The Art Of Tea. The Art of Film.

DVD Available from Inspirita.org

Years ago, I learned that the measure of true Art of anything -- from dance to ritual, from cooking to writing -- is whether there has been a transformative experience on the part of creator and (if any) "audience". One might even say that when there is a merging of the witnesses (including the artist as participant observer) with that which is created, then Creativity is underway. 

Is it possible to have that experience by witnessing the creative process virtually, i.e. once removed by the mediating veil of recording or once-again-telling? Of course! The "entertainment" industry is built upon this "reality".

Thus, I am applauding (with a silent bow) the recent film Sen Shin An: The Other World of Tea for leaving me not only refreshed as if I just had a bowl of tea, but also for moving me so far as to leave the comfort of the viewer's chair and set out my dogu to enact a temae to create that bowl of tea.

Mitigating the suspension of tealeaf particles in hot water within a set time period is the mark of a successful temae. Likewise, an artfully made film distributes the ideas and images of its essence throughout the period of time during which you engage the audience. Sen Shin An does this very well.

Produced by Inspirita in 2011 in a gorgeous Kyoto autumn, its sections run from the didactic principles, such as wa, kei, sei, jaku, into a chaji hosted by Bruce Hamana, sensei. Bruce has been employed by the Kokusaibu (foreign division) of the Urasenke Foundation for several decades and is usually seen surrounded by Midorikai (foreign school) students at a formal outing or at his busy desk. I admit that I didn't recognize him as the kimono-clad teishu of the scenes of the chaji, being prompted only at the end in the credits. Seeing him at peace (even filmed!) pouring water is lovely.

People new to chanoyu always ask me if there is a special occasion during which tea is presented formally in Japan. Of course, the answer is "ichi go ichi e", i.e. Only THIS Moment ... every day is a good day!

The film’s artistry is that it sets up the final, seemingly austere, segment in the tearoom by inviting the viewer to witness the every day busy-ness of Japan in the same mind-set. The mise-en-scene removes the expectation that something very complex -- dare I say, important, mysterious, etc.? --  is happening, something that many other films do in an attempt to echo the power of chanoyu in Japanese cultural history.

In fact, nothing more than just simply making tea is occurring. The complexity, if well inculcated on the part of the host, is nowhere to be “seen” by the guest. 

The value of this short (67:39) film is that it captures the spirit of tea and shares it “just” so. Whatever history or cultural nuance are behind the experience, it has been whisked into a lovely frothy (Urasenke style!) bowl of usucha.

Stewart Wills, the film’s director, notes, “Although there may be various technical points of interest to followers of Tea, the film did not set out to be an instruction manual. Rather it strove to convey the inner spirit of Tea.” I wonder why the point was made about “instruction manual”.

When I began my chado study, I was admonished not to take any video of the okeiko, the class. One learns by observing, a fellow student pointed out. For one not able to understand Japanese, and thus (still) having little reference support than the now defunct Chanoyu Journal, I settled into the reality that I needed to improve my observation skills and to be careful not to practice only what my memory allowed, which was often incorrect. Later, Urasenke produced an expensive set of videos (still not in English) of the basic procedures and others that augment the famed “green books” (Japanese only) that showed step-by-step how-tos for the temaes. So, I can see why students may lament the lack of such a didactic film. (Urasenke’s Tankosha Publishing arm now produces a few more English-language books of the basics of the practice.)

On the other-hand, today YouTube and so many other sources of moving media are full of “Japanese tea ceremony” pieces. With the significantly more widespread availability of matcha (although, aside from specific well-crafted brands, usually not very good) and a mail-order chasen (the whisk), anyone can make a bowl of tea with a few trials.

Enough writing ... I must not keep the hot water waiting ...

"WelComing" Going, Going, Gone? Holding on to Gratitude

Kansha: Gratitude

greatful people are happier, healthier long after the leftovers are gobbled up, notes The Wall Street Journal. 

Yet, how do we know that those thanks have been received? 

Why is it important to be able to receive the gratitude for our actions? 

Are we able to be gracious enough to receive them?

It seems that in the days of virtual friendships and cyber-commuting the welcome mat has been replaced by the “send” button in a truly never-ending exchange of appreciation that, like the traditional Thanksgiving turkey, may be full of stuffing.

Over the years, "you’re welcome!”, the formal (i.e. “proper” in some books) English reply been be falling out of favor in this frenzied, informal, digital world. We hurriedly reply to the ubiquitous expression of gratitude (and its shortened versions, “Thanks”) with yet another “No, thank you!”

Whoa! Was the gratitude actually received? By replying to “thank you!” with “No, thank you!” may seem polite enough, but it does not mark the completion of the exchange.

Linguistics expert Lynne Murphy notes in her TEDx Talk that the British proclivity for the thankee to “Thank” the thanker back is usually due to the reality that no one else has anything more to say. In contrast, while Americans have been observed to have an overwhelming desire to show endless gratitude -- hence, “Thanksgiving” is a national holiday. Yet, she projects that most likely the practical depth of such appreciation is relatively shallow. She makes the point that the latter politeness behavior system is “especially addictive” in the digital world, such as Facebook.

No matter where in the world, language is losing its grip on the formalities of the past; my efforts to achieve good grades in English classes of my youth may have been an end in themselves. Being formal for formal's sake has little regard in the 21st Century, but while that may be more a factor of a desire to be genuine, there is a missed opportunity: what appeared to be "polite" for no reason is in fact an opportunity to experience something very human.

The reply to “Thank you!” varies across cultures. In some cases it casts a shadow of humility on the donor, saying that the gesture really did not cause any significant loss or was not a burden. Examples of “It’s nothing” or “No big deal” or “No problem” include “De res” (Catalan), “Walang anuman” (Tagalog) “De rien” (French) and “Nincs mit” (Hungarian). Thanking someone in such a way that is disproportionate to the relationship can provoke resentment, guilt and even anger.

Other replies can be “misunderstood or even misused to exert control over the receiver!” notes researcher Jeffrey J. Froh, assistant professor of psychology at Hofstra University in Hempstead, N.Y., in The Wall Street Journal. Thus, “Please” as “Bitte schön” (German), “Bevakesha” (Hebrew), “Prego” (Italian), and “Prosze” (Polish), can be inferred that the gesture is one way, or as children say in the game of tag, “No tag backs!”. In other cases, the giving might have been undertaken with the intention that, hopefully, it will promote pleasure, such as “Mi gusto” (Spanish) or “Gerdu svo vel” (Icelandic). The Danish “Selv tak” (Thanks yourself) and Swedish “Varsagod” (Be so good) makes the exchange more final.

Replying with “you’re welcome!”, however, is unique It can be said, or conveyed through a gesture, such as a bow in Japan or holding palms touching as if in prayer that is offered in many Southeast Asian and other Buddhist cultures.  There is often a break in the mute exchange during which time the cycle of give and acceptance actually achieves a fullness in the mutual experience and, thus, is complete. It promotes the idea that the recipient is literally welcomed into the exchange and deserving of our efforts.

Rikyu's Private Writings

Check out Daniel Burkus' generous blog for translations and explanations of Rikyū Densho — the Private Writings of Sen no Rikyū: I. The Nambō-ate Densho. 

Reflects some of the subtleties imparted by my teacher, Matsumoto Sosei, sensei. I never realized these were "codified".

Intimate vs Gigantic: The Temaeza Challenge

More than 15 years ago, I had the privilege to make tea for Eric Lloyd Wright and Mary Wright atop the construction site of their home-to-be overlooking the Malibu Cove and the Pacific Ocean. Eric, who passed away at the age of 92 in March 2023, was Frank Lloyd Wright's grandson and a Taliesin Fellow, meaning that he not only grew up but also apprenticed with his grandfather in Wisconsin, and Arizona. Mary is an accomplished artist and taught painting in Japan for many years in the 1950s. Each has been deeply committed to maintaining sustainable lifestyle very close to the land as the events of Wright Organic Resource Center testify. 

Eric continued design and built in the signature "organic architecture" style of his grandfather, where building and surroundings engage each other to create a style of life akin to living with  nature, not merely in it. This was to be their family "house", but it was a dream never fulfilled as a residence. Rather, it remains a living sculpture in nature, site of many community gatherings, film soots and a place "just" to be quiet in nature. 

Like a temae, its most "outstanding feature is that it is literally not out-standing; it cannot be seen from any road or from any other spot on the 24 acres upon which it rests. When the structural concrete pour (walls, floor, internal supports) was completed, the adjacent hillside at the “back” of the building, a site sacred to native Chumash peoples and those of us who honor the natural forces of life, was pushed against the "back" wall. The soil carpetes the roof, blends into the profile of the "second" (there are interior stairs) story and formed part of the wall of the entryway.  It is seamlessly connected to the earth.

It was on the top of the plywood for the roof that set up my goza, straw mat, and prepared to establish temaeza, the place where tea is made. I needed to have electrical power for my kama heating element, so they pulled one of the power cords from the construction site up the ladder to the top. The cord was so long that I decided to coil it neatly into what I decided was my kare sansui (raked sand) garden.

                               

The biggest challenge, however was to determine which way the guests would face. The ocean vista was remarkable, but I realized, too big for the intimacy of temae, so I had them face a set of rebars set against the hillside, looking very much like a furosaki byobu of bamboo. 

It’s a powerful decision to turn one’s back to hugeness, but essential to establish a barrier to cultivate the notion of intimacy and camaraderie. 

There is a reason that the nijiriguchi, small hatchway entrance to a tea hut, is one of the key elements of chashitsu design: to draw into narrow-focus the mind and heart toward the matter at hand. 

In chanoyu, 

large becomes small; 

small becomes large. 

Like organic architecture, 

it all drops 

away, 

anyway.

Sensei's New Year's Chakai: The Parlor Game

A chakai is a large tea gathering, designed to accommodate many people, in contrast to a chaji which may accommodate 1 - 5 guests at the most.

The chakai at Matsumoto Sensei's home in Los Angeles for hatsugama, literally the first kettle, at new year's is a huge undertaking involving some 30 assistants, students / members of sensei's Seian-kai, her tea club, as another blog will detail. To accommodate upwards of 120 guests, about eight sekis, like a "seating" in an exclusive restaurant, of 15 guests are accommodated in five "acts" that cycle through the first floor rooms and gardens of her home. The acts include the presentation of koicha and usucha, thick and thin tea preparations in her tea rooms, and a special tenshin, meal, during which time karuta (from the Portuguese word for "card"), a parlor game that is traditional at New Year's gatherings, is played to distribute gifts to the guests.  It is the latter "game" that will be discussed here.

"Tale of Genji" Theme. Reading the Scenario.

As it is the custom in Japan, guests present the host with a monetary gift in an appropriately celebratory envelope, of course, and the host reciprocates with something that is appropriate to the occasion. Because this is a crowd primarily of chajin, tea people, the gifts are utensils and other tea related items, including tea bowl, tea scoop, purification cloths and kaishi, a wad of papers used in many occasions by guest.

As the tenshin service comes to an end, two or three of sensei's students appear from behind the festival curtain (blocking the dining room from the house foyer) usually in some form of costume related to Japanese cultural history. One is holding a basket or box containing folded white strips of paper, the lots or fuda (cards), on which distinct phrases are written inside, usually in kanji, the Chinese characters, or kana, the phonetic alphabets. (Most recently there has also been translations in English.)

In this type of kujibiki (luck of the draw) each person is invited to select one paper and reveal the contents at the appropriate moment to the assembled The game officiants will read a line or poetry or story and stop at the place where one of the phrases will complete the idea. The person who has that phrase is given a gift, and the process continues until all gifts are distributed, one to each guest. In some years the game  is based upon key historic poetic phrases that are know by all educated Japanese people; in other cases, the phrases are lists related to the new zodiac year or other seasonal references. The entire process takes less than 10 minutes, after which the guests quickly leave to allow the assistants to prepare the room for the next seki. 

"Saru-San Hear - Speak - See No Evil" Theme.
Preparing Gift Tray

Because I am not educated in the Japanese cultural system, and cannot read the kanji, as jolly as the spirit of the game is -- certainly much lighter than the deep quietude of the tea presentations that preceded it -- I have never been able to participate without assistance for someone to explain what theme of the metaphorical puzzle is. I have admired the costumes for their creativity and frivolity without a doubt!

About 10 years into my study of tea -- about 1995, one of sensei's assistants came to four of us -- all non-Japanese -- after class on the Monday night before the third Sunday of January, sensei's official hatsugama date, and said that "Your group is going to be responsible for the parlor game that year." We four hakujin / gaijin, white folks / foreigners have never considered ourselves a "group", rather a few people who don't speak Japanese and who enjoy learning together because sensei will be encouraged to speak English to us in class. We were all in our 50s and yet had little else in common. We were each brought up and educated in different parts of the USA. Two of us had been to Japan, two had not. None of us knew any Japanese poetry or other Japanese literary references. What were we to do?

A quick discussion about the predicament revealed several key challenges: 1/ what did we all know in common; 2/ did Japanese women (most of the guests are women in their 50s+) know what we know; 3/ how were we going to actually do it?

"Wizard of Oz" Theme:
Lion, Dorothy, Tin Woodman, Scarecrow

Americans are a diverse bunch. Our culture is not as orderly, not to mention old, as that of Japan. We quickly considered what we knew in common -- Mickey Mouse, Superman -- then quickly what our Japanese colleagues might also know ... and we came up with theme: the classic Wizard of Oz film staring Judy Garland. We immediately set out to tell the story and have the phrases on the paper chits relate to the film.

Surrendering the Gift; Note Uchiwa

Cross Cultural Doesn't Always Work Well

But we had one other obstacle: language. Could we tell the story without verbal language? We went one better: we told the story without words by using still images from the iconic film made into uchiwa, the ubiquitous flat, round fan used in Japan, and had the same images reproduced for the inside of the chits instead of text. Additionally, each of us modified our formal kimono dressing and assumed one of the key characters in the show: Dorothy, Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow. The paper chits were drawn from Toto's basket.

The parlor game was a great hit, and we were satisfied that our "group" had passed yet another important cross cultural test. We informed everyone, however, that it was not possible to do another game as we couldn't imagine what the theme might be. 

Hidari-kiki 左撇子

I am pretty sure that Rikyu's first child was in fact a left - handed girl. She was quickly sent to the shita-machi, the lower part of the city (and social class so as not to endanger the family's reputation where she lived out her days professionally as a social worker for burakumin. Her praises are sung to this day by ronin chajin ghosts hovering over the Toji Temple fair on its monthly antiques rotation. Her presence is palpable to me as I have been studying chanoyu since 1985 as do migi-kiki, right-handed, folks.

It has not been easy to learn the tiny gestures for temae, and through the process I have developed some related dexterities (vs. sinesterities). One day, in my kitchen doing some chores, I put down a teaspoon with my left hand in that special way one replaces the chashaku on the natsume lid. It stopped me in my tracks. The gesture for handling a chashaku isn't casually "normal", so, I asked my left hand what was going on here? How did "you" know how to do that? My hand replied that it has been watching the right for many years.

Perhaps this is related to the time that Matsumoto sensei said to me as I was placing the chashaku on the natsume after the initial cleaning: "Show your mind."

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attempt to learn how to write kanji at a group lesson taught by Seiseki Abe, the master who trained Morihei Ueshiba, founder of Aikido, and his acolytes in shodo (the Way of the Brush). I had the opportunity to attend another of Abe sensei's lectures, that one on misogi, water purification ritual, and found access to such information very sparse in Los Angeles.

The event was held in a dojo in Los Angeles with mostly hakama - clad Aikido students in attendance. We sat on the mats as this very frail man, also dressed more for combat than calligraphy walked into the space. A bow, of course. He began to speak softly and it was lightly translated, but really needed little explanation.

A burly tall student was told to run toward this thin man who simply touched his attacker on the arm and sent him sailing across the room.

"Fa-su-to su-tu-ro-ku!" the master said.

Two more times the student attached. The second time he was immediately thrown down. The third time, the master took him by the wrist and in a spiral motion sent him flying to the other side of the combat zone.

"Se-ru-do su-tu-ro-ku! Fa-su-to ka-ra-ku-te-ro: Ah!"

The Hiragana lesson had begun. Three strokes: horizontal, vertical and a spiral.

Ho-ri-zo-n-tu-ru su-tu-ro-ku!

We were then given brushes and paper and urged to write the kana.

Yes, of course, I tried to do it left handed and showed it to the master. He stared at me and I said, "Hidari-kiki." He shook his head and gave me the brush in my right hand. Abe explains the relationship of Aikido and Shodo, "There are five or ten thousand characters we can brush in learning about form and line, but ultimately we are pursuing something beyond these, and that something is none other than “ki“"．

OY! Beginner's body took over. How complicated but refreshing an attempt.

It reminded me of the times I had to do a temae (not gyaku-gate, when the guests sit to the host's left.) A tongue twister for the mind, for sure!

Abe sensei passed away in 2011. Another interview with him around the time I attended the class is a click away.

Her Master's Voice: Review of Genshitsu, Daisosho's "The Enjoyment of Tea"

Sen Soshitsu, XV, Hounsai, the 15^th generation grand master of the Urasenke way of tea, now known as Sen Genshitsu, translates his title in retirement, Daisosho, as "open guard". Having been one of now only two O-iemotos, grand tea masters, to retire during his lifetime, he has enabled his son, then Wakasosho, young master, Zabosai, to accede to the head of household, commercial and cultural empire of Urasenke as Sen Soshitsu XVI. Thus, the elder Sen has taken a carte blanche to be of service to the world-wide world of tea he vastly expanded in ways that he sees fit: an ambassador without portfolio.

In 2004, at the auspicious age of 80 years, he wrote a small book that has been translated into English by Maya L. Perry as The Enjoyment of Tea (2006, Tankosha, Kyoto). This easy to read collection of essays is less hindsight and grandiose wishes for the future, and more a volume of key points that might serve as a companion for teacher training. 

Some of this autobiographical material has appeared in past issues of Chanoyu Quarterly, or the Urasenke Newsletter, both in English through the good offices of Gretchen Mittwer, the primary Kokusaibu translator. One can easily skip over it as it really doesn't add to the body of knowledge about Urasenke life back-stage. Perhaps that will precipitate in 20 years, or perhaps the rest will remain in the shadows.

There also are certainly numerous official (patronized and otherwise patronizing) biographies that have been published abut the man who made efforts to promote peace in a bowl of tea around the world after the defeat of Japan in the Pacific War. One can arguably state that he did the very best that he could. Again, none reveal more than what is desired to be public.

The late UCLA Professor Dr. Herbert Plutschow's The Grand Tea Master (2001, Weatherhill, Trumbull, CT) is a much longer, but similar biography. (Dr. Plutschow established two courses in chanoyu at his institution, but, like other top academicians there, he was never able to leverage an honorary doctorate for Hounsai, and thus, UCLA was never the recipient of one of the numerous donations of tea house teaching facilities that sprang up around the world during Sen Soshitsu XV's reign.)  Other scholars, such as Rand Castile (The Way of Tea, 1971, Weatherhill, New York) have published official biographies of the Sen family in addition to the history of Urasenke Chado, and basic information about dogu, utensils, and the tea “ceremony” experience. This latter book was in fact the text for my UCLA Extension course taught by Dr. Plutschow and is a good, now out of print, overview of what chanoyu. Like all books, it lacks the essence of the experience of doing it by merely projecting what “happens”.

In his most recent book, Genshitsu chose to include key points that specifically relate to important aspects of the sentiment of chanoyu practice, and these would make great outline of topics for teacher training, if not simply discussion among English speaking chajin. I originally thought that this blog post would focus on the need for such formal instructor instruction in English, but that will have to wait for another posting.

Looking over my notes from the book (written as possible topics for this blog), I see that even they lack the soulful experience of holding this little book in hand and reading a short section, as if  Her "Master’s Voice, to paraphrase the slogan of the RCA Victor phonograph company, is being projected.

The most outstanding of my entries is Daisosho’s explanation of shu / ha / ri. Shu being to protect or obey; ha, to break or break through in movement; ri, to leave or separate. Altogether, it is the capacity “to be able to understand or appreciate something only after being separated from it.” I learned it originally as when one puts down a utensil, including a bowl of freshly whisked matcha for the guest to collect and drink, it is as if one is saying goodbye, giving it up. Now I understand that it can also mean how I feel when I take a break from classes.

Daisosho also comments about hinshu gokan, the transposition and ultimate unification of roles of host and guest. This book has the magic of the soul of tea that only a practitioner can understand at the most profound level.

The book also includes a translation by Mittwer and Perry of the classic 100 “poems” by Rikkyu. One might appropriate these latter poems as the important points for teachers as well. 

Reading this book, I can hear the voice of my own teacher, Sosei Matsumoto, who studied and ultimately lived with the Sen family when the war broke out and its duration, because she is an exceptional ambassador of the heart of chanoyu. It has been my experience over the past 28 years as her student that she has been a steadfast ambassador of the letter and spirit of Urasenke. So, while the information is not new, it is clearly what is to be handed down through the legacy of this practice.

"Nipper" listening to His Master's Voice, RCA Victor logo