How did you fall in love with Japan?

 The title of this blog--ikebana opens door to Japan--points to what seems to be a mystery in my life. Until 2010 when I first became aware of ikebana, I had only a slight acquaintance with Japanese arts. I knew a little about anime and origami, which I had learned from my son's interest in them. I knew a bit more about haiku and renga because I'm a poet and have written and published haiku (most recently in Lifting the Sky, Southwestern Haiku & Haiga, published by Dos Gatos Press ( http://dosgatospress.org) this year). But when I began to learn about ikebana, first in general, and then more specifically as a student of the particular style and tradition known as ikenobo, suddenly I was hungry to learn as much as I could about Japan, its history, and its culture. I was astonished by my own insistent passion and really didn't know where it came from or where it would lead.

The result is that not quite three years later, I've read many books about Japan, have traveled to Japan once, and am progressing in the study of Japanese flower arranging and of the Japanese language itself. Why? I still don't know the answer to that, but I'm not letting that stop me. This has been an exciting journey so far.

I sometimes wonder if others have had the same experience, to fall in love with a culture you have no prior connections to. I live in the arid landscape of New Mexico, unimaginably distant from the green island nation of Japan. The Albuquerque Journal (http://www.abqjournal.com/main)  ran a story this past Sunday (June 23) of just such a person as I've wondered about, a woman who has had an experience similar to mine. (I don't know her except through the article.)

Her name is Hispanic, Anita Gallegos. She also fell in love with Japan, only it lured her through a different doorway---the martial arts. From there she, like me, began to study Japanese history, culture, and language. And then--taiko drumming. According to the newspaper she "came to love the symmetry, discipline, and choreography of taiko drumming." Almost the same could be said of me, but for me it would be "the asymmetry, discipline, and sculptural form" of ikenobo ikebana.

Photo from Wikipedia Commons, taken by Oiwake 2012

If you are reading this blog, you must have an interest in ikebana or Japan or both. Do you have a story similar to ours? If so, please share it in the comments section below.

What I Did Wrong--Lessons in Ikenobo and Editing

Yes, you're right, on the left is the same photo I put up last time. My last post was about the flowers pictured in the photo but not really about the arrangement itself. Now I've had the benefit of my sensei's comments on the arrangement.

He complimented my choice of material, noting that the delicate lines of the columbine and honeysuckle were appropriate for a half-moon container. The honeysuckle offers the kind of gentle curve traditionally suited to this particular type of shoka design. I was pleased that he approved of the plant materials, because that selection is of prime importance in creating an appealing arrangement in a container with such a bold, black form.

However, what I didn't manage to do successfully was to give the pleasing lines their due emphasis. He pointed out the blob of green honeysuckle leaves at the far right, which obscured the lines. In his edited version of this photo, he erased most of that distracting patch and said he probably would have removed it all if he had been actually working on the arrangement instead of a photo of it. Alas, I never even noticed that bunch of leaves until he pointed them out!

He also erased the tangle of criss-crossing columbine stems inside the moon. I should have clipped those with an eye to simplification.

Finally, he pointed out what he called the "staircase regularity" of the opposite leaves on the longest, the shin honeysuckle stem. He said that a Japanese teacher would run his/her fingers along a section of that stem and remove the leaves from it, leaving a bare bit of stem to emphasize the line and introduce an interesting  randomness into it.

As a writer I can see the similarity between editing plant materials in an ikenobo arrangement and editing words. A writer wants her line of thought to be clear, not obscured by a patch of unnecessary words. She wants to eliminate or break up boring repetitiveness. She wants to reduce distractions and cleave to the main point.

I'm a novice flower arranger, learning how to edit.

Local and healthy-for-you flowers for ikebana, Part 1

Columbine and honeysuckle from my garden

I had no idea I might be breathing in pesticides when I bought and arranged a bunch of roses, until I read Flower Confidential by Amy Stewart. I learned in reading it that some growers, florists, and floral designers are very concerned about the environmental and societal effects of  importing cut flowers that have been heavily dosed with pesticides and then are flown and trucked long distances to finally reach the arranger.

Then I learned from reading Debra Prinzing and David Perry's book, The 50-Mile Bouquet, who some of those growers, florists, and floral designers are. Prinzing and Perry write about some who grow cut flowers on sustainable, chemical-free farms in California and the Northwest and sell to local markets and flower arrangers.

I also learned by reading that some ikebana arrangers in Japan are also worried about the health effects of working with pesticide-laden flowers, only this time I found it in a work of suspense fiction by Sujata Massey called The Flower Master.

All this reading got me, a novice ikebana flower arranger, interested in the movement toward local flowers grown in environmentally sensitive and healthy ways. In addition to the above three books, which I enthusiastically recommend to flower arrangers, I have another reason for wanting to use local flowers: I've been passionately interested in native plants of the Southwest since the early 1980s. It would make a lot of sense, then, to use locally grown and native plants in my ikenobo ikebana arrangements as much as possible.

However, if you have read any books on Japanese flower arranging, you know that the exquisite arrangements you see in the illustrations in books or magazines are often composed of plants that are not easily found where you live. Plum trees don't come into bloom in New Mexico in time for New Year's arrangements. Moss-covered Japanese apricot and Camellia japonica, shown in a recent photo of an arrangement in Ikebana International's magazine, don't show up in my local florists' shops all that often. But even if they did, I'd know they traveled a long way and used a lot of resources to get to me.

So the solution is to learn how to find, grow, and adapt flowers from your own garden or from local growers to the classic Japanese ikebana styles. The arrangement I did above used New Mexico native columbine and a non-native honeysuckle that grow in my pesticide-free garden. The bonus thing I learned in doing that arrangement was that both those plant materials lasted a long time in the hangetsu container.

My next entries on this subject will be about finding suitable natives and learning about local flower growers.

Bonsai chrysanthemum--new information since last post

 One of the pleasures of posting a blog is that I can learn from my readers. I posted in my most recent entry the above photo taken in a hotel lobby in Kyoto last fall. I couldn't tell much about it except that it was a potted plant that extended beyond its pot on some sort of frame. It was very smooth and compact. One of my readers, my ikenobo teacher, "Dan Dell," sent me this information about it: "The yellow mum you saw as a mound is actually a very special kind of bonsai style that is commonly seen in the fall in Japan.  That is a single chrysanthemum that is meticulously cultivated and pruned into shape and then is forced to flower for display.  There are whole festivals in cities like Imbe of this kind of horticultural practice.  Really interesting and special."

I was delighted to learn what I had seen, so I'm sharing that information with readers, along with another photo I took of a similar plant (there were actually many of them) displayed in October on the grounds of Osaka Castle.

Flower arranging in Japan now--some views

Welcome to a florist shop in Kyoto, October, 2012. I was traveling in Japan, and of course, because I love plants and ikebana, I was attracted to flowers and floral arrangements I happened to see on the way. This shop is located in the Nishiki  Food Market and has a bountiful array of flowers available to choose from.

This is an arrangement in the Granvia Hotel in Kyoto Station. Not exactly your typical bouquet of flowers in a hotel lobby. The floral designer's information sheets can be seen on the table, but unfortunately for me they were written in Japanese, so I can't tell you anything about her. Below on the right you can see the arrangement from the side. The long stems have been woven together into a kind of fence with the flowers inserted into it in water tubes.

To the left you can see another arrangement in the lobby at the same time--this one apparently a potted plant. As far as I could tell without being able to touch, the plants were growing in a pot hidden below the mound of leaves and yellow flowers and then attached outside the pot to a frame extension. It was perfectly smoothly trimmed.

I had never seen anything like either of these floral designs, so I photographed them to share with you. Please comment if you have any remarks.

Struggling with Shoka

What you see below is my current assignment. My teacher asked me to do an arrangement of spring branches, in this case, crab apple. The assigned form is shoka shofutai, or classic shoka. What you don't see below is the mess. I started on Monday; this is Tuesday. The floor is covered with spilled water, crab apple petals,  discarded branches, and pieces of my confidence. Yesterday I thought I had it finished. Funny how I think that until I need to photograph it to send to my teacher (see earlier post about an unusual way of studying ikenobo). As soon as I look at what I've done through the lens of my Canon, I suddenly see glaring problems I hadn't noticed before.

Now here's where the mess really starts. I have what I think is a completed, photographable arrangement, the water is all nice and clean as it's supposed to be, the stems are all lined up shoka-proper as best I can manage, BUT omg, all of a sudden, it looks absurd. So I have to start pulling out stems and replacing them with new ones, and the petals shower down all into the water and around me, and the stems I think I did manage to place correctly now fall over, and everything's all wrong.

 At this point I could give up, but what keeps me going is practicality. Today I have the flowers. If I give up, I may not be able to get more at this stage of bloom. So I have to do it NOW. I keep working to find the right shapes and insert them in the right places. I use a little strainer to remove all the fallen petals floating on the water surface (I think they're kinda pretty that way, but ikenobo says NO, the water must be clean). So I tidy up, and then I notice that I should have trimmed off some stubs of stems. I hate to touch anything again, lest it all come apart, but I take my scissors and snip off the stubs. It all comes apart again, petals raining, stems falling over. I knew it.

If you are asking yourself, why is it important to get it just so, I wonder that, too. But then I remember that I'm trying to learn how to create with a certain aesthetic. I don't have to do this. I could arrange flowers free-style and do it however I wish. But shoka, when done properly, offers a unique kind of serene beauty, and the only way I can learn to achieve that, I suppose, is by losing my own serenity in the process.

Boston Event, Part 2, Inspirations and Delights

Above is a rikka arrangement on exhibit at the Boston Ikenobo Anniversary Celebration earlier this month. (For introductory information about the event, please go back to the last post.) This rikka arrangement and the next one below were created for the celebration by contemporary ikenobo teachers in the ancient,

traditional styles, recreating historic arrangements. One of the inspiring moments for me as an ikenobo novice was simply standing and looking at these magnificent, monumental creations bringing to life an art form hundreds of years old. (It helped, too, that a fellow participant standing beside me had witnessed the construction of the above rikka and was revealing the secrets of putting together such an amazing arrangement. First stop: Home Depot.)

In fact, what made me want to learn the ikenobo style from the very beginning was seeing in San Francisco at the Ikenobo USA headquarters a rikka arrangment on display, which before I had seen only in old pictures. Their complex, sculptural, tree-like qualities appeal to me very much. I know rikka is a form difficult to master, and I'm eager to progress to the point that I can begin to learn it.

Even more inspiring to me in Boston was the full day of workshops. Because I've only been studying ikenobo for about a year, I was placed in the shoka/free-style workshop. In the morning we heard a lecture on shoka shofutai, the classic, traditional form of shoka and then attempted our own shoka arrangements. After lunch we listened to our professor from Japan, Professor Kobayashi, explain what free-style arrangements are all about and then, again, tried our best to create them.

This was a wonderful opportunity because I've been studying via email, photographs, and phone calls with a teacher in Colorado (I live Albuquerque, New Mexico). I hadn't seen shoka in the flesh (other than my own attempts), only photographs and drawings.  I had also never experienced a professionally taught workshop in ikenobo before. It was exciting to watch the carts of gorgeous flowers, some of which I had never had the opportunity to lay hands on, arriving in a corridor of the Back Bay Events Center where our workshop was to take place:  brilliant bird-of-paradise flowers, sunflowers, large satiny green leaves, and then later, stems of stunning helleconia, white orchids, palm fronds. I was nervous about what the professor might say about my arrangements as he went from table to table, looking at everyone's work, making large and small corrections, but I was also anxious to hear the in-person comments of an expert teacher from the source of ikebana, Japan.

 

I was also delighted by the unexpected. I knew that ikebana originated in a religious setting and has great spiritual significance. But I was surprised to find that it also includes competition and game-playing. On the first day of the celebration, the audience was allowed to see a ceremony apparently rarely performed that involved competition. It's called the mawari-ike ceremony and was established by Senjo Ikenobo in 1806 to improve skills through competition. Each competitor created an arrangement quickly, and then a judge selected the best.

 

Shoka arrangement in mawari-ike ceremony

The many Japanese teachers of ikenobo who accompanied Headmaster Sen'ei Ikenobo and his family to Boston definitely displayed playfulness and a sense of humor. A group of them performed a comic game for us, which reassured me that all is not seriousness in the art of ikenobo. The game involved a group of arrangements in progress before an audience. A bunch of teachers would come on stage, each bearing a leaf or flower from his or her favorite plant, and then be hit with the surprise task: use that leaf or flower for one of the named parts of a rikka arrangement not known to them beforehand. So one by one, each group would have to struggle to insert their usually inappropriate plant parts into ongoing rikka arrangements while we in the watching audience laughed at their efforts. It was very funny, but more than that, it demonstrated to me that all of us could take a lighthearted and undignified approach to their honorable ancient art form.

Ikenobo Anniversary Event in Boston, March 2013

 Boston hosted a very special ikebana Event (yes, that's with a capital E) last week, and I'm glad I was there, along with hundreds of other ikenobo teachers and learners, Japanese and American. The Fairmont Hotel, the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and the Back Bay Event Center were filled with a bilingual hubbub, spectacular flowers and arrangements, solemn ceremonial and memorial moments, and laughter, too, during games and workshops.

Rikka workshop

First, a brief explanation. This blog is about ikebana--Japanese flower arranging, which has a long history and great cultural importance in Japan--and how learning it has opened a door into the world of Japan for me. I began learning about ikebana in a general sense in 2010 and then about a year ago also began studying a particular style of ikebana, ikenobo. (See previous posts for more on this subject.)

Rikka workshop

 

Ikenobo is the oldest style of Japanese flower arranging, proclaiming its 550th anniversary of recorded history in 2012. Just recently the headquarters of ikenobo in the United States in San Francisco also commemorated its 45th anniversary. Both anniversaries were celebrated in Boston this month--hence the Event. Boston was selected because it is the sister city to Kyoto, where the headquarters of ikenobo in Japan is located.

From the right: Ikenobo family, Sen'ei Ikenobo, Yuki Ikenobo, and Masafumi Ikenobo 

 

Memorial ceremonial arrangement

sunanomono rikka arrangement

The ikenobo headmaster, Sen'ei Ikenobo, known as the iemoto, and his daughter Yuki, his designated successor, traveled to Boston for the three-day celebration, accompanied by many Japanese teachers and students.On the agenda for the Event were two days of ceremonies and one full day of workshops. Among the ceremonies was a memorial on March 11 to the thousands who lost their lives in the earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan exactly two years before. The workshops were taught by Japanese professors in the three particular forms of ikenobo: rikka, shoka, and free-style. Rikka is the oldest and most difficult to master of the forms.

To the left is my effort at shoka shofutai, the classic original form of shoka. Below is my effort at free style, which is actually more challenging for me because there are no set rules to follow--the arranger is free to style it as he or she wishes, while keeping in mind the basic tenets of ikebana.

Learning ikenobo in an unusual way

It's an odd relationship for a teacher and a student of an art form that requires a focus on visual effects. But it's not odd for our time and place.

I had been a member of Ikebana International Chapter #41 in New Mexico for a while before I decided on a style of ikebana I wanted to study in depth. Hey, when I started out, I didn't know anything about any styles. The members who led the meetings and performed arranging demonstrations came from several different style backgrounds, most often ichiyo.http://www.ikebanahq.org/ichiyo.php  But after I read about the history of ikebana and also visited the U.S. headquarters of ikenobo in Japantown in San Francisco, I made a decision. I wanted to study ikenobo.http://www.ikebanahq.org/ikenobo.php

My choice was based on the fact that it is the most ancient of the styles, and I felt challenged by hearing that studying it would be difficult, especially learning the most complicated form, rikka. But when I first saw an actual rikka arrangement, not just in a photo, I knew I had to learn eventually how to create one myself.

First I needed to find a teacher. So I wrote to the headquarters office in San Francisco and asked for a referral to a certified ikenobo teacher. Mr. Kenneth Endo wrote back and told me that there was no certified ikenobo teacher in New Mexico but gave me the names of chapter presidents in Colorado and Arizona to get in touch with. I did so, and that was how I found my teacher, Dan Dell.

I suggested to him that he could make assignments, and I could send him photos of my arrangements for his corrections and comments. For nearly a year now, we have done all our communications by email, photography, Photoshop, and phone calls until we have an opportunity to meet in person.

The photos to the right show how this works.The assignment is to learn how to create shoka shimputai, a more modern version of the traditional design known as shoka. My arrangement is shown at the top. (I normally use background paper to photograph, but my homemade roller for the paper is not working, so I simply photographed against a white wall.) Dan's editing of my arrangement is shown at the bottom. He is telling me in his comments and in the edited photo that my flowers need leaves (important in ikenobo). He also added some more Scotch broom to the top left of the arrangement because the purple flowers seemed to be hiding the Scotch broom, so it required more emphasis. He also erased some of the purple flowers.

He provides emailed comments, comments on the edited photo itself, and also explanations by phone when he is trying to introduce something new or complicated.

This way of teaching and learning ikenobo is unusual, but it works well for us. We have email and digital photography and photo editing available to us. We also live in the Mountain West, where many miles can separate a teacher in Colorado from a student in a rural state like New Mexico. I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn from Dan, even though we have yet to meet in person.

Search for the place of origin of ikenobo, Part 2

In the last post I wrote about finding in Kyoto Rokkakudo, the ancient temple that is considered the birthplace of ikenobo, the oldest style of ikebana. The photo to the left is of small statues near the temple. Of course I was drawn to them immediately. They are so appealing under their knitted caps. But I have also done some research in order to find out what these little figures represent. I don't think I understand well enough to explain their presence, but I hope some of my readers will know much more than I and can offer some comments that will help us all to comprehend better their meaning.

However, I do now know that the red color of their bibs is related to this: "According to Japanese folk belief, RED is the color for 'expelling demons and illness.'"(http://www.onmarkproductions.com/html/color-red.html) So the red color expresses the hope for recovery and protection from evil influences and sickness. 
While this has nothing to do with the history of ikebana (as far as I know), I found the presence of these well-dressed little statues near the Rokkakudo Temple an irresistible draw.



Another aspect of the temple's environment and one very directly associated with the history of ikebana is the pond pictured to the right. I certainly didn't expect to see a pond with swans gliding on it located between Rokkakudo Temple and the featureless skyscraper next to it. The building you can see in the background of the photo is the headquarters of the School of Ikenobo, and this little pond is said to be the source of its name. Ike means pond, and bo refers to a Buddhist priest's hut. Thus, ikenobo would mean a priest's hut next to a pond, apparently the place of origination of the floral art form first practiced here.

Search for the place of origin of ikenobo, Part 1

I was prepared.

I knew I would have some time in Kyoto to search for Rokkakudo Temple, the birthplace of ikenobo, the style of ikebana I'm studying. I figured I could find it if I pored over maps and learned how to get near it on the metro. My ikenobo teacher, Dan dell'Agnese, is acquainted with Kyoto and told me that the trick is to find a small temple hidden by surrounding tall buildings. He said I could be right there and miss it.
So I studied the metro map, found the correct stop,  and invited two companions to accompany me, figuring that six eyes would be better than two. So Barb, Annie, and I followed the city map exactly and knew we were right where the temple should be, but, as predicted, we couldn't see anything but ordinary, modern business buildings. The Rokkakudo is decidedly not ordinary, being six-sided, with ancient, sloping tile roofs. So it should immediately stand out from everything else. It didn't.  However, two contemporary modern buildings did: a skyscraper with the sign in the above photo in its window saying  "Origin of Ikenobo Ikebana" and a Starbuck's. The sign told me we were near our target. A young woman was standing in the doorway of the Starbuck's ready, in welcoming Japanese style, to greet us with "Irasshaimase." I figured we should ask her for help and hope she understood the question. At least I knew, more or less, how to pronounce the temple's name. So we approached her, bowed, and I asked.

She smiled and pointed inside the Starbuck's. I thought, "She didn't understand the question. She just wants us to come in." Then I saw through the open door of Starbuck's a glass wall, and on the other side of that wall were tile roofs slanted in many different directions. Rokkakudo. Right there, on the back side of Starbuck's. But how to get there?

We hurried around the corner, and there it was. The picture above shows me standing by a weeping willow in the courtyard in front of Rokkakudo. Tied on the branches of the willow are slips of paper with fortunes and hopes written on them, among them one handwritten in English from me--that I would be a good student of ikebana.

Next door to the temple is a skyscraper office building that houses the headquarters of  the ikenobo school of ikebana. The sign I saw sits in its window. But the temple Rokkakudo is where it all began.

Happy New Year, Japanese style

In Japan the New Year is greeted with celebration and good wishes, just as it is in the USA, but the displays and decorations are quite different. Instead of having New Year's symbolized primarily by champagne glasses, Times Square, and confetti, in Japan one sees floral arrangements known as kadomatsu. Though these arrangements differ greatly in size, color, and ornamental additions, they traditionally include three plants--pine, bamboo, and plum (branches). If you google the word kadomatsu and then look at the images a search will bring up, you can see the enormous variety of the kadomatsu displays.


"According to Iwao Nagasaki, curator of textiles at the Tokyo National Museum, many patterns that first came from China...acquired unique meaning to Japanese over the years." The Chinese thought the grouping of these three plants "just symbolized the innocence of three good friends in winter: bamboo, which never breaks, the pine, which stays green all year, and the plum, which blooms while it's still frosty. One thousand years after the pattern entered Japan...this trio of plants became auspicious." * In other words, this popular arrangement of the three plant friends in Japan has become a physical, floral wish for good fortune in the coming year, particularly for strength, longevity, and the ability to flourish in spite of adversity.

The arrangement you see above is my first attempt to put these three plants together in a shoka design (a particular type of ikenobo arrangement) especially for New Year's. The bare stem to the left is ornamental purple-leaf plum (Prunus cerasifera). If I had access to plum branches in Japan, they might already have burgeoning buds on them in that milder, moister climate. Unfortunately, here in drought-stricken, high-altitude New Mexico where the temperatures are well below freezing, the plum is just a branch with buds waiting for warmer days still a month or two away. The plant in the center is a cold-hardy bamboo I grow in a container, located right now on my back porch with a furniture blanket wrapped around its feet. It's a Fargesia 'Rufa.' I've trimmed many of the bunches of leaves off of it in the interest of a more sculptural shape, one of the techniques of ikebana. The plant to the right is pine, an ornamental that was planted in my neighborhood, not necessarily native.

A traditional kadomatsu arrangement is usually placed outside the door of a home or other building. The plants are often arranged in a rustic-looking container with a special rope called shimakezari and a shide design attached. So, my three friends above are arranged in a container that is a hollowed-out mulberry branch from my yard (I always save some of what the arborists remove from my trees). A neighbor who is a woodworker hollowed enough of the tough wood out so that I could use it for an ikebana container. I've wrapped natural twine around the container several times and hung my own crudely homemade version of shide, a zigzag design often found on Shinto shrines and other places or objects sacred to Shinto. The result is an ikenobo ikebana version of a New Year's display that is older even than ikebana itself, a display that extends a millennium back into Japanese history and the introduction of Buddhism into the country.

I like the idea of beginning my new year with such an ancient tradition rooted in the natural world. Happy New Year to you!

*This quote comes from Singer, Jane. (1995). "Meaningful Motifs: Japanese Patterns and Designs." Ikebana International Vol. 39, No. 2: 8-16.

What is a tokonoma and why does it matter?

This blog is about ikebana; the process I, a novice, am going through to learn an ancient and complicated art form; and the simultaneous process of becoming fascinated by and learning about Japan.

When you walk into an American living room, you are likely to notice first a fireplace and mantel or a conversation area with couches and chairs around a coffee table or maybe a giant TV screen or, at this time of the year, seasonal decorations. If you were to walk into the traditional Japanese counterpart of a living room, you might first notice the tokonoma. One of the very first things I learned about ikebana is that it is placed in the tokonoma, an alcove in a room in a Japanese home or in a teahouse.

The photograph below left shows such an alcove. I took it of the Sekka-tei Tea House near the Golden Pavilion in Kyoto. A tokonoma is intended for the display of art--usually a scroll, and to the left of the scroll, an ikebana arrangement. Unfortunately I don't read Japanese, so I don't know what the plaque to the left of the scroll says, but it is located where one would expect to find an ikebana design. Note the natural wood post on the left side of the alcove; it's called a tokobashira. It's made of nandina wood.

The image to the right is entitled "Guest room in Hachi-Ishi" from Japanese homes and their surroundings by Edward S. Morse, first published in 1886. Again, you can notice the alcove with its hanging scroll, ikebana arrangement, and tokobashira. (I'm indebted to Wikipedia Media Commons for making this image available.)

So what can we western practitioners of ikebana learn from this?
We can recognize that ikebana was intended to be a prominent feature in the decor of the room where guests were welcomed. It had a special place of honor in the home or during the tea ceremony. It was considered an art form. I think this helps us to understand better how ikebana has developed and the importance it has in its native culture.

Flower arranging with children

 Ikebana International (http://www.ikebanahq.org/), the international organization of people who love the floral art form given to the world by Japan, has recently been emphasizing the importance of teaching ikebana to children. Like other art forms that children learn when young--such as painting, working with clay, singing--ikebana can imbue youngsters with appreciation for beauty and for their own creative abilities. They can also learn to really see the world of plants around them, not just their colors but also their sculptural organic forms.



At Thanksgiving, when I visited my son and daughter-in-law and two young granddaughters in California, we did what I hope will continue whenever we're together--make a flower arrangement. In the first photo above, I'm in the garden with my older granddaughter, Skye, age 2 1/2, selecting flowers to cut (Grandma's in charge of wielding the scissors, of course). California weather is conducive to lovely flowers all year, so we had no trouble finding pretty ones that Skye liked even in November. Then we went inside to put the flowers into a container that my son, her daddy, had crafted some years ago. I didn't want to use a kenzan, too sharp for little fingers, nor did I want to use oasis, so I crumpled up a bit of plastic mesh and put it into the container so that we could insert the flowers into it. We also gathered some leaves. Skye actually put the flowers into the container as she wanted, and the second photo shows me trying to insert some leaves that she also wanted but whose stems were too short. We had fun doing the arrangement (actually she did two, as we had flowers left over), she was very proud of them when we finished, and they graced the Thankgiving dinner table. Not ikebana yet, but a beginning pleasure in selecting and arranging plants.
The photos are courtesy of Laura and DeLesley Hutchins.

A day in Kyoto, beginnings of ikebana

Japan, October 2012. I had a day to spend as I wished in Kyoto. I wanted to see two places important in the beginnings of ikebana and its particular, oldest style known as ikenobo. One of those places was Ginkaku-ji or the Silver Pavilion (pictured below), one of a group of buildings constructed as a retirement home by Yoshimasa, the 8th Ashikaga shogun (1443-1473). How it came to be called the Silver Pavilion when it is not silver at all is another story, but it is important in the history of Japanese culture for several reasons, only one of which I mention here. (I urge you to read Donald Keene's book, Yoshimasa and the Silver Pavilion to learn much more). AshikagaYoshimasa was a complete failure as a shogun, but he had good taste--in buildings, paintings, gardens, and flower arrangements--which greatly influenced the development of Japanese culture.

The Japanese people had always admired and valued the beauty of flowers and other plants and had made floral offerings at Buddhist temples (see previous 11/9 entry on Nikko), but it was not until Yoshimasa's time that flower arranging had come to be considered an art form. Yoshimasa enjoyed several arts, and his palace at Higashiyama (the location of the Silver Pavilion) was decorated with floral displays.

According to Donald Keene, the "oldest surviving account of someone arranging flowers at the court is dated April 20, 1476." It was then apparently called "standing" rather than "arranging" flowers and was probably done in the rikka style, an early form of ikenobo invented by Senkei in 1462.

I haven't written in this blog for a while, and the image above helps to explain why. I took the photo on October 26 at Nikko, a World Heritage Site a few hours away from Tokyo. The building shown is the entrance gate to the Haiden of the Taiyuin-byo Shrine. Surrounding the buildings are tall Japanese cedars. This building is only a single part of a very large grouping of spectacularly adorned shrines and temples set  appropriately in a magnificent mountain forest. I chose this particular structure for this blog entry because of what I saw but could not photograph inside it. A guide who spoke only Japanese took the waiting group inside the Haiden, where we sat on tatami mats and listened to him. Since I couldn't understand what he was saying, I looked around the large room where we seated. On the ceiling above were a multitude of golden dragons. In front of me on the left and right of the guide, probably a Buddhist cleric, were sculpted metal flower arrangements, perhaps bronze. The one to the right appeared to be a lotus arrangement, often seen in Buddhist temples. But to the left was an arrangement that appeared to me to be a rikka design (or at least similar to a rikka), one of the oldest styles of ikebana design. I was pleased to see the large flower arrangement sculptures in such a sublime setting. Ikebana originated hundreds of years ago from floral offerings in Buddhist temples.

Since this blog is entitled "ikebana opens door to Japan," the next several entries will be about my visit to Japan. Without my interest in ikebana, I never would have learned so much about Japanese history and culture and then wanted to go there. Ikebana truly opened the door to Japan for me.

Photo by Becky Schnelker

The sunlight is always intense in dry, high-altitude Albuquerque, even as autumn begins to cool down the air. One of the things people new to this area notice is that you can feel chilly in the shade but step into the sun and suddenly it's hot. On the first day of fall, a group I belong to, Ikebana International #41, put on an exhibition of arrangements at the Rio Grande Botanic Garden. The garden was busy with visitors out to walk around outdoors in the company of their kids and phones and also enjoy the coleus, caladiums, and chrysanthemums on display. But they were getting pretty warm by the time they arrived at our exhibit room. It was air-conditioned, shaded from direct sun for most of the day, and lined with massive Chinese stone statues keeping their cool. Quiet Japanese flute music floated in the room. In front of the statues on tables with black cloths were our flower arrangements. People would hustle  in the door, and you could see them stop, take a breath, and relax. Children wanted to touch the flowers. I wondered how often they even get to see real flowers (especially flowers like lemon yellow calla lilies or pastel pink ginger blossoms)  up close now that our world is so full of fake flowers. Some visitors passed through quickly, but others stopped and looked closely and asked questions. One woman asked me, "How is icky baana different from any other flower arrangement?" I thought it was the best question I was asked all day and tried to explain (see Sept. 3 blog post for more about that).

This morning on NPR's Morning Edition I heard a story about microbrewing beer in Japan, in a brewery that used to specialize in sake (http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2012/09/18/161147806/japanese-sake-makers-shake-off-tradition-try-brewing-craft-beer). The following quote caught my attention: "Making sake is like judo or flower arranging – you're judged by how well you stick to the rules; there's no margin for improvisation."

First, note that the speaker, a Japanese brewer, refers to flower arranging (ikebana) in the same sentence with judo, and that alone tells you something about the place of flower arranging in the culture. But it's also important to note that he refers to the rules of ikebana, a facet of the art that is off-putting to some.

Whereas sake makers are breaking free to produce microbrews, people taught to follow the rules of whatever style of ikebana  they learned are now free to produce floral arrangements called (what else?) free-style ikebana.

So if you think you wouldn't like to learn ikebana because it has strict rules, please know that freewheeling, free-style arranging is available to all. But here's another side of the story: I actually prefer, as a novice ikebana and ikenobo practitioner, to learn the rules. They don't feel like restrictions to me. I feel that I'm learning how to put into practice an aesthetic I admire. How can I learn to produce a design that looks like ikenobo? By learning the rules behind the appearance. After I learn them well, then I'll be free to free-style.

I kept noticing a dog poop stink in the vicinity of my studio where I do flower arranging. At first I kept checking to see if one of my Chihuahuas had made a deposit, but then I realized what I was smelling. It was the lingering scent of the flower I had been arranging in one of my nicest china bowls. I had decided to try to create an arrangement with a Stapelia flower. I think they're gorgeous, but they stink. They intend to. They attract dozens of eager flies, instead of hummingbirds or bees, to my porch where the plants are in bloom. They do look a bit like rotting meat, I suppose, with reddish-purple veins and hairy edges.  But even more they resemble large starfish. That was what attracted me to them at first, and the friend at whose home I saw them was kind enough to give me two plants, which have multiplied. The arrangement I did with the Stapelia is what is called free-style ikebana, i.e. it doesn't follow any of the rules. More about that and what it has to do with sake and beer in the next blog. Meanwhile, I should say that I was wasn't pleased with the arrangement that resulted, but it was definitely unusual.

..."the basic aesthetic values of the Japanese, including naturalness, simplicity, suggestion, and perishability...
still another of these basic values, irregularity or asymmetry..."

Quoted from Japanese Culture, 4th ed. (2000), by Paul Varley.

This quote says much about ikebana. Imagine, fellow Americans, valuing "perishability" instead of buying fake flowers. The ikebana arrangement won't last long, and this is a good thing. We must really see, enjoy, and experience it at this moment. The constant recognition of the brevity of living beauty...

For example, in my arrangement above, I use a Datura branch (from my Albuquerque garden) with one full bloom and several buds of different sizes. Normally a Datura bloom opens in the evening, stays open for moths to pollinate it overnight, and then wilts the next morning. Behold, perishability. I managed to keep it from closing long enough to create the arrangement because I cut it on a rare rainy day and immediately placed it in a dim room in water. Also, please note if you can see them, the tiny insect holes in the leaves. In Western-style floral design, these leaves would be considered rejects. In ikebana, on the other hand, the holes signify the season, late summer, when insects are very busy chewing leaves. The season, itself perishable, is extremely important in ikebana, just as it is in Japanese haiku. You might also note that the design is not symmetrical, and the plant materials are simple, just two plants--Datura and snake plant.