I was very excited to take my second butoh dance class with Ohno Yoshito. I decided to leave a little bit earlier than maybe I should because without help, I still didn't know how to get to the studio. So I got to the same spot I arrived last time, except this time there was nobody there to help me. I looked, and turned the wrong way again, but finally I figured out the trick. I got there with more than an hour to kill, and that was fine with me. Just being in the studio by myself was felt like something special was happening.
Walking through narrow alley-like roads in the dark was a bit scary. However, once I found the place, past the small bamboo grove, I felt better.
As luck would have it, the guy who I thought was the best dancer was there. We had a chance to talk. He told me that he had been a student with Ohno-sensei for about four years now. Doing the math in my head, that meant that he must have started when Ohno Kazuo was still alive. Perhaps he met him. I didn't ask. (Kazuo would have been very old, and very infirmed at the time.) He also told me that he was not, in fact, a dancer, but was a pantomime. I did a double take, and asked him to really explain that to me. When I think of a mime, I think of clowns who pretend they are in boxes. He said that there was more to it than that, especially in contemporary art pantomime. If you are in a box, he told me, then you have to reveal why you are in the box, what the box is made of, how the box makes you feel. It sounded to me like it was a lot deeper and profound than performing at the beach for kids.
I was disappointed at myself when the lesson started because last time I took notes after the class, trying to put everything together, and I think that motivated one of my new friends to take notes during the class this time. She obviously took it one step further. Why didn't I have a paper and pen in my pocket like she did? Next time. However, I will try to relay the few things that I really did like about the class. I am sure that I am describing some of this out of order, but I am retelling it as the memories come back to me. It is like catching lightning; I don't know where it will be, so I must just reach out when I think I've got it.
This time Ohno-sensei started us with the idea of a stone. Be a stone. In Japan, gods are found in stones in the form of jizo sculptures. In Europe, many large churches are made of stone; in Japan, religious places are made of wood. Be a stone. Walk. I recognized the music from the last class. Then he reminded us that stone is hard, but it can change. People sculpt with stone. Over millions of years, stones weather and change and grow. He also reminded us to bring our own history and understanding into this. Be a stone. Walk. More music. The jizo reference gave me two features. The first is that many jizo sculptures of child-like, and have a gentle smile. Another thing it reminded me of was the short story "The Third Night" by Natsume Soseki. In it a man has a dream of a heavy stone jizo on his back while he walks through a dark forest, and he finally realizes that the jizo is of a man he killed a hundred years earlier. These ideas motivated my stone walk.
The second lesson was with the flower again. He reminded us to walk as though there was a funeral for the flower. He also pointed to a poster of Hijikata Tatsumi, and said that Hijikata always liked to have a hand out for the birds; he loved birds so much he wanted to become one. Walk. Then he reminded us that the feet are very important. We should listen to our feet. When we listen carefully to our feet, it affects how we move our feet. Walk.
He also went through a similar lesson last time by holding your hands together paper thin. He shared the Japanese word for it: Kamihitoe. He explained how the distance of a thickness of a tissue is of the utmost importance. When a plane almost crashes, in Japan they say, "kamihitoe," paper-thin. In English, don't we say, "that was close!"? Well, in Japanese they say how close it was: paper thin. I was reminded of the conversation before the class with my new friend. He showed me a poster that Ohno-sensei would later share with the class. It was a sculpture of a Buddha that is housed in a museum of Nara. Before the class, my friend asked me if I was going to Nara, then I should see this sculpture. Ohno-sensei showed the picture, and how the sculpture has two of its many hands praying, touching, but not quite, kamihitoe, paper-thin. Wow. Now I have to go Nara, if only to see this sculpture.
We utilized the tissue again to illustrate the delicacy of life. The delicacy of the tissue is such that it easily falls, and floats from our hands. Yet we can make a flower out of it. Make a flower. Your hands make it soft, make it happy or sad. Your hands are important. Make a flower. Let it go.
Ohno-sensei told us of a painting he (or his father, I can't remember which) saw. It was of an insect, he couldn't tell me in English what kind of insect it was, but he knew it in Japanese. The insect was catching lightning. Hah! Catch lightning.
Continuing to work with our hands, Ohno gave us the direction that we had the universe in our hands. In one hand, we hold the moon. In the other hand we hold the sun. Dance. I could only interpret the gravity of such a scenario; what would it be like to hold the universe in my hands? Everything, everyone, would be dependent on me for existence. I thought of Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Like Atlas, I would still be hunched over, with the sun and moon pulling my arms down... How do I feel about carrying the sun and moon and universe? Dance.
He then went on to tell us of the duality between Hijikata and Kazuo. Hijikata was darkness, and his father was light. Hijikata was Buddhist and Kazuo was Christian. Hijikata was always conscious of the ghosts surrounding him, watching him. What do you get when you combine the two masters? Being a student of both Hijikata and Kazuo, that means that Yoshito is empty.
He ended the class with another flower metaphor. There are three-day flowers. On the first day, the flower grows its bud. On the second day, the flower blooms. On the third day, the flower withers. Be a first day flower. Good. Now be a second day flower. Good. The class ended before we could become the third day flower. Writing this now, I wonder how I might have interpreted that, and if I would have made the connection that I am making now with the short story I mentioned earlier, "The Third Night," which isn't about flowers, but does involve death and the number three. What might that mean? How would it be danced?
After the class, I was able to stay longer this time since I had nobody waiting for me. However, in the back of my mind was the fact that in their wonderful efficiency, the Japanese trains stop running after midnight, something that I'm not used to in New York. So even though I stayed as long as anyone, that was always in the back of my head.
While drinking tea and eating snacks, I gathered up the courage to ask Ohno-sensei a few questions. I asked about a beautiful photo of him and Hijikata dancing their "Kinjiki" dance. I had previously seen the photo in a book I read. I asked him if it was "Kinjiki, " and he confirmed it was. Being that it was a dance based on a book my Mishima Yukio (my favorite Japanese writer), I asked if he knew Mishima. He said that he had met him many times, and even performed the dance for him in private, right there in the studio. That I was in the same studio, with the same dancer that so much history was made gripped my soul.
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