Tea house in Seattle

July 28, 2010
Recycled bottles pop up again, and this time they're a teahouse
By LYNN PORTER
Journal Staff Reporter

Architect Christopher Ezzell will spend next week in Occidental Park in a teahouse he fashioned from recycled plastic bottles.

The structure, created with the help of the Seattle branch of the Urasenke Foundation and others, will be made of 800 two-liter plastic bottles. Half of the bottles were previously used for a temporary art installation titled “waste not” in Pioneer Square's Nord Alley.

The cut-up bottles will be tied together with fishing line to make walls. The walls will hang off an aluminum hoop structure supported by aluminum poles, almost like a shower curtain.

“But hopefully it's going to look nicer than a shower curtain,” Ezzell said. The roof will be of Mylar previously used as a sail. Despite the effort at sustainability, some of the materials won't be green. “We couldn't be 100 percent LEED-certified,” quipped Ezzell, who heads a Vashon Island design firm called e workshop.

The project is equal parts architecture and performance installation. The idea is to build a three-dimensional structure where visitors can experience the intimate tea ceremony in which host and guest celebrate together.

“The experiment here is ‘can we have this experience in a busy urban setting and enjoy the values of (it)?'” said Ezzell, who is a student of tea at Urasenke. Inside the teahouse will be a platform made of reused cedar and cardboard, a flower arrangement and poem card that speaks to being in the moment. Ezzell and foundation members will demonstrate the tea ceremony Aug. 2 through Aug. 7, although the structure will be up through Aug. 8.

The teahouse is part of artSparks 2010, a program of King County's 4Culture and the city. The installations and performances — from street theater to temporary sculpture to music — will run through October in Occidental Park. The series began June 3 with “Build Here” by Room for Assembly, an artist collective that experiments with architecture.

Ezzell, who has a bachelor's in architecture from the Rhode Island School of Design, practiced architecture in New York City for 15 years before moving to Seattle. In 2004 he founded e workshop. The firm's work includes residential projects, Long Provincial restaurant and sidewalk cafe in downtown Seattle, the butter London shop at Sea-Tac, and the plaza and pedestal for the Alki Statue of Liberty in collaboration with Cast Architecture.

Copyright 2010 Seattle Daily Journal of Commerce

Noh Drama Seattle

WING LUKE ASIAN MUSEUM TATEUCHI STORY THEATER
PERFORMING ARTS SERIES PRESENTS NOH DRAMA GROUP
CHUUDEN YUUGAKUKAI OF NAGOYA, JAPAN.

Witness the cultural legacy of traditional Noh Drama, and experience the
Japanese aesthetic of “yuugen:” profundity, subtlety, and mystery.

In a first-time visit to Seattle, Chuuden Yuugakukai of Nagoya, Japan will give a special demonstration of the centuries-old Japanese traditional art form of Noh Drama at the Wing Luke Museum of the Asian Pacific American Experience on Saturday, June 19th.

Based in Nagoya, this group has been perfrming regionally in central Japan's Aichi and Gifu Prefectures for 30 years. Chuuden Yuugakukai is part of the Kanze School of Noh drama, which has a lineage dating back to the 14th Century. With patronage from the Ashikaga clan of samurai warlords; the school flourished under the founder, Kan'ami, and his son, Zeami, to become one of the largest and most prestigious schools of Noh. It continues today to be known for its emphasis on graceful movements and beautiful costumes.

In this first-time appearance in Seattle, 10 members of the group will perform vignettes from classic Noh theater; including Chikubushima, Semimaru, Hagoromo, and Funa Benkei. Traditional flute and hand drums will accompany the singing. A special bonus will be a mask carving demonstration, and the display of a collection of hand-carved wooden masks used by actors in the NohTheater.

This will also be a FREE ADMISSION DAY at the Museum. See the excellent standing exhibit of Asian Pacific American History, current special exhibits “Cultural Transcendence” and “A Refugee’s Journey of Hope and Survival,” as well as the wonderful architecture and ambience of this Seattle jewel.

DATE: Saturday, June 19, 2010.
TIME: Mask Carving Demonstration begins around 11:00am.
Noh Performance begins at 1:00pm, performance length approximately 1 hour.
LOCATION: Wing Luke Museum of the Asian Pacific American Experience
719 S. King Street, Seattle, WA 98104.
ADMISSION: FREE!

FOR MORE INFORMATION: Contact the Wing Luke Museum at 206-623-5124, www.wingluke.org, or Tatsuo Tomeoka; Charaku Fine Japanese Tea / WaSabiDou Antiques & Folk Crafts 206-660-4189, info@charaku-tea.com

Kabuki in Portland

The Sardine Seller's Net of Love

May 2, 2010 Starts: 6:30pm

World Premiere English Kabuki: “The Sardine Seller's Net of Love”
By Yukio Mishima

The Scottish Rite Center
(709 SW 15 th Ave, Portland)

Produced by Willamette University Theater Arts Department Directed by Laurence Kominz, PSU

$12 GENERAL ADMISSION, $8 SENIOR/STUDENTS
TICKETS ARE AVAILABLE AT PSU BOX OFFICE (503.725.3307) AND
TICKETMASTER (‘SARDINE’)
PRESENTED BY Center for Japanese Studies www.pdx.edu/cjs

311 East Hall P.O. BOX 751 Portland, OR 97207Phone: 503-725-8577 E-mail: cjs@pdx.edu

Kabuki

PSU Center for Japanese Studies presents
Backstage to Hanamichi: the Color, Magic and Drama of Kabuki Lecture & Performance

Wednesday, October 21st, Time: 7:30 p.m.
$22.00 Tickets: 503.248.4335
The PCPA box office

The Japan Foundation, Shochiku Co., Ltd and The Japanese American Cultural and Community Center are pleased to present Backstage to Hanamichi - A Behind the Scenes Look at the Color, Magic and Drama of Kabuki with lead actors Nakamura Kyozo and Nakamura Matanosuke of the world-renowned Shochiku Company.

Kabuki with its magnificent beauty and highly refined artistry has made it a rare jewel among the great theater traditions of the world. Its actors must undergo years of rigorous training in order to master its three artistic components of music (ka), dance (bu) and drama (ki) before being allowed to perform before an audience. In order to create the magic that is seen on stage, the kabuki actor is supported backstage by a team of unseen artisans and craftsman including costumer stylists, wig masters, musicians and prop masters.

Backstage to Hanamichi provides the audience with a rare glimpse into the traditional world of this centuries-old theater and the painstaking preparations that leads up to an actor's grand entrance onto the hanamichi stage.

The lecture/performance includes performances of two kabuki dance classics: Sagi Musume (The Heron Maiden) and Shakkyo (Lion Dance), contrasting the lyrical style of the onnagata (actor specializing in female roles) with dynamic, acrobatic style in the heroic Lion Dance.

This program is presented in conjunction with the 100th Anniversary Celebration of The Japan America Society of Southern California.

Thoughts on gomei, or poetic names

Students who practice Chanoyu are asked by their teachers to think of gomei or poetic names for tea utensils. Many students think it is a chore or silly to come up with names for your chashaku every week. But during the haiken, or the appreciation part of the ceremony, the gomei can heighten the drama, tell the story of the utensil or enhance the theme of the tea gathering.

Gomei, literally, most honoured name, are given to utensils, sweets, and other things related to Tea. Originally, names were given to various objects by great connoisseurs and Tea masters in the late Higashiyama period. Kobori Enshu gave many famous tea utensils gomei taken from poetry and literature.

Tea utensils may reflect nature by echoing particular seasons both in form and with their poetic names. In observing the seasons, there are many more than the basic 4: spring, summer, fall, and winter. For example, early spring is more like winter and late spring is more like summer. Flowers are a great indication of the season as they don't appear at once, but can evoke the time of year that they bloom. So noticing what particular flowers are in bloom are a good source of gomei. Also instead of just naming a flower, a good gomei may offer a description of the flower. For example, Kiku or chrysanthemum is a good autumn flower, but to use kiku as a gomei is a little general and not very poetic. If it is late November, the chrysanthemums are getting a little tired as their blooming season is coming to an end. So "rangiku" or ragged chrysanthemum might be a gomei for that season.

Gomei can also come from place names that evoke different feelings, seasons or memories. For example, the gomei "Tatsuta" refers to the Tatsuta river in Nara prefecture. In the fall this river fills with fallen red maple leaves and thus alludes to the momiji or red maple leaves of autmn. Likewise, Yoshino is a place where the hill sides bloom with cherry blossoms in the spring. With these place names, one can allude to the seasons without directly saying "cherry blossoms." It gives a little more sophisticaton, depth and feeling to the name.

For usucha and okashi (sweets) gomei can be very seasonal and light; sometimes they can be humorous, or emotional such as "chajo chashin" tea feeling, tea heart. When we get to koicha, however, the gomei are a little more serious. Many Zen words and phrases are used as gomei. For example, I have a scroll with a Zen phrase that says: White clouds come and go as they please. I might pair this scroll with a tea scoop name "Ao yama" or green mountain because the companion phrase to this is: Green mountain is unmovable.

Japanese literature is also a rich source of gomei. An example of this might be "Murasame" literally it means autumn rain. Murasame was also one of two sisters in the in the Noh play Matsukaze. The two main characters are the sisters Matsukaze and Murasame who once lived on the Bay of Suma in Settsu Province where they ladled brine in order to make salt. A Middle Counsellor named Yukihira dallied with them while staying at Suma for three years. Shortly after his departure, word of his death came and they died of grief. They linger on as spirits or ghosts, attached to the mortal world by their sinful emotional attachment to mortal desires. The name of the chief character, and title of the play, Matsukaze, bears a poetic double meaning. Though Matsu can mean "pine tree" (松), it can also mean "to wait" or "to pine" (待つ). Autumn Rain is strong and gentle intermittently, while the Wind in the Pines is soft and constant. Though the characters in the play actually represent the opposite traits - Matsukaze alternating between strong emotional outburts and gentle quietness while her sister remains largely in the background, and acts as a mediating influence upon Matsukaze. Many layers of meaning here: Autumn, love, tears, grief, desire, strong, gentle depending on how it is used.

So please think about your gomei for keiko next week and use your imagination and some of these suggestions. It will make your temae more interesting to both your teacher and your guests.

Noh: Pathos behind the mask

Noh is one of the oldest performance arts in the world, featuring rhythmic musicians, choral chanters and masked actors. Principal noh actor Shizuka Mikata will be joined by four exceptionally talented performers from the Kanze School to demonstrate this traditional art, including actor, Michiharu Wakebayashi, flute player Manabu Takeichi, kotsuzumi drummer Ichiro Kichisaka, and otsuzumi drummer Masaharu Kawamura.


Portland:
Tuesday Februay 10, 7pm
Dolores Winningstad Theater
Contact Dr. Laurence Kominz, phone 503-725-5288, email: kominzl@pdx.edu




Seattle:
Thursday February 12, 7 pm
Stimson Auditorim Seattle Asian Art Museum
Contact SAM box office, to RSVP email boxoffice@seattleartmuseum.org

Denver:
Saturday February 14, 8 pm
University of Colorado, Denver
Kenneth King Academic & Performing Arts Center, Recital Hall
Contact lee Ann Weller, phone 303-556-2296, email: LeeAnn.Weller@ucdenver.edu

The art of tea

When I think of art I often think of painting, sculpture, photography or something with a tangible result; something to hold onto or point to and say this is art. I don’t often think of the performing arts like dance, theater or music. I read an interview with some rock singer who said that he’d been performing a few of the same songs for 20 years and at every concert he gave, people always shouted out requests for the same songs. He said that nobody would think of asking Leonardo to paint the Mona Lisa over and over again for 20 years.

The art of tea is unlike the fine arts, somewhat like the performing arts, and yet different from them. There is no tangible result from the art of tea, and tea is not a performance with the artist doing and the audience watching or listening. The art of tea is participatory. All the senses are engaged and stimulated. Host and guests create the experience together, with harmony, respect, purity and tranquility. The host strives to serve the guests and the guests do their utmost to appreciate what the host has done.

A lot of people look at chado and think it is rigid with too many rules; that creativity is stifled with tradition and etiquette. And yet, within the context of the rules, there are infinite possibilities to create a unique experience. The host has so many decisions and choices to make to pull off a tea gathering. When, where, and who to invite. Coming up with a theme, choice of utensils, type of temae, what to serve for sweets, and so much more.

For example, I was invited to a tea gathering and the host requested that there be no talking during the gathering. She held it on a weekday at dawn. We were given a light meal to break our fast and then she served sweets and made tea. As we finished the tea gathering the sun was rising and we went on our way to work. What an incredible way to start the day. Ichigo ichie – one lifetime, one meeting.

As you grow in your tea life, be open to the possibilities and use your creativity to create unique experiences for your guests. It’s the art of tea.

The Legend of the 47 Ronin

On December 14th Gishi-sai no cha is a tea gathering to honor the memory of the 47 Ronin of Akō.

The legend recounts the most famous case involving the samurai code of honor, Bushidō. Loyalty, control, sacrifice, persistence, and honor: in the legend, these virtues were etched forever into the soul of the Japanese people. The tale, known as Chūshingura, is celebrated in stories, plays, books, woodblock prints, statues, movies and television.

The story begins with Asano Naganori of Akō, a samurai lord, who was summoned to the Shogun’s palace in the city of Edo, now Tokyo. Under the watchful eye of his tutor, Lord Kira, master of palace protocol, Asano was given court responsibilities. Friction between the two men was constant. Asano refused to pay the bribes that Kira demanded for his services. Kira used every opportunity to publicly humiliate Asano. After two months of abuse, Asano’s tolerance was gone. He drew his sword against Kira within the palace walls – a grievous offense – and attempted but failed to kill him. The punishment for this was inflexible: Asano was ordered to commit seppuku, a ritual act of suicide.

Upon his death, Asano’s estate was confiscated, his family was disinherited, and his 321 samurai retainers were ordered to disband, thus becoming ronin or masterless warriors. Many of them, in a secret blood oath, swore to avenge their Lord’s disgrace and restore his rightful honor. Headed by their general Oishi, they undertook nearly two years of great self-sacrifice and carefully conceived ruses to disguise their real purpose. Oishi himself moved to Kyoto, where he became an infamous drunk and gambler, all to deceive the Shogun’s police and Kira’s many spies.

The ruses worked. Kira and his allies finally relaxed their suspicions of Oishi and his men. On a winter night, December 14th, 1702, 47 of the Ronin met in Edo. They marched to Kira’s mansion, announcing themselves to those inside with Oishi’s beating of the Asano war drum. In the great battle that followed, the 47 stormed Kira’s mansion and attacked Kira’s 61 armed guards. In the course of a 1 ½ hour battle, they were able to subdue or kill all of Kira’s men without any fatalities of their own. Finding Kira, the brought him to a courtyard and offered him the chance to honorably commit seppuku. Kira was not able to commit seppuku, so the 47 Ronin beheaded him and a whistle signaled that he was dead. Then to symbolize the completion of their mission, the 47 Ronin returned to Asano’s grave at Sengaku-ji Temple and set the head of Kira before it, declaring their Lord’s honor redeemed.

Prepared to die for this deed, the 47 Ronin proclaimed what they had done to the Shogun’s court authorities. The Shogun himself, though sympathetic to their heroic act, was nonetheless on the horns of a dilemma. To pardon them would be to condone future vendettas. After 47 days of deliberation, the decision was made that each of the 47 was ordered to honorably commit seppuku, instead of being executed as criminals.

On February 4, 1703, each of the Asano warriors committed seppuku, dignifying themselves in their valiant sacrifice. Upon their deaths, these loyal 47 men were buried side-by-side with their master at Sengaku-ji Temple.

The clothes and arms they wore are still preserved in the temple to this day, along with the drum and whistle; the armor was all home-made, as they had not wanted to arouse suspicion by purchasing any. The tombs became a place of great veneration, and people flocked there to pray. The smoke of incense offered by sincere worshippers has been ascending there for 304 years.

The Danger of Cutting Flowers

By John Dillon

One year, the legendary 16th century tea master Sen Rikyu planted morning glories in his Kyoto garden. The all-powerful shogun, the tyrannical Toyotomi Hideyoshi, heard of the beauty of the blooms and announced he and his retinue would travel from his castle to Rikyu’s humble tea hut to view the flowers. But when he arrives, all the morning glories have been cut down and removed, roots and all. Not a single blossom remains. Angry at the affront, he enters the tea house . . .

Before I tell you what happens next, let me tell you a bit about why this story interests me. I’m a theater artist and I was born and raised in Oregon. As soon as I finished my sixteen-year stint as the artistic director of the Milwaukee Repertory Theater, my wife and I headed to the Pacific Northwest for the next chapter in our life. One of the things that pulls me so strongly to our region are its vivid contrasts. I remember recently hustling back from a hike in the Cascades and zipping out of my soiled mountain togs so that I could make the curtain of an urbane English comedy at a downtown theater. And on that same drive back to Seattle, I remember making a note to change the dates of our rodeo tickets in Ellensburg so that I could participate in a special tea ceremony to be held in the Arboretum. Life is more vivid here (despite the more than occasional gray skies) because the contrasts are so striking. And that makes me think of the story of Rikyu and the morning glories, with its humble Zen priest and angry Shogun, of the royal retinue and the fragile teahouse. And then, of course, there’s the mystery of the missing flowers . . .

As Hideyoshi enters the tearoom he finds one perfect morning glory, the glorious flower shining with dew and arranged simply in a bamboo container in the small room’s alcove. As Hideyoshi begins to grasp the meaning of Rikyu’s gesture, a side panel slides open and Rikyu enters to start the tea ceremony.

Without even articulating the story’s meaning, there is something I find dramatically satisfying in the simple tale. To begin, of course, are the contrasts already mentioned. Such conflicts/contrasts are the heart of theater. Next emerge three principles I find vital in drama: selection, context and danger. Rikyu chose one flower to represent the many. A playwright chooses only one character to represent a myriad and he or she chooses only a few events to reveal the meaning of a full and complex life. Next, Rikyu took this one flower he felt represented the multitude in his garden and moved it indoors and placed it in a carefully chosen container. Likewise, we can sometimes see our lives better by viewing another life in the openly artificial context of an art form like the theater. Even the most realistic play has a missing wall through which we view the action to say nothing of the stage lights that grow and dim and the proscenium arch that frames the action. Somehow, viewing the private act publicly allows us to see it better. Selection and context are vital tools in helping us see meanings in the life around us.

Finally, there’s danger. Hideyoshi’s power over life and death was absolute. Rikyu risked his life to make his unspoken point. If you doubt that, you should know that some years later (1591 to be exact), the Shogun sent word to Rikyu that he was displeased with the tea master and that Rikyu was to commit ritual suicide (seppuku). Although the reason for Hideyoshi’s displeasure was never revealed, Rikyu complied. And out of respect for Rikyu, morning glories haven’t been used in the tearoom since.

All of us in the theater live in danger, even if it falls short of the extreme danger that a determined 16th century Zen tea master faced. Each time we decide which play to put on (selection) and in what style to produce it (context), all of us know the result may be disaster. The wrong play, the wrong time or the wrong approach and you harvest angry audiences.

During my years of running the Milwaukee Rep, I never saw anything speed by so fast as a successful production. Full houses and happy actors made the days rush by too quickly to fully savor. By contrast, time never crawled by so slowly as a bomb. Sullen audiences in a half-full auditorium and the dispirited faces of the actors as they left the theater made the weeks of a run feel like years. As much as grants and endowments cushion us from the economic uncertainty of the box office, as theaters and theater artists we live or die by an audience’s financial and spiritual approval.

The world of the visual arts and music are full of stories of the misunderstood genius whose work only gathers a wider audience after their death (the Vincent Van Gogh’s and Charles Ives’) but such stories don’t exist in the theater. We succeed in our lifetime, in front of contemporary audiences, or not at all. The only exception I know of is a minor 19th century German playwright whose very obscurity helps make the point.

So, any time a theater artist is at work, making choices, they are selecting and arranging the flowers, as it were, that will soon be put on display. It’s a nerve-wracking process, you see, and we’re always a bit on edge because the shogun might show up to see the results . . .

John Dillon is a student of the Urasenke Way of Tea, the associate director of Tokyo’s award-winning Institute of Dramatic Arts and the Founding President of Theatre Puget Sound, the service organization for theaters and theater workers in the Seattle area.