 |
One minute, Jakuemon was a vision dancing on a stage miles below me, someone I could only view from afar with no hope of ever meeting; the next, I was backstage talking to him. Jakuemon, still in make-up, looked fortyish, like a refined Kyoto matron. But he had a sly grin, and a coquettish sideways glance flashed from eyes lined with red and black. This sideways glance was a hallmark of beautiful women in old Japan, and is found in countless woodblock prints of courtesans and onnagata (male actors who played female roles). I was seeing it at close range. Then, with the removal of wig, robes and make-up, there emerged a tanned, short-haired man, who looked like a tough Osaka businessman. With a brusque 'See ya', spoken in a gravelly voice, he strolled out of the room in white suit and shades. |
 |
Kyoto is full of little danger signs which the uninitiated can easily miss. Everyone in Japan has heard the legendary story of bubuzuke ('tea on rice'). 'Won't you stay and have some bubuzuke?' asks your Kyoto host, and this means that it is time to go. When you become attuned to Kyoto, a comment like this sets off an alarm system. On the surface, you are smiling, but inside your brain, red lights start flashing, horns blare Aaooga, aaooga! and people dash for cover. The old Mother Goddess of Oomoto, Naohi Deguchi, once described how you should accept tea in Kyoto. 'Do not drink the whole cup,' she said. 'After you leave, your hosts will say, 'They practically drank us out of house and home!' But, don't leave it undrunk, either. Then they will say, 'How unfriendly not to drink our tea!' Drink just half a cup.' |
 |
A friend of mine studied the art of bonkei: she learned how to place curiously shaped rocks and bonsai plants on a tray spread with sand to create a miniature landscape. But as she slowly worked her way up the hierarchy of bonkei technique, the final secret eluded her: no matter what she did, her sand never held together in the perfect waves and ripples of the master's precisely arranged grains. Finally, after many years and payment of a high fee to obtain her license as a bonkei professional, she was to be told the answer. She bowed at the feet of the master, and he spoke. 'Use glue,' he said. |
 |
Japan is fascinated by secrets. They are the defining feature of the way traditional arts are taught and preserved. They cause problems for government and business, since different departments of the same organization tend to guard their knowledge jealously and not speak to one another. In museums, the finer an artwork, the less it will be shown to the public - which is why you will often find that the National Treasure you traveled so far to view is actually just a copy. The real piece stays in storage, and is shown only to a chosen few curators. This tradition goes back to ancient Shinto, when the objects inside shrines, typically a stone or a mirror, became invested with mystical secrecy. At Izumo, Japan's oldest Shinto shrine, the object has been hidden from view for so long that its identity has been forgotten; it is referred to merely as 'the Object'. At the Grand Shrine of Ise, the object is known to be a mirror, but no one has laid eyes on it for at least a thousand years. When asked about Ise, the nineteenth-century Japanologist Chamberlain replied, 'There is nothing to see, and they won't let you see it.' |
|
|