Dogs and Demons_ Tales From the Dark Side of Japan - Kerr [142]
Foreigners, and even Japanese new to a study of traditional arts, may assume that this rigid diagrammatic approach is a part of the tradition. But the opposite is true. Ikebana was a meditative practice, heavily influenced by Zen, taxing to the utmost the artist's spontaneous skill and sensitive observation of nature. Trying to duplicate a geometric shape was definitely not the point. Ikenobo Senno, the founder of the Ikenobo School and the father of ikebana, in the famous preface to his seminal essay on flowers in 1542, went out of his way to stress that the aim of ikebana was not to enjoy a shape but to bring out the basic nature of a flowering branch or tree, thereby mystically pointing the way toward the secrets of the universe.
From this point of view, what we see in modern ikebana books is a denial of everything that ikebana once stood for. The same goes for the modern tea ceremony, which also has manuals demonstrating how to sit and stand at every instant of the ceremony, and where to lay the utensils – exactly so many centimeters from the edge of the tatami, no more, no less. All this has the look and feel of tradition, but it's definitely not tradition. The rules in these manuals are newly invented, written especially for adults who have graduated from Japan's postwar schoolrooms.
All of this is not to say that Japan's culture, modern or traditional, has become hopelessly childish. The great fashion designer Miyake Issey, the inspired flower arranger Kawase Toshiro, the architect Ando Tadao, and other fine contemporary artists have shown a profound understanding of Japanese tradition and combined this with a contemporary outlook. The world rightly admires these great artists, yet back home in Japan they do not represent the mainstream, and in private they despair at what they see going on around them. For every exquisite pleated Issey vest sold in Aoyama, youngsters in Harajuku are buying myriad kawaii garments with oversize socks, sailor suits fringed in lace, purses embellished with the smiling face of adorable three-year-old Chibi Maruko-chan, and shoes that squeak. In the time that Ando completes one pure abstract structure, Hasegawa Itsuko and her followers have raised dozens of fuyu-type monuments across the land, each a kindergarten-style concatenation of fiberglass, metal cutouts, and plywood. For every lady pleased by Kawase's simple arrangements of a few flower petals and branches, tens of thousands of Ikenobo followers labor on manga-esque creations of foil and vinyl. The future belongs to them.
Well, not completely. I had an interesting encounter at that ikebana show that illustrates in a nutshell the difference between how the Japanese and foreigners look at Japan's cultural crisis. As I was walking down the rows of flower arrangements, I came across a young American woman who was studying ikebana in Tokyo and her middle-aged Japanese lady friend whom she had brought along to see the show. «Isn't the Japanese love of nature wonderful?» the American woman commented to me. «I guess so,» I replied. «But I see here some vinyl, here some fiberglass and leaves stapled to painted cardboard. Where's the nature?» The American ikebana practitioner grew angry. «Treating flowers this way is traditional!» she exclaimed.
The Japanese woman, who had not said a single word, joined in at this point. It turned out that she was not an ikebana practitioner herself; she had come along merely to see the art form that her foreign friend was so enthusiastic about. She had been walking around feeling vaguely uncomfortable, but in such a prestigious location and with her friend oohing and aahing, she had not felt confident in expressing her doubts. Hearing me, she relaxed and gave vent. «Yes!» she exclaimed. «These things are monstrous. This is environmental degradation, that's what it is!»
The American woman was typical of a phenomenon: the foreigner who converts to Japan, as one might convert to a religion. For her, announcing