youtube.
Looking back, the whole film is lovely, as in it the adults endeavor to entertain the children and children-at-hearts very seriously.
A scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
When you think about it, the way some memories are associated with a particular period of life is strange. I vividly recall that I was exactly a 5th grader when I saw the film in the darkness of my favorite film theater.
As one gets older, memories are not so well designated to a specific period. For example, it is sometimes difficult to temporally pin down the initial viewing of some memorable films (e.g. Solaris, El Sur, L'Albero degli zoccoli) that I encountered in my 20s. The childhood days are marked by vivid and colorful progressions of time. As one passes adolescence, the segmentation of time becomes less clear.
Back to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. There were some features of the film that captured my imagination. For example, the contraptions that the mad inventor father (played by Dick van Dyke) builds in the film fascinated me. One of them cooked an egg and made a sandwich at the breakfast table, with some disastrous results.
There were some lovely tunes, like "Doll on a Music Box", where Truly Scrumptious (played by Sally Ann Howes), pretending to be a mechanically constructed doll, dances on a music box, ostensibly presented as a special gift to the tyrant Baron Bomburst.
There is a clip of this beautiful scene on youtube.
Looking back, the whole film is lovely, as in it the adults endeavor to entertain the children and children-at-hearts very seriously.
A scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Visually stunning drama
I went to the Kabuki-za theater in the central district of Ginza, Tokyo with my editor Ms. Yoko Oba, and Ms. Ayako Taniyama, who illustrates my essays on history in the Mainichi Weekly magazine.
One of the acts was Kanjincho. Although I have seen it many times, each time the experience is knew. A lot of discoveries are made, as is the testimony of any great classics.
This time, I was drawn to the visually stunning dramatic structure, in which the protagonists struggle, negotiate, get infuriated, and finally arrive at a humane and moving solution. It is as if a symphony is played out in front of your eyes using the bodies of actors, who are made up in exaggerated contrasts and dressed in conspicuous attire. The score is written in the implicit traditions of bodily language which have been handed down through the generations for hundreds of years.
The actors remain constrained in their bodies, and yet their expressive powers transcend time and space.
It was one of these moments when one realizes the bliss of a life in Tokyo. I simply love Kabuki.
The theatrical treat was followed by a culinary one in the Sushi restaurant Tsukasa, where the finest specimen of Maguro are procured and served through the eyes of Mr. Hiroki Fujita.
Visually stunning drama. A scene from Kanjincho.
One of the acts was Kanjincho. Although I have seen it many times, each time the experience is knew. A lot of discoveries are made, as is the testimony of any great classics.
This time, I was drawn to the visually stunning dramatic structure, in which the protagonists struggle, negotiate, get infuriated, and finally arrive at a humane and moving solution. It is as if a symphony is played out in front of your eyes using the bodies of actors, who are made up in exaggerated contrasts and dressed in conspicuous attire. The score is written in the implicit traditions of bodily language which have been handed down through the generations for hundreds of years.
The actors remain constrained in their bodies, and yet their expressive powers transcend time and space.
It was one of these moments when one realizes the bliss of a life in Tokyo. I simply love Kabuki.
The theatrical treat was followed by a culinary one in the Sushi restaurant Tsukasa, where the finest specimen of Maguro are procured and served through the eyes of Mr. Hiroki Fujita.
Visually stunning drama. A scene from Kanjincho.
Friday, September 18, 2009
A diligent boy
From time to time I wonder: If I lived this time as a small school boy, what would I have done? How would I have felt about the goings on the world, how would I regard the people around me? How would I breathe in the air which is the beginning of the 21st century?
Occasionally, I encounter kids who remind me of my own youthful days. I observe them with great interest and empathy at these times, as they appear to be the echoes of my emotional and intellectual life of the past.
While vacationing in Taketomi island last extended weekend, I glanced upon a boy by chance. He was reading a book while strolling the venerable street of Taketomi, flanked by age old coral walls. The boy was deeply absorbed in his reading. From time to time, he would raise his eyes, and watch us strangers from a big city afar.
What kind of mental life is he nurturing, I wondered. How would it feel to be born and grow on this lovely island of a population of 342, with just 172 households, where everybody presumably knew everybody else?
How would he absorb the flying clouds in the sky? Would he be astonished by the great fruit-eating bats flying in the darkness of night? Would he pick up the seashells on the shore? Would he accumulate knowledge about the beautiful butterflies that inhabit Taketomi? Would he dream of going to the big cities, to attend places of higher education?
It was not likely that my life and his life would cross again in any significant way. However, that afternoon, on the coral island of Taketomi, my life resonated with the life of a diligent boy, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste.
I wish all the best in life for the little soul.
The diligent boy on Taketomi Island
Occasionally, I encounter kids who remind me of my own youthful days. I observe them with great interest and empathy at these times, as they appear to be the echoes of my emotional and intellectual life of the past.
While vacationing in Taketomi island last extended weekend, I glanced upon a boy by chance. He was reading a book while strolling the venerable street of Taketomi, flanked by age old coral walls. The boy was deeply absorbed in his reading. From time to time, he would raise his eyes, and watch us strangers from a big city afar.
What kind of mental life is he nurturing, I wondered. How would it feel to be born and grow on this lovely island of a population of 342, with just 172 households, where everybody presumably knew everybody else?
How would he absorb the flying clouds in the sky? Would he be astonished by the great fruit-eating bats flying in the darkness of night? Would he pick up the seashells on the shore? Would he accumulate knowledge about the beautiful butterflies that inhabit Taketomi? Would he dream of going to the big cities, to attend places of higher education?
It was not likely that my life and his life would cross again in any significant way. However, that afternoon, on the coral island of Taketomi, my life resonated with the life of a diligent boy, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste.
I wish all the best in life for the little soul.
The diligent boy on Taketomi Island
Thursday, September 17, 2009
A swarm of bacteria
The speed of the evolution of bacteria is rapid, as it multiples very rapidly, with corresponding changes of generation. It is natural that species of bacteria develop resistance to antibiotics within a short period, given the rapidity of its multiplication.
Humans, on the other hand, cannot reproduce so rapidly. The human evolution has taken another strategy.
Human evolution is characterized by sustainability, supported by the longevity of individuals. Although the "self" maintains its identity over decades, the elements that compose the self multiply and perish within a very short period.
Humans, in a sense, is a "habitat" in itself, in which the evolution of constituent entities occurs. Humans evolve most efficiently when behaving like a swarm of bacteria.
Humans, on the other hand, cannot reproduce so rapidly. The human evolution has taken another strategy.
Human evolution is characterized by sustainability, supported by the longevity of individuals. Although the "self" maintains its identity over decades, the elements that compose the self multiply and perish within a very short period.
Humans, in a sense, is a "habitat" in itself, in which the evolution of constituent entities occurs. Humans evolve most efficiently when behaving like a swarm of bacteria.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Butterfly road
Breathing in the air on the subtropical Tametomi Island, old memories came back to me.
In February 2001, I traveled to Taketomi Island with some of my best friends. Notably, Yukio-Pegio Gunji was there.
On the first afternoon, we rented a bicycle and pedaled towards the beach. There was a small path, with weeds growing from both sides. As we sped through the vegetations, butterflies flew out of the shrubs and encircled us. Their wings deformed and changed positions in the air, like flower petals dancing in the wind.
It was a beautiful and yet fundamentally comical scene. We felt as if we were in a classic film. Some scholars and students dedicated to the research of complex systems riding the bike on a small island, with butterflies celebrating our efforts. The vision was striking and poignant. It stays with me to this day.
On this particular visit to the island, we made it to the butterfly road again. I found the path to be a little bit wider than in memory, perhaps due to an expansion work that has been done. Due to the seasons or other elements, there were less butterflies in the air, so I missed the replay of the movie scene with Yukio-Pegio Gunji.
The butterfly road revisited.
In February 2001, I traveled to Taketomi Island with some of my best friends. Notably, Yukio-Pegio Gunji was there.
On the first afternoon, we rented a bicycle and pedaled towards the beach. There was a small path, with weeds growing from both sides. As we sped through the vegetations, butterflies flew out of the shrubs and encircled us. Their wings deformed and changed positions in the air, like flower petals dancing in the wind.
It was a beautiful and yet fundamentally comical scene. We felt as if we were in a classic film. Some scholars and students dedicated to the research of complex systems riding the bike on a small island, with butterflies celebrating our efforts. The vision was striking and poignant. It stays with me to this day.
On this particular visit to the island, we made it to the butterfly road again. I found the path to be a little bit wider than in memory, perhaps due to an expansion work that has been done. Due to the seasons or other elements, there were less butterflies in the air, so I missed the replay of the movie scene with Yukio-Pegio Gunji.
The butterfly road revisited.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
We somehow coped
I love the night breeze on a southern island. As we finished our dinner and gently walked home through the narrow paths, I looked up at the sky. There were stars. The milky way was clearly visible. Before knowing it, almost unconsciously, I was searching for the giant fruit-eating bats, which are characteristic of the subtropical islands around Okinawa.
I could not find one. Mrs. Maki, owner of the restaurant Maki, our favorite hanging-out place on the island of Taketomi, told us that there were less fruit-eating bats now, especially after the unusually strong typhoon that hit the island last summer. "Before that", she said, "the bats were flying over that tree beyond the house".
Without the blessing of the bats, we somehow coped. The night was as dark as it used to be, without the air-bound creatures which used to enliven the blackness enshrining our existence.
Every cloud has a silver lining. The magic of the sunshine on Taketomi island
I could not find one. Mrs. Maki, owner of the restaurant Maki, our favorite hanging-out place on the island of Taketomi, told us that there were less fruit-eating bats now, especially after the unusually strong typhoon that hit the island last summer. "Before that", she said, "the bats were flying over that tree beyond the house".
Without the blessing of the bats, we somehow coped. The night was as dark as it used to be, without the air-bound creatures which used to enliven the blackness enshrining our existence.
Every cloud has a silver lining. The magic of the sunshine on Taketomi island
Monday, September 14, 2009
Transformation
Sunday came, and I traveled to the southern Island of Taketomi, one of the Ryukyu Islands. The district is called Okinawa, after the biggest of the Ryuku Island of the same name.
When I travel southbound, I go through a remarkable process of transformation. It is especially true in the case of Okinawa.
The moment I get off the plane, the process starts. I am in a mood to take off my belongings from civilization, e.g. the watch and socks. The tendency gets stronger as I travel further from the airport, cross the ocean on a boat to arrive at a small island, like the Taketomi island.
I prefer not to take any job to an southern island, as I would like to relax without caring about what I have to do. However, sometimes I am obliged to take some assignments, as in this particular trip. This morning, while my students were visiting the Utaki (sacred places in Okinawa Style), I was busy typing my manuscript on a desk in the gardens of the Minshuku we are staying.
As I worked very diligently, I could finish my job before noon. I spent the afternoon taking in the sunshine and the wind in a westward-looking beach.
The sunset in Taketomi Island
When I travel southbound, I go through a remarkable process of transformation. It is especially true in the case of Okinawa.
The moment I get off the plane, the process starts. I am in a mood to take off my belongings from civilization, e.g. the watch and socks. The tendency gets stronger as I travel further from the airport, cross the ocean on a boat to arrive at a small island, like the Taketomi island.
I prefer not to take any job to an southern island, as I would like to relax without caring about what I have to do. However, sometimes I am obliged to take some assignments, as in this particular trip. This morning, while my students were visiting the Utaki (sacred places in Okinawa Style), I was busy typing my manuscript on a desk in the gardens of the Minshuku we are staying.
As I worked very diligently, I could finish my job before noon. I spent the afternoon taking in the sunshine and the wind in a westward-looking beach.
The sunset in Taketomi Island
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Chicago rain
This Saturday in Tokyo was characterized by occasional rainfalls, which became quite strong from time to time, verging on being a pouring rain. As I move around in cars, I did not have to use an umbrella. I do not mind the rain so much when I do not have to cover the space above my head with the nuisance of an umbrella. I hate separating myself from mother nature.
I love to listen to the rainfall in the safe haven of the indoors. It is simply scrumptious to read a favorite book on the sofa, while occasionally paying attention to the rhythmical sound of the raindrops.
As I recall. there was a particularly memorable rainfall in Chicago. I was 22, and was attending the 38th Japan America Students Conference. As the schedule on that fateful day was to meet with some important people, we had our best suits on. The day started with a bright sunshine, so we did not expect anything nasty to happen weatherwise. An American participant told me how there were flats in the skyscrapers in Chicago. The residents living in the upper floors are "above the cloud level", so that they sometimes have to ask a friend on the "earth level" how the weather was down below. The story amused me. There was apparently no need to worry about the weather on that day.
I was mistaken. We were all wrong. Suddenly, a black cloud gathered in the sky. Literally in minutes, the rain started to fall with a vengeance. We were in the middle of an open space, and there was simply nowhere to hide ourselves. Needless to say, nobody had an umbrella. We became soaking wet.
As abruptly as it started, the rain stopped without warning. The sun came back, and we were soon basking in the sunshine, while the water dripped from our noses and sleeves.
Alex began to laugh, with the characteristic, whole-hearted laughter that was Alex. I began to laugh, too. There was something amusing and refreshing in that savage exposure to the wild weather of Chicago. It was as if we were embraced and kissed by mother nature herself.
The experience was divine, and I remember it vividly to this day. The Chicago rain is one of my favorite wet memories.
I love to listen to the rainfall in the safe haven of the indoors. It is simply scrumptious to read a favorite book on the sofa, while occasionally paying attention to the rhythmical sound of the raindrops.
As I recall. there was a particularly memorable rainfall in Chicago. I was 22, and was attending the 38th Japan America Students Conference. As the schedule on that fateful day was to meet with some important people, we had our best suits on. The day started with a bright sunshine, so we did not expect anything nasty to happen weatherwise. An American participant told me how there were flats in the skyscrapers in Chicago. The residents living in the upper floors are "above the cloud level", so that they sometimes have to ask a friend on the "earth level" how the weather was down below. The story amused me. There was apparently no need to worry about the weather on that day.
I was mistaken. We were all wrong. Suddenly, a black cloud gathered in the sky. Literally in minutes, the rain started to fall with a vengeance. We were in the middle of an open space, and there was simply nowhere to hide ourselves. Needless to say, nobody had an umbrella. We became soaking wet.
As abruptly as it started, the rain stopped without warning. The sun came back, and we were soon basking in the sunshine, while the water dripped from our noses and sleeves.
Alex began to laugh, with the characteristic, whole-hearted laughter that was Alex. I began to laugh, too. There was something amusing and refreshing in that savage exposure to the wild weather of Chicago. It was as if we were embraced and kissed by mother nature herself.
The experience was divine, and I remember it vividly to this day. The Chicago rain is one of my favorite wet memories.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Professor Higgins
I was 10 or so when I first saw My Fair Lady (film). I was immediately fascinated by the whole ambience. At that time, video recorders and video tapes were not widely available. So I bought the sound tracks in the LP format and listened to them. It was my first lessons in the English language.
The character of Professor Higgins, played by Rex Harrison, captured my imagination from the beginning. I do not know what was so significant. His manner of getting to the point with the speed of lightening, his devotion to the study of speech, the accompanying and inevitable dropping of all considerations of material and domestic needs, was an inspiration.
When I traveled to U.K. and had a chance to have interactions with the English academics, I found that the Higgins type is not rare. Higgins are everywhere. They have their peculiarities, quick wits. The eyes are cast at nowhere, their minds apparently occupied by unearthly things.
The speech and actions of Professor Higgins is a music in itself. It was so beautifully portrayed by the late Rex Harrison that the world owes a heritage to him. I, for one, owe a youthful inspiration which probably helped my scooting towards the fanciful worlds of intelligent endeavors.
Professor Higgins (Rex Harrison) offering chocolates to Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn).
The character of Professor Higgins, played by Rex Harrison, captured my imagination from the beginning. I do not know what was so significant. His manner of getting to the point with the speed of lightening, his devotion to the study of speech, the accompanying and inevitable dropping of all considerations of material and domestic needs, was an inspiration.
When I traveled to U.K. and had a chance to have interactions with the English academics, I found that the Higgins type is not rare. Higgins are everywhere. They have their peculiarities, quick wits. The eyes are cast at nowhere, their minds apparently occupied by unearthly things.
The speech and actions of Professor Higgins is a music in itself. It was so beautifully portrayed by the late Rex Harrison that the world owes a heritage to him. I, for one, owe a youthful inspiration which probably helped my scooting towards the fanciful worlds of intelligent endeavors.
Professor Higgins (Rex Harrison) offering chocolates to Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn).
Friday, September 11, 2009
Not an easy place to live
I knew that Glenn Gould, my favorite pianist, used to like reading Kusamakura (Grass Pillow) of Soseki Natsume. Naturally, I have read the original Japanese version (many times), but have never ventured to tackle an English translation.
For some reasons, Kusamagura has been hanging on the verge of my consciousness recently. The other day, I finally bought the new translation by Meredith McKinney, published from Penguin Classics.
The famous opening sentences are translated thus:
--------------
As I climb the mountain path, I ponder--
If you work by reason, you grow rough-edged; if you choose to dip your oar into sentiment's stream, it will sweep you away. Demanding your own way only serves to constrain you. However you look at it, the human world is not an easy place to live.
From Kusamakura: Translated by Meredith McKinney, Penguin Classics
---------------
I think it was Soseki's pessimistic observation that haunted my soul when I first read the novel as a child. It is, however, a pessimism with a vital force to go forward. Soseki apparently wrote the whole novel in a matter of a week, if we take his words literally.
Pessimism, or acknowledging that existence can never be perfect, is the founding stone for a vigorous life. It is the source of great works of art. There is wisdom in educated pessimism.
Although I am generally regarded as an optimistic person by my friends, I must say that there is always a tinge of pessimism in the way I regard the world.
For some reasons, Kusamagura has been hanging on the verge of my consciousness recently. The other day, I finally bought the new translation by Meredith McKinney, published from Penguin Classics.
The famous opening sentences are translated thus:
--------------
As I climb the mountain path, I ponder--
If you work by reason, you grow rough-edged; if you choose to dip your oar into sentiment's stream, it will sweep you away. Demanding your own way only serves to constrain you. However you look at it, the human world is not an easy place to live.
From Kusamakura: Translated by Meredith McKinney, Penguin Classics
---------------
I think it was Soseki's pessimistic observation that haunted my soul when I first read the novel as a child. It is, however, a pessimism with a vital force to go forward. Soseki apparently wrote the whole novel in a matter of a week, if we take his words literally.
Pessimism, or acknowledging that existence can never be perfect, is the founding stone for a vigorous life. It is the source of great works of art. There is wisdom in educated pessimism.
Although I am generally regarded as an optimistic person by my friends, I must say that there is always a tinge of pessimism in the way I regard the world.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Lights are everywhere
The other day I visited a temple in the Hieizan mountain near Kyoto.
I met with The Great Ajari Yusai Sakamoto, who completed the Sennichi Kaihogyo (1000 days of intensive and life-or-death journey through the mountains) twice.
As I was leaving the quiet sanctuary, I looked back. There were rays of sunshine permeating through the woods. There is such a magic about lights going through the air, when they are made visible.
Even when we cannot see, the lights are everywhere, permeating, being reflected, shining on, and emanating from.
The rays in the woods stood in my mind as an example of invisible things, which surround our life. When made visible through the workings of rare conditions, they appear to us as heaven-sent miracles, but earthly all the same.
Light rays permeating through the woods.
I met with The Great Ajari Yusai Sakamoto, who completed the Sennichi Kaihogyo (1000 days of intensive and life-or-death journey through the mountains) twice.
As I was leaving the quiet sanctuary, I looked back. There were rays of sunshine permeating through the woods. There is such a magic about lights going through the air, when they are made visible.
Even when we cannot see, the lights are everywhere, permeating, being reflected, shining on, and emanating from.
The rays in the woods stood in my mind as an example of invisible things, which surround our life. When made visible through the workings of rare conditions, they appear to us as heaven-sent miracles, but earthly all the same.
Light rays permeating through the woods.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Why doesn't he write and find out?
From my own experience, and from the general brain scientific point of view, writing has a special significance for the brain.
My mentor at the University of Cambridge was Horace Barlow. Once, Horace was organizing a conference. One of the participants did not send in an abstract. When contacted, the negligent participant answered that he did not know what he should write in the paper. When the postdoc who was functioning as an assistant for the conference reported that reply, Horace immediately said:
"Why doesn't he write and find out?"
Horace's sharp comment cuts right into the essence of the cognitive processes involved in writing. When writing, one often consciously perceives chunks of information which has been dormant in one's unconscious. Writing provides a channel between one's conscious and unconscious.
My mentor at the University of Cambridge was Horace Barlow. Once, Horace was organizing a conference. One of the participants did not send in an abstract. When contacted, the negligent participant answered that he did not know what he should write in the paper. When the postdoc who was functioning as an assistant for the conference reported that reply, Horace immediately said:
"Why doesn't he write and find out?"
Horace's sharp comment cuts right into the essence of the cognitive processes involved in writing. When writing, one often consciously perceives chunks of information which has been dormant in one's unconscious. Writing provides a channel between one's conscious and unconscious.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Yutaka Ozaki
There are certain cultural phenomena, which, due to the language barrier, cannot transcend easily to other nations. These are hidden treasures, screened from people of other cultures at a great loss to the knowing and unknowing parties.
Yutaka Ozaki is one of them. A legendary singer-songwriter, he died at the premature age of 26. The wikipedia entry , at its present rudimentary state, simply does not do justice to this great musician.
Yutaka Ozaki sang about youthful dreams, anxieties, and love. The young spirit is sometimes rebellious towards the status quo, for the very good reason that the fiery energy cannot be contained in a conventional social structure.
Yutaka Ozaki's song, while being an anthem of rebellion, eventually deepens into a love which is all-encompassing, including those against whom the young artist expressed his mistrust in the lyrics. Overcoming the obstacles, Yutaka Ozaki's songs attain the universal value of a great art.
My favorite Yutaka Ozaki songs include "I love you", "Oh my little girl", "Graduation", and "Singing to the Wind" (Kaze ni Utaeba).
Yutaka Ozaki (1965-1992) at a concert.
Yutaka Ozaki is one of them. A legendary singer-songwriter, he died at the premature age of 26. The wikipedia entry , at its present rudimentary state, simply does not do justice to this great musician.
Yutaka Ozaki sang about youthful dreams, anxieties, and love. The young spirit is sometimes rebellious towards the status quo, for the very good reason that the fiery energy cannot be contained in a conventional social structure.
Yutaka Ozaki's song, while being an anthem of rebellion, eventually deepens into a love which is all-encompassing, including those against whom the young artist expressed his mistrust in the lyrics. Overcoming the obstacles, Yutaka Ozaki's songs attain the universal value of a great art.
My favorite Yutaka Ozaki songs include "I love you", "Oh my little girl", "Graduation", and "Singing to the Wind" (Kaze ni Utaeba).
Yutaka Ozaki (1965-1992) at a concert.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Liquid in life
I had a public dialogue with the designer Taku Sato. in the Les Deux Magots Cafe Tokyo, Shibuya. Taku is widely known and appreciated for his design of packages, in which he depicts, in the utmost simplicity and elegance, the essential properties of a particular brand.
When I have a discussion in public, I rarely meet the counterpart beforehand. I prefer to let the conversation follow its own life force ad libitum, rather than to adhere to a designated structure.
The spontaneous verbal exchanges with Taku last night was exceptionally successful, thanks to the gaiety of his spirit.
Taku said that surfing has been his passion for more than two decades, and described the experience in precise and poignant words. Taku's reference to the oceanic sport on the waves led us to the appreciation of the liquid in life.
In civilization, we are tend to be surrounded by solids made of steel, concrete, and other infrastructures. Given the unavoidable trends, life continues to thrive, gets to its highest points, in liquids. That something which is without any definite shape, always changing, breaking our expectations, calling for a total engagement by the body, shifting, penetrating, mixing, gorging, going over everything, into everywhere, becoming time itself in its transitions. That something, ubiquitously liquid.
The lively conversation with Taku left a vivid and viable aftertaste. I thrive in that tone today.
Here's to the liquid in life.
With Taku Sato in the Les Deux Magots Cafe Tokyo.
When I have a discussion in public, I rarely meet the counterpart beforehand. I prefer to let the conversation follow its own life force ad libitum, rather than to adhere to a designated structure.
The spontaneous verbal exchanges with Taku last night was exceptionally successful, thanks to the gaiety of his spirit.
Taku said that surfing has been his passion for more than two decades, and described the experience in precise and poignant words. Taku's reference to the oceanic sport on the waves led us to the appreciation of the liquid in life.
In civilization, we are tend to be surrounded by solids made of steel, concrete, and other infrastructures. Given the unavoidable trends, life continues to thrive, gets to its highest points, in liquids. That something which is without any definite shape, always changing, breaking our expectations, calling for a total engagement by the body, shifting, penetrating, mixing, gorging, going over everything, into everywhere, becoming time itself in its transitions. That something, ubiquitously liquid.
The lively conversation with Taku left a vivid and viable aftertaste. I thrive in that tone today.
Here's to the liquid in life.
With Taku Sato in the Les Deux Magots Cafe Tokyo.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Beetle mania
The earliest memories have the strange impressions of defining the mythical in one's life.
Some memories during my kindergarten days stand out very vividly. One of them concerns the Japanese rhinoceros beetle.
Kabutomushi (Japanese rhinoceros beetle) has a special place in a kid's mind. It is a symbol of desirable things, and kindles the heart of the child in a way which is not simply comparable with any material possessions in adulthood.
It was the summer. I was five. Ms. Arai, our teacher, was playing the piano in the Kindergarten room. Suddenly, she acclaimed something on the black wood. It was a Japanese rhinoceros beetle. Moreover, it was the much desired male, with the strong horn protruding from the head. Nobody was quite sure how the beetle got onto the piano in the first place.
There was a commotion among the boys. Ms Arai, holding the beetle in her fingers, let us admire its beauty. It was a particularly fine specimen.
Ms Arai, apparently wanting to get rid of the creature as soon as possible, turned to a friend of mine near the piano, and said "Here. This is yours". She gave the Japanese rhinoceros beetle to the boy.
I became jealous. Oh, how I wanted that beetle! The fact that Ms Arai was very popular among us five year olds gave a further fuel to my jealousy.
It is the first memory of envying other in my life.
Adults might laugh at a kindergarten boy desiring a Japanese rhinoceros beetle. The mental life of a child is colored by primitive and yet finely tuned emotions. I vividly remember the flame set by the envious beetle to this day.
A Japanese rhinoceros beetle
Some memories during my kindergarten days stand out very vividly. One of them concerns the Japanese rhinoceros beetle.
Kabutomushi (Japanese rhinoceros beetle) has a special place in a kid's mind. It is a symbol of desirable things, and kindles the heart of the child in a way which is not simply comparable with any material possessions in adulthood.
It was the summer. I was five. Ms. Arai, our teacher, was playing the piano in the Kindergarten room. Suddenly, she acclaimed something on the black wood. It was a Japanese rhinoceros beetle. Moreover, it was the much desired male, with the strong horn protruding from the head. Nobody was quite sure how the beetle got onto the piano in the first place.
There was a commotion among the boys. Ms Arai, holding the beetle in her fingers, let us admire its beauty. It was a particularly fine specimen.
Ms Arai, apparently wanting to get rid of the creature as soon as possible, turned to a friend of mine near the piano, and said "Here. This is yours". She gave the Japanese rhinoceros beetle to the boy.
I became jealous. Oh, how I wanted that beetle! The fact that Ms Arai was very popular among us five year olds gave a further fuel to my jealousy.
It is the first memory of envying other in my life.
Adults might laugh at a kindergarten boy desiring a Japanese rhinoceros beetle. The mental life of a child is colored by primitive and yet finely tuned emotions. I vividly remember the flame set by the envious beetle to this day.
A Japanese rhinoceros beetle
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Whims of nature
Clouds are always up in the sky, yet we do not attend to them. From time to time, when the shapes strike us as massive, and the angle of the light is just fine, we take notice of them.
Yesterday, there was such a magnificent cloud in the sky. I looked up admiringly, unable to have enough of it.
The physical process is continuously there. With the vapor circulating, the wind blowing, it never stops. The fact that only a subset of the ever going procession draws out attention is a testimony to the whimsical nature of our perception. Because of the whim, we are led to some beauties and truths, while missing others.
Clouds are themselves like whims of nature.
A magnificent cloud seen in the sky yesterday.
Yesterday, there was such a magnificent cloud in the sky. I looked up admiringly, unable to have enough of it.
The physical process is continuously there. With the vapor circulating, the wind blowing, it never stops. The fact that only a subset of the ever going procession draws out attention is a testimony to the whimsical nature of our perception. Because of the whim, we are led to some beauties and truths, while missing others.
Clouds are themselves like whims of nature.
A magnificent cloud seen in the sky yesterday.
Friday, September 04, 2009
It's my job never to give up
Back in Tokyo, I am already immersed in a hectic work schedule.
I had a quite stimulating dialogue with Dr. Hisashi Matsumoto, who is a flying doctor on board a "Doctor Heli" helicopter based in Chiba prefecture. Dr. Matsumoto was the guest for "The Professionals" program in NHK.
In the studio, Dr. Matsumoto stressed the importance of outreaching for the medical service. The emergency treatment in a life or death situation is very different from the medical procedures in general. It was intellectually exciting and eventually emotionally rewarding to learn the difficulties and possibilities of emergency medicine.
"You see, we never give up".
Dr. Matsumoto said.
"It is nothing special. It's my job never to give up, to save the patient."
Dr. Matsumoto flies on the helicopter to give emergency treatments more than 600 times a year.
In the NHK Professionals studio. With Dr. Hisashi Matsumoto and Ms. Miki Sumiyohi.
I had a quite stimulating dialogue with Dr. Hisashi Matsumoto, who is a flying doctor on board a "Doctor Heli" helicopter based in Chiba prefecture. Dr. Matsumoto was the guest for "The Professionals" program in NHK.
In the studio, Dr. Matsumoto stressed the importance of outreaching for the medical service. The emergency treatment in a life or death situation is very different from the medical procedures in general. It was intellectually exciting and eventually emotionally rewarding to learn the difficulties and possibilities of emergency medicine.
"You see, we never give up".
Dr. Matsumoto said.
"It is nothing special. It's my job never to give up, to save the patient."
Dr. Matsumoto flies on the helicopter to give emergency treatments more than 600 times a year.
In the NHK Professionals studio. With Dr. Hisashi Matsumoto and Ms. Miki Sumiyohi.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Home coming
It used to be that when I go abroad and come back to Narita airport, I get into a mental zone of inverse cultural shock, finding the atmosphere of my home country somewhat strange, as if I am witnessing it through the eyes of a foreign visitor.
Nowadays, the transition is more smooth. But the metacognition runs deep.
Each culture has its own merits and limits. I seem to discern more accurately the scopes and borders of the context of my native culture, as I shuttle between Japan and abroad. It is not that the context of the English-based civilization, for example, is broader than that of Japanese-based civilization. It is just that they are different.
Home coming has a bittersweet aftertaste. As I get into the rapid train connecting Narita airport and central Tokyo, recollections of the London atmosphere rapidly disappears, and I am left to adapt to the familiar cultural contexts of my mother country, in which I sometimes feel like a stranger.
But then I would feel like a stranger in any single cultural context, mother or foreign.
Nowadays, the transition is more smooth. But the metacognition runs deep.
Each culture has its own merits and limits. I seem to discern more accurately the scopes and borders of the context of my native culture, as I shuttle between Japan and abroad. It is not that the context of the English-based civilization, for example, is broader than that of Japanese-based civilization. It is just that they are different.
Home coming has a bittersweet aftertaste. As I get into the rapid train connecting Narita airport and central Tokyo, recollections of the London atmosphere rapidly disappears, and I am left to adapt to the familiar cultural contexts of my mother country, in which I sometimes feel like a stranger.
But then I would feel like a stranger in any single cultural context, mother or foreign.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
A Farewell to Arms.
On my final day in London, I visited the British Museum with my co-travelers, and talked to Mr. Timothy Clark, head of the Japanese Section. Tim was kind enough to show us how the works of art are stored and preserved, and used to support research and exhibition when necessary. I was impressed by Tim's enthusiasm for the preservation and understanding of Japanese art, especially Ukiyo-e prints and scrolls.
I spent the last few hours in London drinking ale beer in a Kensington pub with my friends. We had a jolly good time, judging from the number of laughters and jokes, which sometimes hinged upon the ridiculous.
Finally, it was time for me to catch a taxi for the airport. My fellow travelers were to stay one more night in London. As I got into my taxi, their arms were stretched out towards me. We shook hands.
As my taxi started to move, their arms remained invigorated. It was a sentimental moment. As I watched my friends waving their arms, I bade a farewell to arms.
I spent the last few hours in London drinking ale beer in a Kensington pub with my friends. We had a jolly good time, judging from the number of laughters and jokes, which sometimes hinged upon the ridiculous.
Finally, it was time for me to catch a taxi for the airport. My fellow travelers were to stay one more night in London. As I got into my taxi, their arms were stretched out towards me. We shook hands.
As my taxi started to move, their arms remained invigorated. It was a sentimental moment. As I watched my friends waving their arms, I bade a farewell to arms.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
The sublime in Turner
I visited Tate Britain and the National Gallery in London. One of the main purposes was to see the paintings by John Mallord William Turner.
Turner is mainly known for his paintings of scenery, especially those of the ocean, where the colors are mingled in a harmonious manner, to give an overall impression of fogginess and vibrancy.
Turner, however, also painted more concrete and "real" works, especially those based on war themes. The drawings and water colors of Turner demonstrate the precision with which the artist was able to capture the details of the subject, if and when he willed so.
Turner's paintings, at their best, give the impression of the "sublime" to the observer. In being merged in the sublime, things lose their individualities. For the purpose of the depiction of the "sublime" in this sense, the ocean, where the water and the lights and winds are in constant motion and resonance, was arguably the ideal subject.
With the traditional methodologies of painting of which Turner was a master, the artist is able to reproduce a particular impression with a degree of much higher exactness compared to the more contemporary methodologies such as installation.
As the artist is able to control every brush, the impression can become more finely tuned as the picture gets abstract in the conventional sense. Being abstract does not signify a loss of information in the case of Turner. Being abstract is the language for the faithful depiction of deep emotions and feelings, which the artist pursued all his life.
The innovations and aesthetical investigations to be found in the art of Turner gave the inspiration for the Turner Prize, which is in a sense a celebration of the continued evolution of the sublime in contemporary art.
The Sunrise with Sea Monsters (circa 1845).
One of my favorite Turner paintings.
Turner is mainly known for his paintings of scenery, especially those of the ocean, where the colors are mingled in a harmonious manner, to give an overall impression of fogginess and vibrancy.
Turner, however, also painted more concrete and "real" works, especially those based on war themes. The drawings and water colors of Turner demonstrate the precision with which the artist was able to capture the details of the subject, if and when he willed so.
Turner's paintings, at their best, give the impression of the "sublime" to the observer. In being merged in the sublime, things lose their individualities. For the purpose of the depiction of the "sublime" in this sense, the ocean, where the water and the lights and winds are in constant motion and resonance, was arguably the ideal subject.
With the traditional methodologies of painting of which Turner was a master, the artist is able to reproduce a particular impression with a degree of much higher exactness compared to the more contemporary methodologies such as installation.
As the artist is able to control every brush, the impression can become more finely tuned as the picture gets abstract in the conventional sense. Being abstract does not signify a loss of information in the case of Turner. Being abstract is the language for the faithful depiction of deep emotions and feelings, which the artist pursued all his life.
The innovations and aesthetical investigations to be found in the art of Turner gave the inspiration for the Turner Prize, which is in a sense a celebration of the continued evolution of the sublime in contemporary art.
The Sunrise with Sea Monsters (circa 1845).
One of my favorite Turner paintings.
Monday, August 31, 2009
London photos.
I came to London for a magazine and book cover trip of the Tate and British Museum. I am staying just for two nights and then will be flying back to Tokyo. Accompanying me are Michiaki Watanabe and Shinzo Ota of Shogakukan publishing, and Shinya Shirasu.
Shinya's friend, Akio Shindate joined us. Shindate has founded a design company VO Corporation based in Kensington.
Since I have lived in U.K. for two years, and have frequently visited London ever since, landscapes in London fills me with much nostalgia and a sense of home coming when I see them.
The U.K. is like a second home for me.
Familiar signs in London Heathrow airport
The taxi stand at Heathrow airport
The Natural History Museum, taken from the speeding Taxi window.
Harrods. Ditto taken.
Hyde Park. Ditto taken.
The Piccadilly Circus. Ditto taken.
The entrance of the Soho hotel.
The Soho hotel room.
A late night drink with Shinya Shirasu, my soul mate.
A Thai dinner at the Patara restaurant in Soho with Michiaki Watanabe, Shinzo Ota, and Akio Shindate. Shinya Shirasu could not make it for the dinner as his luggage was delayed at Heathrow.
Shinya's friend, Akio Shindate joined us. Shindate has founded a design company VO Corporation based in Kensington.
Since I have lived in U.K. for two years, and have frequently visited London ever since, landscapes in London fills me with much nostalgia and a sense of home coming when I see them.
The U.K. is like a second home for me.
Familiar signs in London Heathrow airport
The taxi stand at Heathrow airport
The Natural History Museum, taken from the speeding Taxi window.
Harrods. Ditto taken.
Hyde Park. Ditto taken.
The Piccadilly Circus. Ditto taken.
The entrance of the Soho hotel.
The Soho hotel room.
A late night drink with Shinya Shirasu, my soul mate.
A Thai dinner at the Patara restaurant in Soho with Michiaki Watanabe, Shinzo Ota, and Akio Shindate. Shinya Shirasu could not make it for the dinner as his luggage was delayed at Heathrow.
Change has come to Japan
In a democracy, people have the power to oust the king, no matter how powerful he may be.
For the last 25 years, I have been voting for the opposition, except for one rare occasion when I voted for the ruling party.
The result of yesterday's general election suggests that for the first time since 1955, (except for a 10 months period in 1985), the opposition is going to form the government.
For somebody who has been feeling like a stranger minority in a more or less homogenous society, this victory of the opposition brings a very strange aftertaste. Much as I love the country, I was under the impression that the Japanese people are not so good at breaking the status quo. I was pleasantly surprised.
Because of what we did yesterday, change has come to Japan.
For the last 25 years, I have been voting for the opposition, except for one rare occasion when I voted for the ruling party.
The result of yesterday's general election suggests that for the first time since 1955, (except for a 10 months period in 1985), the opposition is going to form the government.
For somebody who has been feeling like a stranger minority in a more or less homogenous society, this victory of the opposition brings a very strange aftertaste. Much as I love the country, I was under the impression that the Japanese people are not so good at breaking the status quo. I was pleasantly surprised.
Because of what we did yesterday, change has come to Japan.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Born to be wild.
Although the ending of the film is rather sad, the opening scene of "Easy Rider" always thrills me when I watch it.
"Born to be wild" by Steppenwolf is such an inspiration. The scene has entered the canon of our film experience.
The procession of the drama from the impressive opening to the tragic ending might perhaps be an apotheosis of the feeling of
freedom which only exists in a brief, bursting explosion, if we seek its purest forms.
From the opening scenes of Easy Rider (1969)
"Born to be wild" by Steppenwolf is such an inspiration. The scene has entered the canon of our film experience.
The procession of the drama from the impressive opening to the tragic ending might perhaps be an apotheosis of the feeling of
freedom which only exists in a brief, bursting explosion, if we seek its purest forms.
From the opening scenes of Easy Rider (1969)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Bats
Bats are such fascinating creatures, by the very nature of their existence.
The playing time passes quite rapidly for a child. In the olden days we played baseball in the park, forgetting how the day proceeds. Before we noticed it, bats would start flying in the air. For a moment you think it is some kind of butterfly or moth, but then you realize that considering the size and speed of flight they are certainly bats. With a gentle beat of the heart, you realize that it has become dusk again.
The emergence of bats always struck me unexpected. During the day, they are nowhere in sight. Dazzled by the sunshine, you are forgetful of the existence of the bats, as they have little relevance for the life of a child. So their appearance as the sun nears the horizon always came as a shock, as if you were witnessing the emergence of this airborne mammals for the first time in life.
In our mind, there are some entities which resonate in its form of existence with the bats. They would be hidden in the vast ocean of unconsciousness for most of the time. When they do emerge in consciousness, you immediately recognize them, and wonder how on earth you could have been forgetful of their imminent appearance, which could take place at any time.
When I was 9, in the school building somebody found a living bat. Somehow it dropped to the ground, and was moving the wings feebly. In the broad daylight, the bat looked quite different from the magnificent flying queen of dusk. The school teacher put the bat in a box, and carried to a corner of the school building where it would be safe for the day.
The building which housed us at that time was made of wood, with all the poignant expressions of aging. Some years later, the building was demolished to make way for a modern, steel and concrete building.
On the day that the bat was found, I did not realize how precious and never-to-return the whole experience was going to be.
The playing time passes quite rapidly for a child. In the olden days we played baseball in the park, forgetting how the day proceeds. Before we noticed it, bats would start flying in the air. For a moment you think it is some kind of butterfly or moth, but then you realize that considering the size and speed of flight they are certainly bats. With a gentle beat of the heart, you realize that it has become dusk again.
The emergence of bats always struck me unexpected. During the day, they are nowhere in sight. Dazzled by the sunshine, you are forgetful of the existence of the bats, as they have little relevance for the life of a child. So their appearance as the sun nears the horizon always came as a shock, as if you were witnessing the emergence of this airborne mammals for the first time in life.
In our mind, there are some entities which resonate in its form of existence with the bats. They would be hidden in the vast ocean of unconsciousness for most of the time. When they do emerge in consciousness, you immediately recognize them, and wonder how on earth you could have been forgetful of their imminent appearance, which could take place at any time.
When I was 9, in the school building somebody found a living bat. Somehow it dropped to the ground, and was moving the wings feebly. In the broad daylight, the bat looked quite different from the magnificent flying queen of dusk. The school teacher put the bat in a box, and carried to a corner of the school building where it would be safe for the day.
The building which housed us at that time was made of wood, with all the poignant expressions of aging. Some years later, the building was demolished to make way for a modern, steel and concrete building.
On the day that the bat was found, I did not realize how precious and never-to-return the whole experience was going to be.
Friday, August 28, 2009
A strange comradeship
I was 25 or so when I first visited Madrid. I usually do not consult a travel guide except for the very basic information. So I entered the Museo del Prado without any preconceptions.
If my recollection is correct, I think it was the very first room. There, in front of me, was The Garden of Earthly Delights painting by Hieronymus Bosch. Naturally I knew this masterpiece of exotic and striking images already, and have looked at its details admiringly in art books. It is just that I did not expect this painting to be housed in the Prado. It was thus a completely out of the blue thing.
"So, here was this painting!" I realized in an electrifying shock.
I was spellbound, and could not say a word.
Next to me, there was a young guy in T-shirt and with a backpack. Apparently he was a student from the United States. His jaws were literally gaping. He looked at the painting with wide open eyes, and shook his head from time to time as if in disbelief.
We stood in awe before the Garden of Earthly Delights for a long time. There was a strange comradeship between him and me, although it was quite unintended.
I imagined: Maybe this guy saw this painting for the first time in his life. He did not know there was such a painting as the Garden of Earthly Delights.
It was a case where two kinds of onceness in life were being played out in that gallery of the Prado.
I felt that every breath and pulse of my trembling existence was being blessed by the garden of earthly delights. I vividly remember the sensations to this day.
The Garden of Earthly Delights. (Part)
If my recollection is correct, I think it was the very first room. There, in front of me, was The Garden of Earthly Delights painting by Hieronymus Bosch. Naturally I knew this masterpiece of exotic and striking images already, and have looked at its details admiringly in art books. It is just that I did not expect this painting to be housed in the Prado. It was thus a completely out of the blue thing.
"So, here was this painting!" I realized in an electrifying shock.
I was spellbound, and could not say a word.
Next to me, there was a young guy in T-shirt and with a backpack. Apparently he was a student from the United States. His jaws were literally gaping. He looked at the painting with wide open eyes, and shook his head from time to time as if in disbelief.
We stood in awe before the Garden of Earthly Delights for a long time. There was a strange comradeship between him and me, although it was quite unintended.
I imagined: Maybe this guy saw this painting for the first time in his life. He did not know there was such a painting as the Garden of Earthly Delights.
It was a case where two kinds of onceness in life were being played out in that gallery of the Prado.
I felt that every breath and pulse of my trembling existence was being blessed by the garden of earthly delights. I vividly remember the sensations to this day.
The Garden of Earthly Delights. (Part)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Forerunner of logic
Some things keep staying in mind, no matter how intractable they may be.
When I read Roger Penrose's "The Emperor's New Mind" in 1989, I was quite taken by the argument in it. The main thesis was that some parts of human thought, especially those carried out consciously, are non-algorithmic. Citing Goedel's theorem and the enigmas of wave function collapse in quantum mechanics, Penrose argued that human thinking, the process of understanding something in particular, could not be broken down in terms of algorithms which could be carried out by a digital computer.
Although attacked by people from various fields, the Penrose thesis appeared to be essentially correct for me, not in an immediately provable way, but in poignant threads of thinking the gist of which will become only apparent after many years of elaboration and effort by humans. Roger Penrose in that sense is a predictor. It is moving how the sense becomes a forerunner of logic, in that what turns out to be logically correct afterwards is perceived by the sense as intuitively pointing the right way.
Roger Penrose visited Cambridge while I was doing postdoc there. I have written an essay a "Roger Penrose visits Cambridge" based on the experiences at that occasion.
With Roger Penrose in Oxford, U.K.
When I read Roger Penrose's "The Emperor's New Mind" in 1989, I was quite taken by the argument in it. The main thesis was that some parts of human thought, especially those carried out consciously, are non-algorithmic. Citing Goedel's theorem and the enigmas of wave function collapse in quantum mechanics, Penrose argued that human thinking, the process of understanding something in particular, could not be broken down in terms of algorithms which could be carried out by a digital computer.
Although attacked by people from various fields, the Penrose thesis appeared to be essentially correct for me, not in an immediately provable way, but in poignant threads of thinking the gist of which will become only apparent after many years of elaboration and effort by humans. Roger Penrose in that sense is a predictor. It is moving how the sense becomes a forerunner of logic, in that what turns out to be logically correct afterwards is perceived by the sense as intuitively pointing the right way.
Roger Penrose visited Cambridge while I was doing postdoc there. I have written an essay a "Roger Penrose visits Cambridge" based on the experiences at that occasion.
With Roger Penrose in Oxford, U.K.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Power of small things.
I had a dialogue with the artist Rei Naito for a digital radio program by NHK. We have had several conversations before. Some of them has been published in Japanese. This was to be our first dialogue to be put "on air".
I have the highest admirations for Rei Naito's works. My first encounter with Naito's work was when I visited the "Being given" installation in Kinza. There, after some minutes of bewilderments, I knew that I was experiencing something quite extraordinary and new in life.
During the radio time, Rei Naito said that during the process of making something, the "intensity" of the spirit is the key element. Unless she can maintain that intensity, while being relaxed so that she can be flexible with the hand movements, she cannot infuse life into the small items that she produces with strings, metal wires, glasses, and papers.
Rei Naito confided that her creations are concerned with the question: "Can we regard the existence as life in the earthly word as a blessing?"
The power of small things. All life form, whether powerful or weak, are small compared to the world we inhibit. The size of the universe is 13.7 billion light years.
The president of a world's superpower is very small compared to it. The question of life translates into infusing strength into small things.
Rei Natio's magical art makes us realize that, as instantiations of life, we are ever blessed by the power of small things.
Rei Naito's work. From Monty DiPietro's review of the artist.
I have the highest admirations for Rei Naito's works. My first encounter with Naito's work was when I visited the "Being given" installation in Kinza. There, after some minutes of bewilderments, I knew that I was experiencing something quite extraordinary and new in life.
During the radio time, Rei Naito said that during the process of making something, the "intensity" of the spirit is the key element. Unless she can maintain that intensity, while being relaxed so that she can be flexible with the hand movements, she cannot infuse life into the small items that she produces with strings, metal wires, glasses, and papers.
Rei Naito confided that her creations are concerned with the question: "Can we regard the existence as life in the earthly word as a blessing?"
The power of small things. All life form, whether powerful or weak, are small compared to the world we inhibit. The size of the universe is 13.7 billion light years.
The president of a world's superpower is very small compared to it. The question of life translates into infusing strength into small things.
Rei Natio's magical art makes us realize that, as instantiations of life, we are ever blessed by the power of small things.
Rei Naito's work. From Monty DiPietro's review of the artist.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
That crucial water flow
I continued to stroll in the beautiful region of Takashima.
In the Harie district, many houses are equipped with Kabata, a natural water pool where people cool watermelons and vegetables in summer. Carps swim around. They are fed with leftovers from the kitchen. Some of them are tens of years old.
So water is the essential ingredient of life's circulation. No matter where you are on land, water is the single most important and invigorating element for life. Other things such as minerals, sunshine, and background biomass are equally important. Water turns these elements finally into life. Thus, the water flow determines the thriving and interdependence of life.
A kabata is a striking visualization of that crucial water flow.
A scene from Kabata. Tranquility and harmony.
From a Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries webpage.
In the Harie district, many houses are equipped with Kabata, a natural water pool where people cool watermelons and vegetables in summer. Carps swim around. They are fed with leftovers from the kitchen. Some of them are tens of years old.
So water is the essential ingredient of life's circulation. No matter where you are on land, water is the single most important and invigorating element for life. Other things such as minerals, sunshine, and background biomass are equally important. Water turns these elements finally into life. Thus, the water flow determines the thriving and interdependence of life.
A kabata is a striking visualization of that crucial water flow.
A scene from Kabata. Tranquility and harmony.
From a Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries webpage.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Something in us becomes dumb
Computers are wonderful things, but to the extent that we associate with them, something in us becomes dumb.
It is especially true for the internet.
That was my conviction as I strolled in the beautiful rural town of Takashima, Shiga Prefecture, which I visited for a symposium on anti-aging.
There was a special ceremony going on in the small temple, where local people gathered, with children running joyously in the gardens. The old ladies and gentlemen chanted softly Buddhist prayers. It was the perfect visualization of a harmonious life.
You had to open your sensitivities, and witness the happenings, beyond any prescribed meaning, no technical structure. The scenery had nothing to do with the modern technologies. There was something in your mind, quite sacred and vibrant, that became active only when you cut your central nervous system from these wondrous things we call "modern computing technologies."
Apart from these gibberishes, I simply loved the beautiful Satoyama of Takashima.
Lost in the harmony. In Takashima, Shiga.
It is especially true for the internet.
That was my conviction as I strolled in the beautiful rural town of Takashima, Shiga Prefecture, which I visited for a symposium on anti-aging.
There was a special ceremony going on in the small temple, where local people gathered, with children running joyously in the gardens. The old ladies and gentlemen chanted softly Buddhist prayers. It was the perfect visualization of a harmonious life.
You had to open your sensitivities, and witness the happenings, beyond any prescribed meaning, no technical structure. The scenery had nothing to do with the modern technologies. There was something in your mind, quite sacred and vibrant, that became active only when you cut your central nervous system from these wondrous things we call "modern computing technologies."
Apart from these gibberishes, I simply loved the beautiful Satoyama of Takashima.
Lost in the harmony. In Takashima, Shiga.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Freedom to work
I had a dialogue with the political scientist Kang Sang-jung in the Hilltop Hotel in central Tokyo. The conversation was held for a woman's weekly magazine.
The hilltop hotel is famous for its literary connotations. Many famous writers have resided there. Today, it is often used for interviews and literary meetings by the publishers of books and magazines.
I hugely enjoyed discussing with Professor Kang Sang-jung. One of the major topics that emerged was freedom. People generally regard the world history as a gradual progression of freedom for the people. However, in order to enjoy freedom and make use of it fully, one needs to have certain conditions in terms of knowledge, faculties, and social resources. For those who are equipped with the necessary elements, freedom becomes a blessing. Otherwise, freedom can be a curse.
What are the conditions for freedom to work? Our conversations were mingled with references to Soseki Natsume and Max Weber.
Kang Sang-jung is a warm and sincere man.
The hilltop hotel is famous for its literary connotations. Many famous writers have resided there. Today, it is often used for interviews and literary meetings by the publishers of books and magazines.
I hugely enjoyed discussing with Professor Kang Sang-jung. One of the major topics that emerged was freedom. People generally regard the world history as a gradual progression of freedom for the people. However, in order to enjoy freedom and make use of it fully, one needs to have certain conditions in terms of knowledge, faculties, and social resources. For those who are equipped with the necessary elements, freedom becomes a blessing. Otherwise, freedom can be a curse.
What are the conditions for freedom to work? Our conversations were mingled with references to Soseki Natsume and Max Weber.
Kang Sang-jung is a warm and sincere man.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Shock discovery
I think The Carpenters was the first pop singer group that captured my imagination when I was a kid. I guess I was about 10.
"Top of the world", "Yesterday once more", "Close to you", "Please Mr. Postman", and other great songs from the duo gripped my heart, although at that age I did not understand the English lyrics very much.
I fell in love with the voice of Karen Carpenter. The vocal qualia is a given gift. The particular form and strength, dynamics of Karen's vocal chord must have produced the sensuous qualia that my consciousness receives when she sings.
20 years passed, and I was about 30, when I went to a Karaoke room with my best friend Yoshi Tamori (mathematical whiz kid).
I discovered that Yoshi liked the Carpenters songs, too. To my utter bewilderment, when he sang, his voice sounded a bit similar to Karen's. It was a shock discovery. Karen and Yoshi look so different. And Yoshi is a man. Karen was so delicate and thin. Yoshi is, ....well.....
I have kept the enlightenment by this mysterious coincidence as a secret, and have not told anybody, until today that is.
Now Yoshi has something to boast apart from incredible rose origami.....
Myself (left) and Yoshi Tamori at the Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia.
"Top of the world", "Yesterday once more", "Close to you", "Please Mr. Postman", and other great songs from the duo gripped my heart, although at that age I did not understand the English lyrics very much.
I fell in love with the voice of Karen Carpenter. The vocal qualia is a given gift. The particular form and strength, dynamics of Karen's vocal chord must have produced the sensuous qualia that my consciousness receives when she sings.
20 years passed, and I was about 30, when I went to a Karaoke room with my best friend Yoshi Tamori (mathematical whiz kid).
I discovered that Yoshi liked the Carpenters songs, too. To my utter bewilderment, when he sang, his voice sounded a bit similar to Karen's. It was a shock discovery. Karen and Yoshi look so different. And Yoshi is a man. Karen was so delicate and thin. Yoshi is, ....well.....
I have kept the enlightenment by this mysterious coincidence as a secret, and have not told anybody, until today that is.
Now Yoshi has something to boast apart from incredible rose origami.....
Myself (left) and Yoshi Tamori at the Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The true roots
I and Ms. Sumiyoshi Miki had a conversation with the manga artist Takehiko Inoue for "The Professionals" program broadcast by NHK. The conversation, together with the documentary films, will be broadcast on the 15th September on NHK general.
Mr. Inoue stuck me as a fundamentally honest person. Mr. Inoue said that his works are in a sense mirrors which reflect his true self. He said that one needs to get free from self-delusions and pretensions, in order to reach the true roots within oneself. Once the root of one's spirit is reached, one finds there what is universally human. This self-digging of the soul is a necessary process for the creation of works which are at once high quality and popular.
One needs to be courageous to come face to face with the true root of the self. Self-delusion is such a sweet poison. But the courage finally is rewarding.
Mr. Inoue's manga books (notably "Slam Dunk" and "Vagabond") have sold nearly two hundred million copies in Japan alone.
Mr. Inoue stuck me as a fundamentally honest person. Mr. Inoue said that his works are in a sense mirrors which reflect his true self. He said that one needs to get free from self-delusions and pretensions, in order to reach the true roots within oneself. Once the root of one's spirit is reached, one finds there what is universally human. This self-digging of the soul is a necessary process for the creation of works which are at once high quality and popular.
One needs to be courageous to come face to face with the true root of the self. Self-delusion is such a sweet poison. But the courage finally is rewarding.
Mr. Inoue's manga books (notably "Slam Dunk" and "Vagabond") have sold nearly two hundred million copies in Japan alone.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I did not even dream
When I am hungry at night, having been unable to take a respectable bite, at the bed time I am faced with a dilemma. Should I eat something or not? When I succumb to the temptation, I would perhaps put the kettle and make some hot water. I would make one of the instant noodles in the cup, and eat it, with a feeling of guilt on my heart. You are not supposed to eat miso soup noodles in the small hours.
Last night, I had that kind of temptation again, but resisted it. It is not that I had an iron will. I was simply too exhausted.
The feeling of exhaustion translated itself into a need to watch one of my favorite British comedies, Father Ted. I did not last even for a few minutes.
When I awoke this morning, I found the DVD having gone to the very end, with the computer making the characteristic fan sound when it has been on for a long time. It was heat that accompanied my finally sweet sleep. I did not even dream.
Last night, I had that kind of temptation again, but resisted it. It is not that I had an iron will. I was simply too exhausted.
The feeling of exhaustion translated itself into a need to watch one of my favorite British comedies, Father Ted. I did not last even for a few minutes.
When I awoke this morning, I found the DVD having gone to the very end, with the computer making the characteristic fan sound when it has been on for a long time. It was heat that accompanied my finally sweet sleep. I did not even dream.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Colors
When I was a kid, I used to love to eat white thin noodles ( Somen ) in the summer.
After being boiled, the noodles would be put into ice cold water. You pick the noodles with hashi (chopsticks) and put it into a soy source flavored soup.
It used to be that there would be a few colored noodles in one "bouquet" of somen noodles. The noodles would be normally white, but a few would be colored in yellow, red, blue, and green.
Although exactly the same in taste, the colored noodles fascinated me as a kid. When my mother brought a bowl of noodles, I would dash to pick the colored ones, in competition with my sister, who was 2 years younger than me. The height of our competition for the colors was when I was 6 and she was 4. I remember we had several bitter fights, and my mother would complain "what's all this fuss about colors? They are all the same in taste."
We actually knew that.
As years passed, I somehow grew out of the colors. When I was about 9, I remember vividly saying to my sister "you can have all the colored noodles you want." It was a sign of my maturity. It was also an end of my childhood enchantment by the colors.
After being boiled, the noodles would be put into ice cold water. You pick the noodles with hashi (chopsticks) and put it into a soy source flavored soup.
It used to be that there would be a few colored noodles in one "bouquet" of somen noodles. The noodles would be normally white, but a few would be colored in yellow, red, blue, and green.
Although exactly the same in taste, the colored noodles fascinated me as a kid. When my mother brought a bowl of noodles, I would dash to pick the colored ones, in competition with my sister, who was 2 years younger than me. The height of our competition for the colors was when I was 6 and she was 4. I remember we had several bitter fights, and my mother would complain "what's all this fuss about colors? They are all the same in taste."
We actually knew that.
As years passed, I somehow grew out of the colors. When I was about 9, I remember vividly saying to my sister "you can have all the colored noodles you want." It was a sign of my maturity. It was also an end of my childhood enchantment by the colors.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
And we follow the light.
My native and resident country, Japan is a nation of islands. Going abroad used to and remains to have a special connotation for its inhabitants.
I went abroad for the first time when I was 15. I still remember the shock as the airplane descended to Vancouver international airport. I happened to observe what later turned out to be quite an ordinary residential area by Canadian standards. However, at that time, the spacious greens in which the houses, some of them with pools in the backyard, seemed to be a scene from another planet.
Now, when I travel out of and into the Tokyo International airport, the shocks still persist more or less, albeit in a diminished manner. On the other hand, I seem to begin to discern a more universal and global pattern common to all world regions, no matter how different the languages and habitats might appear on the surface.
As time passes, I seem to be more concerned on what is universally human.
I never took a serious interest in nationalism, or in people who advocate it.
As the shock of differences fade away, the light of universality emerges. And we follow the light.
I went abroad for the first time when I was 15. I still remember the shock as the airplane descended to Vancouver international airport. I happened to observe what later turned out to be quite an ordinary residential area by Canadian standards. However, at that time, the spacious greens in which the houses, some of them with pools in the backyard, seemed to be a scene from another planet.
Now, when I travel out of and into the Tokyo International airport, the shocks still persist more or less, albeit in a diminished manner. On the other hand, I seem to begin to discern a more universal and global pattern common to all world regions, no matter how different the languages and habitats might appear on the surface.
As time passes, I seem to be more concerned on what is universally human.
I never took a serious interest in nationalism, or in people who advocate it.
As the shock of differences fade away, the light of universality emerges. And we follow the light.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Solace to the soul of a nation
Parsifal is the final opera of Richard Wagner. It seems to be a fitting end to the career of a composer who pursued the theme of Erlosung durch Liebe (redemption through love) for life.
It was fitting that my first experience of the Bayreuth festival came to a conclusion on Saturday with the performance of Parsifal, conducted by Daniele Gatti and directed by Stefan Herheim (Bayreuth Festspiele, 15th August 2009).
During the Vorspiel (overture), the stage curtain was already open, and we saw a woman with long blonde hair dressed in white lying on a bed. Apparently she is in death agony. In Sehnsucht (yearning), she calls for her boy child. The boy, not understanding the nature of maternal emotion, refuses to be hugged by her and goes away into the garden with a bough in his hand.
Soon after the boy left, the mother dies. The doctor declares the death, and puts a sheet over her body. They leave the room, and the dead woman sinks into the bed and disappears.
When the boy returns, the room is empty. He looks at the bed where his mother has been lying. Still not comprehending what has been going on, he faces with unconscious misgivings a platform in the front of the stage which turns out to be an alter en effect throughout the performance. He lays bricks there, apparently forming a wall. However, the wall remains incomplete and in translation.
This brief description of what happens, in outline, during the course of the overture would do justice, I think, to the multitudes of possibilities that a stage director can put into a contemporary Wagner performance.
It was a production with a heavy resonance with the sometimes tragic modern history of Germany, with vivid and unforgettable images. The fact that an opera can bring solace to the soul of a nation by facing its history without any self deception is once again a testimony of the forces of a great piece of art.
Image from Parsifal directed by Stefan Herheim from Wagneropra.net
It was fitting that my first experience of the Bayreuth festival came to a conclusion on Saturday with the performance of Parsifal, conducted by Daniele Gatti and directed by Stefan Herheim (Bayreuth Festspiele, 15th August 2009).
During the Vorspiel (overture), the stage curtain was already open, and we saw a woman with long blonde hair dressed in white lying on a bed. Apparently she is in death agony. In Sehnsucht (yearning), she calls for her boy child. The boy, not understanding the nature of maternal emotion, refuses to be hugged by her and goes away into the garden with a bough in his hand.
Soon after the boy left, the mother dies. The doctor declares the death, and puts a sheet over her body. They leave the room, and the dead woman sinks into the bed and disappears.
When the boy returns, the room is empty. He looks at the bed where his mother has been lying. Still not comprehending what has been going on, he faces with unconscious misgivings a platform in the front of the stage which turns out to be an alter en effect throughout the performance. He lays bricks there, apparently forming a wall. However, the wall remains incomplete and in translation.
This brief description of what happens, in outline, during the course of the overture would do justice, I think, to the multitudes of possibilities that a stage director can put into a contemporary Wagner performance.
It was a production with a heavy resonance with the sometimes tragic modern history of Germany, with vivid and unforgettable images. The fact that an opera can bring solace to the soul of a nation by facing its history without any self deception is once again a testimony of the forces of a great piece of art.
Image from Parsifal directed by Stefan Herheim from Wagneropra.net
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Booings and bravos
In order for a work of performing art to be maintained in a living condition, it needs to be refreshed in the styles of times. The concerns close to people's heart, the joys and fears of the common man change with the passage of eras. A presentation of a work, no matter how vivid and appropriate within the context of a particular time, tends to fade away in relevance in the face of a new period.
These were the thoughts invoked as I left the theatre after attending the performance of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (Bayreuth Festspiele, on 14th August 2009), conducted by Sebastian Weigle and directed by Katharina Wagner.
Katharina Wagner's Meistersinger premiered in July 2007. It was heavily booed. The fact that people boo certain productions is a testimony that opera is taken very seriously. The production of Der Ring der Nibelungen directed by Patrice Chéreau and conducted by Pierre Boulez, for example, was booed on the first night to such an extent that it became a scandal. The perception of the audience can then go through a dramatic transfiguration. In its final staging in 1980, on the night of Götterdämmerung, Chéreau and Boulez's Ring received 101 curtain calls which lasted for 90 minutes.
It remains to be seen how Katharina's production will be finally received. It is certainly a very interesting production. It is, which is important more than anything else, also very courageous. The fact that the great granddaughter of Richard Wagner is bold enough to try this brand new philosophy of staging is reassuring for the future of the Bayreuth festival.
Katharina herself says thus. “Being booed belongs to the job description of a director.” ( New York times, July 31, 2007)
The progress of the human spirit is a very complex and dynamic process. Booings and bravos are the fuels that propel its procession.
Image from Katharina Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, from Wagneropra.net
These were the thoughts invoked as I left the theatre after attending the performance of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (Bayreuth Festspiele, on 14th August 2009), conducted by Sebastian Weigle and directed by Katharina Wagner.
Katharina Wagner's Meistersinger premiered in July 2007. It was heavily booed. The fact that people boo certain productions is a testimony that opera is taken very seriously. The production of Der Ring der Nibelungen directed by Patrice Chéreau and conducted by Pierre Boulez, for example, was booed on the first night to such an extent that it became a scandal. The perception of the audience can then go through a dramatic transfiguration. In its final staging in 1980, on the night of Götterdämmerung, Chéreau and Boulez's Ring received 101 curtain calls which lasted for 90 minutes.
It remains to be seen how Katharina's production will be finally received. It is certainly a very interesting production. It is, which is important more than anything else, also very courageous. The fact that the great granddaughter of Richard Wagner is bold enough to try this brand new philosophy of staging is reassuring for the future of the Bayreuth festival.
Katharina herself says thus. “Being booed belongs to the job description of a director.” ( New York times, July 31, 2007)
The progress of the human spirit is a very complex and dynamic process. Booings and bravos are the fuels that propel its procession.
Image from Katharina Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, from Wagneropra.net
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Eternal solitude
The performance of Tristan und Isolde, conducted by Peter Schneider and directed by Christoph Marthaler (Bayreuth Festspiele, on 13th August 2009), left a very vivid and stinging aftertaste.
At first, during the 1st and 2nd act, the intentions of Marthaler was not apparent to this observer. The singers kept a very detached stature overall. At the end of the 1st act, for example, apprehending the approach of King Marke the four (Tristan, Isolde, Brangane, and Kurwenal) try to compose themselves by sitting stiff in geometrically arranged chairs.
The contrived and restricted manner in which everyone acted transfigured into significant and moving meaning, as, at the end of the 3rd act, after singing the final words assigned to each, first Kurwenal, then Marke, and finally Brangane turned away from the world, standing in an upright position, face to the wall.
Isolde herself, after singing the beautiful Liebestod alone in the bed that Tristan has been lying, finally lies on the bed, covering her body and face with the white sheet.
So the opera ends with people encapsulated in the isolation of each, distanced from other people, no matter dead or alive. And the love itself, glued by the poignant word "und", is emancipated and lost for ever in the ocean of eternal solitude.
Image from the final act of Marthaler's Tristan und Isolde, from
Wagneropra.net
At first, during the 1st and 2nd act, the intentions of Marthaler was not apparent to this observer. The singers kept a very detached stature overall. At the end of the 1st act, for example, apprehending the approach of King Marke the four (Tristan, Isolde, Brangane, and Kurwenal) try to compose themselves by sitting stiff in geometrically arranged chairs.
The contrived and restricted manner in which everyone acted transfigured into significant and moving meaning, as, at the end of the 3rd act, after singing the final words assigned to each, first Kurwenal, then Marke, and finally Brangane turned away from the world, standing in an upright position, face to the wall.
Isolde herself, after singing the beautiful Liebestod alone in the bed that Tristan has been lying, finally lies on the bed, covering her body and face with the white sheet.
So the opera ends with people encapsulated in the isolation of each, distanced from other people, no matter dead or alive. And the love itself, glued by the poignant word "und", is emancipated and lost for ever in the ocean of eternal solitude.
Image from the final act of Marthaler's Tristan und Isolde, from
Wagneropra.net
Friday, August 14, 2009
Tristan und Isolde
On 13th August 2009, I attended a performance at the Bayreuth Festspiele for the first time in my life. It was Tristan und Isolde.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Repetition leads
So I have come to Munich, in translation to Bayreuth.
I have visited Munich many times. Whenever I can, I listen to operas, preferably Wagner, in the National Theatre. Compared to the dense metropolis in other nations, German capitals tend to be more sparsely inhabited, reflecting, perhaps, the character of the German people. Always keeping a proud distance.
Repetition leads to the realization of life's continuity. Visiting a familiar city reminds one of the former times, how you were young, innocent, and ignorant. With age one gets some chunks of wisdom, but the ignorance persists in a different form.
I bought three books on Wagner in the Hauptbahhof. Reading them would give me the much needed opportunity to refresh my German.
Today, I travel to Bayreuth, to meet my long waited fate. I would be listening to Tristan und Isolde. The greatest and most intensely romantic piece of art ever.
I have visited Munich many times. Whenever I can, I listen to operas, preferably Wagner, in the National Theatre. Compared to the dense metropolis in other nations, German capitals tend to be more sparsely inhabited, reflecting, perhaps, the character of the German people. Always keeping a proud distance.
Repetition leads to the realization of life's continuity. Visiting a familiar city reminds one of the former times, how you were young, innocent, and ignorant. With age one gets some chunks of wisdom, but the ignorance persists in a different form.
I bought three books on Wagner in the Hauptbahhof. Reading them would give me the much needed opportunity to refresh my German.
Today, I travel to Bayreuth, to meet my long waited fate. I would be listening to Tristan und Isolde. The greatest and most intensely romantic piece of art ever.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
And there will be life
Lands in Tokyo, like in any cotemporary city of big lights, are heavily utilized. It was a rare occasion that a space near my house, after the demolition of buildings that occupied the land, was left unattended for the summer.
At first, it looked like a barren land. Soon the weeds began to grow. Now, it is like a jungle of miscellaneous vegetations. Flowers bloom here and there. Butterflies and dragonflies take advantage of the sudden growth of wilderness in the busy cityscape by flying over the green extension.
It is a testimony again that nature, when given sufficient space and time, can take care of itself. It does not require an active intervention on the part of humans. Just let nature go its own way, and there will be life.
I suspect that some essential parts of nature are victimized by our shortsighted meddlings. The unconscious is like the nature, and too much interference by the conscious can disrupt its carefree dynamics.
I take the scene of green apparitions that emerged in the rare open land as a testimony of the importance of autonomy, natural and unconscious.
At first, it looked like a barren land. Soon the weeds began to grow. Now, it is like a jungle of miscellaneous vegetations. Flowers bloom here and there. Butterflies and dragonflies take advantage of the sudden growth of wilderness in the busy cityscape by flying over the green extension.
It is a testimony again that nature, when given sufficient space and time, can take care of itself. It does not require an active intervention on the part of humans. Just let nature go its own way, and there will be life.
I suspect that some essential parts of nature are victimized by our shortsighted meddlings. The unconscious is like the nature, and too much interference by the conscious can disrupt its carefree dynamics.
I take the scene of green apparitions that emerged in the rare open land as a testimony of the importance of autonomy, natural and unconscious.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Expectations
This summer, within a few days, I would be traveling to Bayreuth for the first time in my life.
I will be listening to the performances of Tristan und Isolde, Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg, and Parsifal.
Naturally I am filled with great expectations. Wagner was, has been, and is the creative genius of my love, and attending the Bayreuth festival has been one of my dreams.
I am 46 now. To think it took more than 30 years to realize one's wish inspires one with strange emotions.
There are many spiritual creatures lurking in one's expectations. They have their own life forms, timelines for development. Sometimes they bear fruit, and other times perish. To come to something in actuality has nothing to do with the fulfilment of one's expectations. Expectations have their own territory, where Queens and Kings with no parallels in the real world reign in the darkness and mist.
When I am seated in the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth, and the lights go out, as the first notes resound, I will have finally found a restful tomb for all these wonderful creatures that have been lurking in my expectations.
I will be listening to the performances of Tristan und Isolde, Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg, and Parsifal.
Naturally I am filled with great expectations. Wagner was, has been, and is the creative genius of my love, and attending the Bayreuth festival has been one of my dreams.
I am 46 now. To think it took more than 30 years to realize one's wish inspires one with strange emotions.
There are many spiritual creatures lurking in one's expectations. They have their own life forms, timelines for development. Sometimes they bear fruit, and other times perish. To come to something in actuality has nothing to do with the fulfilment of one's expectations. Expectations have their own territory, where Queens and Kings with no parallels in the real world reign in the darkness and mist.
When I am seated in the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth, and the lights go out, as the first notes resound, I will have finally found a restful tomb for all these wonderful creatures that have been lurking in my expectations.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Tears of onceness.
When the onceness of life touches us, tears drop from the eyes.
Yesterday, there was a wedding party. Shinichi Nozawa, a Ph.D student in my laboratory at the Tokyo Institute of Technology, and Emiko Ito, an editor at the publishing house Chikumashobo, were married.
In Japanese wedding festivities, it is customary that the newly-wed couple present flower bouquets to their parents at the end of the party, expressing gratitude.
As the pair approached the parents, they already appeared to be on the verge of crying.
The childhood days when they clung to the knees of their parents. The entrance ceremonies of elementary school. The cherry blossoms. The sports meeting, with parents watching the child run. The graduation of universities. Parents treated by the first salary of life.
All these things, with the inevitable procession of time, surround the couple. Shinichi and Emiko cry. The tears are the crystals of their happiness, the epitome of passage of life.
Here's to the the tears of onceness.
Shinichi and Emiko preparing to present the bouquet.
In Joshui Kaikan party room, Tokyo.
Yesterday, there was a wedding party. Shinichi Nozawa, a Ph.D student in my laboratory at the Tokyo Institute of Technology, and Emiko Ito, an editor at the publishing house Chikumashobo, were married.
In Japanese wedding festivities, it is customary that the newly-wed couple present flower bouquets to their parents at the end of the party, expressing gratitude.
As the pair approached the parents, they already appeared to be on the verge of crying.
The childhood days when they clung to the knees of their parents. The entrance ceremonies of elementary school. The cherry blossoms. The sports meeting, with parents watching the child run. The graduation of universities. Parents treated by the first salary of life.
All these things, with the inevitable procession of time, surround the couple. Shinichi and Emiko cry. The tears are the crystals of their happiness, the epitome of passage of life.
Here's to the the tears of onceness.
Shinichi and Emiko preparing to present the bouquet.
In Joshui Kaikan party room, Tokyo.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
NHK Saga
NHK is the national public broadcasting organization in Japan. I host, with Ms. Miki Sumiyoshi, "The Professionals" program broadcast weekly since January 2006 by NHK.
One of the characters of NHK which is distinguishing compared to the commercial broadcasters is that it has branches in local cities all over Japan. Since broadcasting by NHK has a designated public role, it is expected to cover local issues and news as well as national and global trends.
I have been visiting the city of Saga for the last couple of days, and sure enough, there was a NHK branch in Saga, too.
Interestingly, a NHK branch is usually situated near the Old Castle site. After the Meiji restoration in 1867, the new government buildings were built in or the near the old castle sites, which were considered to be symbols of the "ancien regime". The fact that the NHK branches are usually at the Edo-era castle sites indicates the public nature of NHK. It is part of the institutions of modernized Japan.
I sometimes feel that it is those idiosyncratic and scattered facts about a nation that constitute the implicit experience of living in that country. The location of NHK branches, for example.
NHK Saga building, near the old Saga Castle site.
One of the characters of NHK which is distinguishing compared to the commercial broadcasters is that it has branches in local cities all over Japan. Since broadcasting by NHK has a designated public role, it is expected to cover local issues and news as well as national and global trends.
I have been visiting the city of Saga for the last couple of days, and sure enough, there was a NHK branch in Saga, too.
Interestingly, a NHK branch is usually situated near the Old Castle site. After the Meiji restoration in 1867, the new government buildings were built in or the near the old castle sites, which were considered to be symbols of the "ancien regime". The fact that the NHK branches are usually at the Edo-era castle sites indicates the public nature of NHK. It is part of the institutions of modernized Japan.
I sometimes feel that it is those idiosyncratic and scattered facts about a nation that constitute the implicit experience of living in that country. The location of NHK branches, for example.
NHK Saga building, near the old Saga Castle site.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Dragon.
I was in the car on the way to the conference site in Saga. We have just been to the old Saga castle site. As we left the Saga Castle History Museum, I noticed that black clouds have gathered in the sky. It was a very hot afternoon. In the newspaper "Saga Shimbun" next morning, it was reported that the temperature reached 37.8 degrees Centigrade, the second highest in recorded history.
In the car, we heard rumbles in the distance. A thunderstorm has come. As I witnessed the first thunderbolt running zigzag in the sky, I suddenly thought of the dragon.
The human brain sometimes plays such funny tricks. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the intensive hour of being immersed in history in the museum. Perhaps the hot air affected me. I am not sure what combination of elements led to that hallucination, but at that very moment, it seemed so natural to me to associate the thunderbolt with the magnificent existence of the imaginary creature.
The moment was gone quite as rapidly as it came. We arrived at the auditorium, and I was again in the practical world of attending to the tightly made conference schedule.
The dragon had disappeared.
In the car, we heard rumbles in the distance. A thunderstorm has come. As I witnessed the first thunderbolt running zigzag in the sky, I suddenly thought of the dragon.
The human brain sometimes plays such funny tricks. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the intensive hour of being immersed in history in the museum. Perhaps the hot air affected me. I am not sure what combination of elements led to that hallucination, but at that very moment, it seemed so natural to me to associate the thunderbolt with the magnificent existence of the imaginary creature.
The moment was gone quite as rapidly as it came. We arrived at the auditorium, and I was again in the practical world of attending to the tightly made conference schedule.
The dragon had disappeared.
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