Awaiting Ceremony

In one of the rooms in the restaurant that has been the subject of the last few posts, there were two ceremonial robes on display, both gorgeous works of art in their own right, simply beautiful.  I am not quite sure when these are worn (if ever) but they looked rather mysterious and ghostly in a room by themselves, on a night when there were few people in evidence.

One note is that I asked the two people who went with me to dress their very best, as I expected it to be a glamorous place.  Alas, we were the only ones who want to abide by any dress code.  The others looked as if they had just come from a baseball game, or something pedestrian.  No wonder I love places which enforce a dress code- they might go all the small details wrong, but at least one doesn't have to see any t-shirts or shorts anywhere.

I Wonder I Wander

For a few days there (actually, a little less than two weeks), I was without passport as my old one had to be renewed.  Yes, ten years does go by so fast, with all the highlights and lowlights of that time.  Now, with new passport in hand, I am about ready (well, I often am, to be honest) to take off to somewhere exotic, exciting and extraordinary.

Yet I find myself as I have been over the last two years or so, rather troubled as to where I could possibly go.  There is of course France and England, those steady locations that always have wonderful things to be found, but as for the rest of the world, only some locales (Switzerland, Prague, Russia, Sweden, the Netherlands, and possibly Vietnam for a specific food reason) strike my fancy and yet I never seem to go there.  Like my friend who goes to the same dull places every year, I find I cannot fault him as I do the same myself- except, of course, I avoid the beach, anything that smacks of "rest and relaxation"and any place which to be perfectly honest has little of cultural value.

Perhaps I am stuck in a bit of a rut, mentally, emotionally, psychologically and all of the rest of it.  An appropriate vision may be the fellow on the cover (which I adore!) of the The Wanderer by Alain-Fournier, as depicted by Edward Gorey, who is alone and lost, but looking (trying to find, desperately) something/someone that he has seen before but knows not how or even if it is possible.

Box Lunch

Following on yesterday's post, if you remember, we were to attend a birthday dinner which was at a place of my choice.  It is one of the historical landmarks of Sendai, for its being the location of generations of the Date clan (which founded the city).  Located about 45 minutes away from the so-called center of the city, the area is a strange mix of country and suburb, with the suburb winning out.  Yet, somehow, this place can exist- probably because of its claim to heritage.

Now that it is a restaurant, for special occasions (or an extravagant regular meal), the chief interest is that a portion of the meals are contained inside a "tansu" box, which is also one of the great artistic crafts of the region. Thus, the name for the set meal is "Tansu Ryori" (tansu cuisine).  As to be expected, it is a culinary and visual delight.

Although we could not book a private room, that was perfectly all right when I realized where we were seated- in the drawing room or study (known as the Shoin).  There was a looming samurai outfit of the Date clan in the "tokonoma" (a recessed space), which was right at our table.  The other clients who decided to make it a special night spoke so quietly that it was a pleasure to be there, and soon enough, they had all gone, leaving us alone in the giant space, so that it was a private room after all.

open the drawers and voila!

and more!  and more still not in the box...

night falls.

The Setting, The Backdrop

If you have been following me for a little while now, you will of course realize that I am always trying to go opposite the direction of the City, which is where I was found yesterday evening for a birthday dinner.  Now, I was trying to find the most atmospheric place (because food and drink have always been only secondary to me), and I believe that with my research, I was able to find it.  Nestled in a strange area which was once countryside and now is suburban, it still retains some of nature (which they could not destroy), and the following are scenes from the "backyard" of the place where we had our celebratory dinner- taken just before the sun set on this part of the world.

a family on an outing, almost alone

in which a flyfisherman casts

and then light into shadow

A Place

I never did tell you about a place I went to right before I left the City, for this City.  It is a place which retains its magic spell over me, especially here in this solitude, but other than that fact, I will keep my thoughts secret.

the house

the view, a walk in the evening

the table where we sat and talked and drank and laughed

Bread Factory (Cartoon Edition)

While driving around the neighborhood in search of cultural things, I saw that there was an entire complex devoted to the cartoon character known as Anpanman (a fellow who is named after a bun, and many of his friends are also similarly based on pastries and such), so I decided to go take a look.  What I did not expect, although why ever not I have no idea, was that there would be tons of children and it was a nightmarish noise fest.  So, trying to look as quick as possible and becoming easily overwhelmed by the sheer commercialism, I hightailed it out of there, but not before a few yen was dropped on some buns.

A Step Backwards, A Stitch Forward

As much as I love things that are exquisitely tailored (not of the machine variety, I mean, by hand), there is an absolute sense of the "human" in things that are hand-made but not meant to be aesthetic first and foremost.  The other day, when I was not shooting rubber bands with young lads (see my previous post), I was looking at an exhibition of local clothes made by real workers of the land.  They were able to use very simple means, growing material from scratch and then forming them, dying them, shaping them, in order to develop the necessary garments for their life.  As someone who has never so much as watered a plant (I exaggerate, but you get my drift), I find this to be absolutely astonishing.

My favorite part must have been the patchwork garment which was likely composed of former pieces and/or unused ones.  There is more art in one stitch of that garment than anything you will ever see on the contemporary runways.

Bang Bang

Over the weekend, I did a combination of culture and nonsense in equal amounts, with culture probably the winner as usual.  When I went to visit the local history museum, I had expected to be the only one there, but surprisingly, there were a handful of people.  I am not quite sure exactly what prompted any of them to choose that particular hot saturday to make the rounds, but it seemed that most of them were having a good time- in particular, several young boys and girls who made the most of one large room set up to showcase toys of yesteryear, including instructions how to play them.  There were no video-games in sight, which was a godsend.

I was drawn to one particular game, which was an easy set-up of wooden or metal guns (all handmade from cheap materials) which used rubber bands as "bullets" and whose intent was to hit random targets made of an assemblage of whatnot.  This was great fun, and I joined the boys in a festive shoot 'em down.  Here are two good stories related to it- the kind, older boy (in blue), seeing that I was standing up, gave me a chair to sit in (he later found out himself) and his friend (or brother) in the grey could not make his gun "shoot", so we traded.  The joke of it is that I couldn't make it work either...

I must also add that the girls paid me no mind, so in that respect, I felt like I was back in grade school.

Still Here (Last Man Standing)

Although I like to navigate any place on foot, yesterday I was given the opportunity to snoop around in a car.  Now, I often dislike being in a car because one cannot gauge any real distance, it being removed from human experience (or a proper feeling of how it is to understand space), and mostly because I find myself (since I am never the driver) to simply pull over and look at what I feel inclined to do.  Often, unfortunately, which is probably my fault, the driver and I do not see eye to eye on what is interesting (such a flea market, an old sign, a falling apart structure, etc) so I am denied the chance to check out something that could be extraordinary.

Yesterday I did not see anything so extraordinary, but we did do some snooping at a building that looked so out of place in this one neighborhood, the one remaining old building, essentially it was the Last Man Standing. Upon entering this place, which sold new dishes for the kitchen/living room (and bonsai plants outside), the owner showed us a photograph of a television series that had filmed there a few years ago.  What was the series about?  A granddaughter goes to find her grandfather's home, only to realize that it is gone, long gone.

Not a one in sight

It's obviously not all about nature with me, but I am getting there in my slow way, turning my back to the life of the city (which nonetheless haunts me still), and even when visiting the birthplace/home and adjunct smaller museum (the larger one having been affected by the tsunami of last year and now closed) of the famed Japanese manga artist Ishinomori Shotaro, there was a small film that I chanced to watch in which the narrator and character (Ishinomori himself) with two children spoke of the ways in which even his small town has changed.  One of the obvious ones was there was a stream of running water nearby, with fireflies lighting the night, which I thought was a lovely image- but was sad to see the before and after (even in cartoon form).

After leaving the place, I crossed the street to take a better photograph and then looked down, only to see the exact thing that Mr Ishinomori was speaking of- all dried up, not a firefly in sight.

long since dry

the birth home of Ishinomori Shotaro

The Call of Birds

One of my friends wrote something just today- that she felt herself to be a New Yorker, which is something that can in my opinion be claimed only by people who were born there (which she was), which was a bit surprising to me, but who knows?  As I myself always thought that I would be a child of the city, in particular New York (the only city in the United States) and perhaps of London, Paris, never of Tokyo, never of the many pretenders to the throne to the title of "City"

Which brings me back again to the Izunuma trip (see previous two posts), where I saw a display of objects related to nature, including the following posters (bird journal of some sort) created by schoolchildren and a display of wild birds.  I was particularly happy to see the work of the kids, because far away from the pollution (of all sorts) that the city has, they will hopefully be able to grow up in an environment that will help them avoid the many unnecessary attractions of the city.

For example, there they could hear (clearly) the sounds of birds.  If they were in the city, they would hear all sorts of noise that destroys the soul.

So, this one's for the countryside from a (former) city boy.

Rocky Beginnings

Looking for a bite to eat at the visitor center after the Lotus Viewing (see last post), it looked to be a disappointing experience from the get-go- it was a futuristic looking building that seemed out of place in the small town of Izunuma.  What was surprising, though, was that inside were a host of splendid exhibits, all of which were no doubt small in scale and not so glamorous, but that was seen through the eyes of a jaded fool rather than someone with open eyes, so eyes opened was I as I wandered among the displays.

Among them was one of rock sculptures, quite simple in fact, made by local school children, some of who did rather predictable numbers (based on cartoon or popular culture) but some of who did proper art with delicate and beautiful color combinations evoking nature.

with the Lotus fields in the background

Riding with the Buddha

It being a short holiday weekend here, I put down my normal reading and working to take a short car ride (about an hour and a half) to Izunuma, where I had no idea what to expect, hearing only half of what was being said (my not paying attention, really), but even upon driving near the destination and looking at the distance, I knew it was something that I desperately wanted to see.  It was a field of giant pink lotuses covering a distance of miles, and which some intrepid citizens have carved a pathway through in order to drive a boat through.  It looked as if on flat land, but it was all over water.  The size of the lotuses themselves were gigantic, and it is easy to see why some have depicted the Buddha sitting on one, because it only takes a little imagination to think that the lotuses can bloom much larger (perhaps they can, I am unsure with my pathetic knowledge of nature-)

Photographs even by the best of so-called photographers being but poor representations of reality,it is rather senseless to present you with my own, but I only do so because I want to share with you some of the quiet joy that was seen by some of us that afternoon.

Although the navigator of the little motor propelled boat said that the best time to see it would be around sundown, which can be easily imagined.

the entrance pavilions

As Luck Would Have it

I haven't been out and about recently, exploring the town, the city, the whatever it is that is around me, so I have to draw on the pile of images that is in my collection from last month (not that it really matters, as I do not follow any true schedule, anyway).

There is a shop very close to me, which has been handed down for generations and is engaged in the manufacture of Daruma dolls (as well as other things, but it is mostly known for the Daruma, which is traditionally a children's toy but has also come to be widely regarded as a symbol of good luck and/or perseverance.

I often walk by the store, as it is on one of my usual routes, and take a peep inside at the artisans who work (and most likely also live) there.  It is nice to see them all gathered in the studio area, painting and assembling them- and, of course, I entertained the idea of popping in and helping them out, but that is just my usual fanciful thinking.

It is also fun to walk by whenever the dolls (and other items) are put outside to dry- even without the addition of most of the paints (and material), they exhibit a singular kind of charm.

the final product, in different sizes.

white out

no color or one color

looking like candy apples.

Away from my desk

Today is a brilliant day, in that summer has taken a break (hopefully not to return until next year) and it is cool as the best day of Autumn, but it is not so good in that I have hit upon a wall of sorts in terms of writing.  Not quite sure what to do at the moment, the possibilities (diversions included) being almost endless, I still find myself feeling that I should sit through this turbulence because the words will come. I think perhaps it is because this little work I am doing is a rather predictable number, and I am rushing through to the punchline rather than letting any atmosphere build up.

Added to that, I got a case of the blues, when I was directed (indirectly) to the journals of Sylvia Plath, and for additional disillusionment, I plucked from shelves The Book of Disquiet (Pessoa)- which was recommended to me by my good friend S.S.

Not to worry, I'm just writing a bunch of words here, blowing off steam, and soon it'll be back to the old drawing (writing) board for me.

Abstracted view of my studio

Streaming

This week is going by snail slow and lightning fast at the same time and it seems I haven't a clue which direction to follow, as my own is a bit upside down, not from laziness or plain idleness but because words are getting cut off left and right and who knows which way they're going but they'll get there.

In the meantime, yesterday morning I was roaming around town to look at the decorations for the Sendai Tanabata Festival, where a great many streamers are hung and displayed quite prominently (and coming down to a height about five feet off the ground), so that in order to navigate, one has to either walk around or through the display.  This was fun for a while, before the hordes of tourists and others descended upon the town (even though it was a monday morning), and before long I had to escape into a luxury department store just to rebalance, but it was interesting (although for someone like me, once is probably good enough)

Peas and Rice

Today being the anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima, a fact made known to me when looking at the many cranes on the Tanabata Festival streamers and from a post of my friend (some of whose family were killed on that day), I thought I would take a little look at the archives available on-line, but I knew beforehand I could not look too closely because of the tragic and unnecessary nature of that incident.

A photographer Hiromi Tsuchida 土田ヒロミhas captured many images from that time, and has made repeated visits afterwards. This is from his first visit.

Lunch Box:  Reiko Watanabe (15 at the time) was doing fire prevention work under the Student Mobilization Order, at a place 500 meters from the epicenter.  Her lunch box was found by the school authorities under a fallen mud wall.  Its contents of boiled peas and rice, a rare feast at the time, were completely carbonized.  Her body was not found."

____

What can anyone say to that except Fuck Nuclear, Fuck War?  Even today, 67 years later, most people have not learned a damned thing.  If Reiko Watanabe lived, she would have been 83 years old (which is very likely, because many Japanese women live to that age and more) but she never got the chance.  

Starlight, sky bright, fire in the air

Last night (although I have to admit that time plays many tricks on me these days), I went to see the annual fireworks in my town.  Braving the crowds and waiting hours ahead of schedule, I was joined by probably everyone between the ages of 16 to 30, which was an interesting enough thing because it gave me some ideas for a story, but otherwise my interest in fireworks has waxed and waned over the years (having had enough of them at the many, many times I went to see them in the glorious displays in Coney Island Summer).

They were still nice, though, but I think that melancholy has started to seep into too much when I see these sorts of things.

Night falls and it will soon begin.

The sky is alive, it is brilliant, it is now, it is always.

there are stars but they are not stars