Jude's Vision

While some people might claim individuals with linguistic disabilities cannot communicate with others, that doesn’t mean they don’t have desire and innovative means to communicate with others. In fact, their creative use of body language may add more fun to our already formalized communication that too often relies on concrete vocabulary and grammar. In fact even with this concreteness, aren’t we still often confused by the others’ meaning much of time?

Working as part-time with intellectual disabled people inspires me to read the greeting languages that are unique to them. Unlike able-bodied people, disabled people who have difficulty verbally talking with others tend to use their bodies to communicate. Seeing how effective their self-innovated body language turns out to be, I found out myself recalling the fun memories of Atelier Hiko’s founder, Hiko-kun. 

When someone, whether an acquaintance or not, enters his atelier place, Hiko-kun would pause his painting activity, extend his free hand to the newcomer, and cheerfully give a thumbs up. When I first saw this gesture, I didn’t know how to react. Instinctively acting out of imitation, I raised the thumb of one hand towards Hiko-kun and thought imitation could convey sign of peace to someone you just met. To my surprise, Hiko-kun, proactively reached out even more toward me, pressed our thumbs together in a friendly manner.

In Japan, most people greet each other by nodding or bowing at the waist. Furthermore, depending on the angle at which one bends their hips, the degree of respect they show toward others differs. This commonly shared greeting language indicates social status, but also plays a role of an invisible wall, forging social distance among people. Fairly speaking, the physically more egalitarian custom of touching, such as handshakes and hugs in Western countries, seems extremely rare in Japan. In this sense, it was refreshing for me to see Hiko-kun, despite rooted in Japanese culture, actively spreading this unique greeting language that he originally came up with to the ones surrounding him.  

Speaking of widely-spread hand language, there are two common types in our daily scenarios that came across into my mind – handshaking and handwaving. In modern business scenarios, handshaking is meant to express an official bond. In scenarios where it is difficult to hear the other person’s voice, raising and waving your hands towards them, like a beckoning FORTUNE cat, is also a distinguished gesture. Because these two body languages are so well established, without any double, they would be read as the meaning of “That’s a deal.” and “Hello or goodbye”. In comparison, Hiko-kun’s thumb greeting, however, is much more flexible in the meaning it indicates.  

Here is how I read Hiko-kun’s thumb greeting. By simply putting up your thumb, it conveys a positive sentiment as well as various possible meanings, such as “Nice to meet you,” “It’s a nice day today,” “Have a good time,” “Welcome,” “I’m doing well today, how about you?”, “Let’s all have fun,” or “I like that. How about you?” On top of that, if you receive the same thumb greeting from another person and the two of you then touch thumbs, a mutual understanding has been shared, or a special greeting given. 

Admittedly, it is like learning a foreign language and that’s where the fun comes in. In fact when we study a new language, sometimes we learn vocabularies through shared understanding of pantomime and gestures. Communication certainly is enhanced by body language. What if we all tried giving someone a thumbs up? I wonder what fun interactions it might spark.

（日本語 編集協力:  石﨑史子）

この頃、知的障害向けのヘルパーのアルバイトをしていて、そちらの方ならではのコミュニケーションに早く慣れたいです。健常者とは異なり、言葉でなく身体言語を介したすコミュニケーションが多そうです。自分で発明され皆んなの挨拶言語を見ながら、アトリエひこの創設者ひこくんを思い出しました。

知り合いでも、知らない人でも、誰かがアトリエの部屋に入ると、ひこくんは手元のキャンバスに描くのを一時止め、右手を相手へ伸ばし、元気よく親指を立てます。こうした光景を初めて見た時に、頭が真っ白になり、どう対応すればいいのか分かりませんでした。一応ひこくんの挨拶をまねて、私も右手の親指をひこくんへ向けました。ところが、これで終了しないで、ひこくんはもっと私の側へ親指を伸ばして、愛想よく親指同士を引っ付けました。

日本では、うなずいたり、 腰を折り曲げたりする挨拶をよく見かけます。しかも、身体を曲げる角度によって、相手への尊敬する程度が違うことがあります。平等な社会地位を示す握手やハグなどの西洋諸国における挨拶と比べると、日本らしい挨拶のやり取りは、人間の距離を感じられます。それに対して、親指同士をタッチをする挨拶はちょっとおかしみと親密さを感じられるのではないでしょうか。

現代社会におけるビジネスの場面で、絆の結びを表すように、握手がしょっちゅうされています。相手の声が聴きにくい場面で、手を挙げ、招き猫のように相手へ振ることも挨拶に役立ちます。それに対して、ひこくんならではの親指挨拶は、どんな場面でも、より柔軟に使えるのではないでしょうか。

ただ親指を立ていて、「初めまして、よろしくお願いします。」「今日はいい天気ですね。」、「楽しい時間をお過ごしください。」、「ようこそ。」、「今日元気ですよ、あなたは？」、「みんなで、楽しむことにしよう。」、「私はそれが好きです。あなたは？」などの豊かな情感は、言葉を使わなくても、相手へ伝えることができます。相手から同じ親指挨拶をもらい、二人の親指が触れあえば、「こちらこそ、よろしくお願いします。」、「いい天気ですね。」、「楽しい時間をお過ごしましょう。」、「よかった、私も好きですよ。」「そうですね。」とコミュニケーションが成立します。

知的障害を持っている方はコミュニケーションが理解できないと聞きましたが、相手とコミュニケーションする意欲を否定するわけではありません。彼らがオリジナルに編み出した身体言語が、私たちの形骸化したコミュニケーションにもっと面白さを与えるかも知れません。さあ、試しに、親指を立ち上げ、親しい人に挨拶しましょうか。

Written By Jude Jiang, Edited by Richard Trombly

While many people appreciate the idea of architectural preservation of classic homes, the social and economic realities often make preservation or renovation troublesome. This situation also applies to Kominka（古民家）, Japanese folk houses. While there are government programs and non-profit organizations such as Kominka Japan network that try to assist people in overcoming obstacles and challenges to preserving these homes, there are still many Kominka houses facing modernization, gentrification or demolition.

On a recent trip to visit a vacant Kominka house, I attempted to discover the hidden challenges of preserving a link to the past through these homes, which the elder generations deeply revered.

Co-existing with Nature on a Daily Basis

With about one hour of traveling by public transportation, I arrived in this little town called Kaizuka, Osaka about 35 kilometers away from downtown. The local residential architecture was a mix of modern low-story single family homes, commercial buildings and Kominka houses, which often take a larger parcel of the land. After another fifteen minutes of traveling, my guide and I were standing in front of a stately and impressive Kominka house. My first sight perfectly matched my expectation for Kominka, which is about living in harmony with Mother Nature. It was structured with natural materials of wood, clay, and stone, as well as ornamented with Japanese-style gardens with pine trees.

The guide of this visit was M-san, who used to live in this Kominka house for more than thirty years. The house’s history dates back more than 150 years to the initial house owner who was her great grandfather in-law and was a professional in agricultural work. Therefore, he designed the house for the convenience of conducting agricultural work indoors. For instance, different from the usually narrow modern entrance room, Gennkan （玄関） are mainly for changing shoes. The entryway in this Kominka house is so spacious as to bring in livestock saddled with crops.

It’s not hard to imagine that in an era lacking the aid of advanced machines, agricultural work could take laborious effort from animals and humans alike. However, when I encountered this ancient lifestyle directly in front of me, it was stunning to stand where the ancestors had lived through such physically demanding lives. A wooden ladder climbed from the entryway to a second-story loft, designed as a storage space for storing crops in a dry environment. Seeing how steep the ladder was, I ascertained that I would be barely capable of even climbing upwards, let alone carrying crops in hand at the same time.

It wouldn’t be exaggerating to think that the elder generation was more committed to living with nature, of which they had to take in both the pleasant and challenging aspects. While they brought in natural elements as ornaments and planted gardens to honor nature, on the one hand, more efforts had to be spent to co-exist with the harsher and crueler aspects affecting human lives. Can we, who have become so used to the conveniences of modern life, comprehend such an intimate yet challenging relationship with nature on a daily basis?

The Symbol of Home

The spaces within modern homes tend to be divided towards activities such as eating, sleeping, laundry, and so on. Likewise Kominka commonly exhibit rooms named by its function and there are a lot academic studies about utility and aesthetics related to different rooms. Not conducting an academic study, I attempted to simplify my focus down to the most basic yet significant behavior of human beings, which relates to cooking and eating. Here, I discovered the unexpected evidence of how meals took place at this Kominka house.

When M-san navigated me from one living room into the next chamber, she indicated the black soot staining the ceiling beams, “that was caused by using this Irori （囲炉裏）, a sunken hearth fired with charcoal throughout many years,” said M-san and she tapped a square space in the middle of the room, which now remains unseen, covered with Tatamis（畳）. I however remember having seen Irori in museums and older Japanese movies. Usually, above a stone-pit in the floor, there would hang a pot or kettle, equipped with a pothook to adjust the height.

Used not only for cooking and eating around, it was also for heating and even clothes drying, the Irori was regarded to be the center of household life. Imagine on a cold winter day, a farmer returned home from exhausting farm labor. He would be served with warm tea, soup, and a hot meal while spending quality time with his family. This all was centered around a single place, the Irori. He might even take a quick nap on the Tatamis beside the warm hearth. If the home is the place with food and love, wasn’t Irori the symbol of this home?

Whether for rich or poor families, household life centered on Irori were common for most people. Back then, people shared intimate family interactions. However, when it comes to modern times, a TV has become the center of the household life. Recently this trend has transformed into virtual interactions through mobile platforms rather than real interaction with family members. As a result, family ties become diluted and meanwhile members’ activities are increasingly insular. That being said, perhaps the modern symbol of home and family has retreated to the virtual world.

A Room for Public Purpose

By discovering eclectic collections of intergenerational treasures, I was able to partly solve the puzzle of what life was like over a hundred years ago. The vision couldn’t be more vivid than when M-san led me into the most captivating space, the Enkai-shitsu (宴会室）, a large banquet hall. 

Facing a placid garden adorned with pine trees and a pond, this banquet hall happened to be the best location to appreciate the Japanese style of tranquility. Composed of three rooms with removable Fusuma （襖）dividers, a specific kind of wood and paper Japanese sliding door, this room occupies a large space within this Kominka house, bigger than all the other personal spaces added together. 

“The room was packed with all the acquaintances when we held a family funeral decades ago,” said M-san, “Even as a local person like myself, a family event with such a big scale held indoors was impressive. From the front to the end of the room, guests were sitting feet-to-feet in three lines throughout.” Following the details as she recalled her memories, I noticed that at the very front of the first room, a gold-plated Buddhist altar was placed facing the entrance. Beside it was hung a traditional ink painting of a farm house among mountains and rivers. Apparently, both of these installations played a great role in spiritually leading attendants’ thoughts during those solemn rituals. 

M-san further introduced that aside from serving the family for big events like weddings and funerals, the room was also used for holding community meetings. The locals used to gather here to discuss significant topics, such as proposals for improving living in the town and so on. I wondered since this room was so rich with sublimated elements of religion and art, what kind of inspiration permeated the residents’ discourse.

Whether it’s the sharing of lament, joy or wisdom, what happened in that meeting room belonged to the public. Whereas nowadays, speaking of home, it has a strong connotation of the ownership of private space. Critical family event like funerals rarely are held at home but in professional funeral homes. Community meetings are held in official governmental facilities. The boundary between private and public spaces has never been more articulate than now. Today, making a room for public purpose at home would seem quite eccentric, at best.

Pondering the fate of the Kominka culture

At the end of the visit, M-san told me that her family was facing a hard dilemma. They were told by elder generations that preserving this family Kominka house is essential. Burdened by this responsibility, it was very hard for her family to finally decide to sell the Kominka to the real estate agency. However, what can be related to me is that preserving a vacant house and witnessing the decayed life of this once-gorgeous architecture is also unbearably painful.

It is uncertain after this Kominka house is sold, whether it will be preserved, transformed into other architectural form or demolished for property. But I hope whatever happens it will provide some of the values of nature, home and community that this proud Kominka embodied for over a century.

When we think of art, it is often envisioned as ethereal as floating clouds. I often see it as insubstantial as mist that escapes my grasp. My perspective, however, has started to change while spending time at Atelier Hiko, especially while witnessing how Yacchan creates his artwork. 

My first meeting with the artist Yacchan arose from a misunderstanding. I was riding my bike to Atelier Hiko and thinking about its nagaiya architecture and how it needed restoration work. As I approached, I was excited to hear “Dang Dang Dang,” the steady sound of a carpenter swinging a hammer to a wall. There was a pause and then “Dang Dang Dang,” repeated in cadence. I wanted to find the carpenter and discuss the renovation work.

As I entered the atelier, I saw burly-figured altelier member Yacchan was intensely creating a unique art form. Highly focused, he was knocking in some small colored nails, one by one. His intensity was underscored by the “Fu Fu Fu” of his exhalation at each fall of the hammer.

What I took for granted as the sound of a carpenter’s labor was actually art under creation. I was fooled by my own preconception that art must be a lofty process. How embarrassing is that! The act of hammering nails is not merely limited to construction work, it can be artistic impression. Since Yachan was not knocking nails into the wall, I wondered what medium he was working with to make such a “Dang Dang Dang?” 

Surprisingly, it came from what looked like a thin cardboard tube that seemed to be composed only of many layers of paper. How could thin paper resonate with the sound of hammering?

Yacchan had applied a generous amount of glue mixed with dye to penetrate the surface of the tube which soaked into the absorbent material. After letting it dry, it become almost as solid and durable as dried bamboo stalks. Through this unexpected process, the potential of paper as a canvas for art was unlocked.

For over one-and-one-half hours, Yacchan kept sitting still there, repeating the same sequence – knocking the nails into the paper tube. He relaxed his shoulders, elbows, and wrists, and relied on the weight and force of the hammer to do the work but sweat beaded upon his forehead belying his intensity on this early summer afternoon.

Since the paper tube tends to roll, it is unstable to drive a nail onto it. On top of that, Yacchan holds the paper tube with left hand while having the next 10 pieces of nails to be knocked. At the same time he swings the hammer down with right hand, aiming for the spot he wants to hit. I noticed the intense effort he made to line up the colorful nails in evenly-spaced rows of the same color.

I decided to throw away my preconceptions and experience the scene unfolding in front of me. I wanted to understand why Yacchan is so determined at his task. Was it perhaps the joy in creating that had him so deeply immersed in his art work?

As I was watching the precision of how his right and left hands coordinated together, Ishizaki-san told me that Yacchan’s favorite food was corn, and I immediately perceived it! The shape of the paper tube and the spacing between the nails are reminiscent of the ordered rows of corn on the cob! Had I solved it? If one can create something he loves entirely by relying on himself, then his happiness would be relatable. 

“For Yacchan, the nails may represent ‘unreasonable things’. Every time a countless number of ‘unreasonable things’ are knocked into the paper tube, he feels slightly relieved and his favorite food, corn, can be sublimated.” said Ishizaki-san. I learned from her that Yacchan first started creating his “corn art” when going through a difficult and chaotic time during his middle school graduation. For him, it was an “unreasonable thing” that people had to part from each other at certain times in their lives.  

Another reason may lie in the work itself, I pondered. Yacchan knocks the sharp, painful end of the nail into the center of the paper tube, leaving the flat smooth head of the colored nails in orderly rows on the curved tube. As a result, countless myriad-colored circles are lined up in an orderly manner on its surface. The sharp ends, like thorns that can cause pain, are safely hidden away within. 

Yacchan continues to work with a serious expression on his face and I wondered what emotions fueled his art. Whether it was satisfaction or emotional unrest, like the interior of the paper tube, it was impossible to know what lies beneath. By the time he completed filling the corn full of nails, it was many times heavier than the original paper tube. He however stood up vigorously from his chair with lightness as if unburdened of a weight. I imagined I could feel his satisfaction. 

Within that specific moment, the unbearable weight accumulated from numerous “unreasonable things” he must face, may have partially departed from Yacchan. Yet can he reduce that heaviness without going through the similar process again and again? 

Then, another question arose. How should we confront works of art? Sometimes it feels unobtainable, like grasping at a cloud, and sometimes it we feel a deep meaning and weight that becomes anticipation. Despite attempts by scholars to categorize, define and interpret art objectively, subjective judgments differ depending on each person’s experiences. This is never clearer than with the types of “art brutal” that is created within the ateliers of special artists. In this way, can we see that a heavy corn cob of paper and nails might convey an unbearable lightness?

If you approach works by tossing aside your preconceptions, and then start by embracing the work and exploring how it was created, you can then experience the art through your own lens.

In this way, you may feel a weight and be shaken by your own ambivalent thoughts or sorrowful experiences and feel unable to bear their weight. That is an art experience.

（日本語 編集協力:  石﨑史子）

アートは、雲を掴むような頼りないものだという観点が世の中に存在する。私もそう思っていた。やっちゃんのアートワークを制作過程を目の当たりにしたことから、この考え方が変わり始めた。

やっちゃんとの出会いにあたって、勘違いのエピソードがある。その日、自転車でアトリエひこに向かっていると、あと10メートルのところで金づちで壁を打つような音が響いてきた。「トン、トン、トン」と続く何秒か後に、しばらく空白があり、もう一度「トン、トン、トン」と安定したリズムで音が響く。強いリズム感を持つ大工さんが来ているのか？アトリエひこにある古い建物が改修されているのか？

アトリエの部屋に入ると、たくましいやっちゃんが真剣に創作している姿が見えた。彼は非常に集中力があり、小さいカラー釘一つずつを打つとともに、何か「フン、フン、フン」と微かな声が聞こえた。

あれ、間違えたんだ！当たり前に大工の工事だと思っていた私は、先入観に惑わされてしまったことに気が付き、恥ずかしかった。金づちで釘を打つ行為は、建築の仕事とは限らずに、アートワークの可能性もある。でも、壁を打つのではなく、なんで「トン、トン、トン」という音がするのか。

思い掛けないことに、原因は紙管だ。その紙管は、普通で見られるものではない。紙が幾重にも重ねられた非常に頑丈なもので、元は布地が巻かれていた。やっちゃんはその上に染料を混ぜたボンドをたっぷりと塗り、一週間ほど乾かす。思いもかけない処理によって、紙の潜在的な可能性が解放されそうだ。

1時間半にわたって、やっちゃんはじっと座り、紙管へ釘打ちを繰り返した。肩、肘、手首を脱力させ、金づちの重みと振り落とす力をうまく使って、それでも初夏の午後、彼の額には汗が滲んだ。

紙管が転がりがちなことから、その上に釘を打つのは不安定だ。左手で次に打つ釘を10本ほど持ちながら、紙管を支え、右手で、「ここ」という場所めがけて、金づちを振り下ろす。さらに、ほぼ同じ間隔をあけて、カラー釘を一線打ち並べるのは難しい。

それほどやっちゃんが根を詰めるのはなぜだろう？その没頭の楽しみは何なのだろうか？先入観を捨てて、目の前で繰り広げられている光景を根拠にして、推理しようと思った。

右手と左手がお互いに協力しているのを見ながら、石﨑さんからやっちゃんの大好物はトウモロコシだと聞き、ぴったりだと思った。紙管の形状も釘の間隔も、トウモロコシの穂軸と似ている！それを解決できただろうか？自分の力で、大好きな物を作れば、満足感をいっばいで得られるかもしれない。その感情は共感できるだろう。

「やっちゃんにとっては、釘は「理不尽」を表しているかもしれない。無数の「理不尽」が打ち込まれる度に、少しだけ解消され、大好物のトウモロコシとして昇華される。」と石﨑さんが話しくれた。やっちゃんが初めて「とうもろこしアート」を作り始めたのは、中学卒業式の大変で混乱した時期だったということを石﨑さんから聞いた。彼にとって、人は人生の節目で別れなければならないことは「理不尽」だった。

もう一つは、作品そのものにあるかもしれない。やっちゃんは釘の尖った端を紙管の中央に打ち込み、曲面にはカラー釘の丸くて滑らかな頭を残す。そのため、表面には無数の鮮やかな円が秩序正しく並んでいる。ひるがえって、内側には傷をつけられるような茨を隠している。逆のイメージが一つ作品に凝縮されている。

真剣な顔で制作を続けるやっちゃんの作品にはどんな感情があったのだろうか。それが満足なのか不安なのか、紙管の内側のような心の中の機嫌は分かりにくい。釘だらけのトウモロコシが元の紙管より何倍も重くなっていた。しかし、作品を完成した瞬間、彼ははまるで重荷から解放されたかのように勢いよく椅子を立ち上がった。彼の満足感を感じられるだろうと想像した。

数々の「理不尽」に耐えられずに蓄積してきた重みが、その瞬間にやっちゃんから部分的に離れていったのかもしれない。なのに、同様のプロセスを何度も繰り返さずに、その重さを軽減できるだろうか?

そこで、ある疑問が芽生えることになった。私たちはアート作品を前にどう対峙すれば良いのだろう。時に、雲を掴むような頼りなく、時に、意味が深くて重さが予想となることもある。学者たちは芸術を客観的に分類、定義、解釈しようと試みているが、主観的な判断は各人の経験によって異なる。これは、アトリエひこで作成される「アール・ブリュット」の種類ほど明らかだ。そして、紙と釘で作られた重いトウモロコシが耐えられない軽さを伝える可能性があるのか?

先入観を捨てて、作品を受け入れ、それがどのように作られたのかを探ることから作品に取り組むと、自分自身のレンズを通してアートを体験することができる。アンビバレントない心情に揺さぶられ、耐えられなくなることもあるかもしれない。それこそがアート体験とも言える。

I was honored to borrow from Atelier Hiko a collection of Haruna-san’s poems. Upon reading the first few entries, I told Ishizaki-san that I am amazed by the cleverness in her writing. Despite being based mostly on very common daily-use words, the topics were as diverse and compelling as ghosts, heaven, Osaka Pro Wresting, hiking, hot spring baths and birthdays. They were composed into slogans, poems, songs and letters.

As a foreigner who feels the “fish out of water” experience, I’m just grateful to read these thought that I find so genuine and powerful.

Among her fun writings, one poem caught my eye.

***

Email

Meaning dream.

That’s impossible.

It’s messy.

(I’m) still angry.

I will never forgive you.

That’s impossible.

Even if you cry, it’s probably your fault, teacher.

Why don’t you email me?

Hey, teacher.

Next time, you can’t do that again.  

Do you understand?

I’m serious about it.

I won’t forgive you until you cry.
It’s impossible even if you show your guts.

I don’t need a slogan. (*Haruna-san writes slogans to cheer up herself and others.)

That email thing,

Really make it happen, okay?

Make sure to keep doing it until the end.

I won’t forgive if you give up.

Also I want to get you angry.

***

At first glance, I felt that in this poem, she was longing for communication with someone whom she is close to. After not obtaining what she expected, she used strong words expressing the feelings of being hurt and angry.

However, the phrase “I won’t forgive you until you cry” resonated with my own experiences. I recalled a quarrel with my childhood best friend, and a mischievous image of myself emerged. No matter how many times the other apologized, I would pretend to not forgive my friend just to gain more attention from her. Of course I had already forgiven her – that is friendship. It was only at this moment that I started to see the hyperbole in my youthful sentiment.

Did Haruna-san also feel the same way when she wrote this poem?

After reading the poem the second time, I felt that the author has an enviable sincerity. If possible, I would like to borrow Haruna-san’s frankness by saying directly what I want to say. As adults, we often live our lives with too much caution. In a society full of polite behavior, isn’t it really embarrassing to express negative emotions?

If something that I don’t like happened, if something made me angry, if something broke my heart, I would like to say to the other person, “I won’t forgive you until you cry.” That way, both the other person and I would be able to reach a clear resolution (and perhaps a big hug).

I became aware of Haruna’s candor when I visited Ishizaki-san at Atelier Hiko for the fourth time.

It was a Saturday when the largest number of members attends the studio. While composing new poems, Haruna-san talked with other members about her concerns regarding a recent personal matter. Surrounded by a caring atmosphere, I was trusted to be part of the group, even while I was taking notes next to her. As I listened, I couldn’t help but feel that she carried such a sense of courage to openly discuss her disquiet with others.

“Do you have any secret, Haruna-san?” I asked curiously.

“No,” Haruna answered firmly.

I didn’t exactly understand at the time. However, as I’m reading the poetry collection now, I inevitably think of the reason she came up with such a solid answer. Maybe it’s because everything that came to her mind, including personal issues, worries, and anger, was all written down.

Well then, Haruna-san, I want to share in the power of your words! Keep creating and I will continue reading your poetry collections.

（日本語 編集協力:  石﨑史子）

石﨑さんからお借りした春菜さんの詩集「ハッピバスケチューユ」をご拝読していると、彼女の言葉を操る巧さには驚いた。鬼、天国、大阪プロレス、山登り、温泉、誕生日をスローガン、歌、詩、手紙に書かれる日常に使われる言葉でも、外国人としての私にも力を与えてくれる。ありがとうね、春菜さん！

楽しそうに書かれたものの中で、一つの詩に目を引かれた。

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メール

意味ゆめ。

ありへん。

ぐだらね。

まだ怒っています。

絶対に許しません。

無理です。

泣いても、先生が悪いやろう。

なんでメールしないの。

なぁ、先生。

次メールしないとあれやで。

わかってるか。

本気行くで。

泣くまで許しません。

こんじょう出しても無理です。

スローガンはいらん。

あれ　メールは

してな。

最後までづつけてやってや。

あきらめたらあかんで。

また、おこってほしいわけ。

＊＊＊

春菜さんが親しい人からコミュニケーションを望んでいたのも感じられ、強い感情を表したことが分かる。ただ怒りの感情とは言えないかもしれない。「泣くまで許しません」というフレーズを読むと、幼い頃の喧嘩を思い出す。相手が何度も謝っても、自分は許さないふりで相手からもっと反応して欲しいというイメージが出てくるのだ。詩の中にもそういういたずらの感情が含まれるのではないか。

この詩を二回も読むと、うらやむべき率直さを感じられる。できるなら、自分で言いたいことを直接に言うという率直さをお借りしたい。大人としての私たちは、慎重になりすぎ、生きているのかもしれない。丁寧な振る舞いに溢れる社会で、ネガティブな感情を表すのは、恥ずかしいことなのか。何か嫌いなことがあったら、何か怒ったことがあったら、何か心を傷つけられったら、相手に「泣くまで許しません」と言いたい。そうすると、自分も相手もはっきりと分かるはずだ。

春菜さんの率直さは、四回目にアトリエひこを訪れたとき理解できた。その日は土曜日で、アトリエひこのメンバー人数は一番多かった。春菜さんは詩を作りながら、自分の悩み事を、皆さんと一緒にしゃべっていた。信頼してもらった私は、思いやりのある雰囲気に包まれ、傍でノートを取っていた。聞きながら、個人的な悩みを他人と話し合う春菜さんの姿に「勇気」を感じてならなかった。

「春菜さんには、秘密がありますか。」と私は興味深く尋ねた。

「ないです。」と春菜さんはきっぱりと答えた。

その時はわからなかった。今詩集を読んでいると、春菜さんのきっぱり答えた理由を考えずにいられない。秘密も、悩み事も、怒りなど心に浮かんだことを全部書いたからだろうか。では、春菜さん、詩集を読み続けさせていただきます。春菜さんの言葉の力をもらいたい！

At first glance, it might seem that trampolines and the spark of artistic creation are entirely unrelated. I discovered how intimately and interestingly connected they could be. When one speaks of artistic creation, it tends to evoke the image of someone peacefully painting in front of a canvas or sculpting clay. So, when I visited the Atelier Hiko, a small-size black trampoline set in the corner attracted my attention. One might wonder what it is doing in an art studio.

Machitaka-san, who attends Artier Hiko every Tuesday, is an active fourteen-year-old boy sporting surprisingly sinewy muscles within his thin body. At 4p.m., he came barging in to the Atelier with the force of a typhoon. Right away, he started to arrange the spacing of the furniture to his own proper proportions – all the chairs in line, the desks divided by the proper distance and everything in its place.

“What is going on?” I thought. As I was trying to figure out the situation, he had already picked up the trampoline from the corner. Very conscious of his surroundings, he made precise adjustments to the positions of the surrounding chairs and desks before placing the trampoline in the middle of the room. Then from a menu-like booklet, he selected a picture card representing a music song. He handed his choice to Ishizaki-san, which I perceived as another significant step in his preparations.

With great anticipation, Michitaka-san went to the trampoline. As the music began, he hopped on with a conspicuous sense of happiness. As if he were a metronome, the piano played along to his well-controlled rhythm. His T-shirt swayed loosely, its slogan “Just do it” seemed to match his dynamic energy.

“He is making a sequence of fast body movements as well as spontaneously incorporating the changes!” I thought. The image reminded me of a trampoline gymnast. On top of controlling the speed of his jumps, I guessed he might be targeted to achieve some awesome movements.

His control reminded me of gymnasts’ determination and skill.  For a moment, I didn’t know whether I was in an atelier or at a sports studio. I wondered what acrobatics he might achieve upon a full-sized trampoline. As an audience, I was eager to applaud his wonderful performance!

Jumping quickly, the excitement built up. Machitaka-san’s face blushed warmly and a bright smile emerged. “So is Machitaki-san, so is Hiko-kun…” as Ishizaki-san’s song drew to a close, his pace accordingly slowed down. I thought his energy was spent, but he promptly went to a nearby desk. With vigorous force, he started to draw with black ink.    

Within just six seconds, a painting began to take shape on the paper. Four circles, reminiscent of the Olympic logo, yet imperfect in shape, were linked together. Each brush stroke conveyed a strong force. “Wait, is it painting or calligraphy?” I pondered. In the way it was painted, it could be seen as four geometric shapes yet it could also be read as four written characters. Zero or circle, character or image, it was impossible for me to decide.

As I was trying to seek for an answer, I found out that they were high-fiving, as if celebrating an awesome accomplishment. “That’s it!” I came to a realization. The art work that Michitaka-san made was not just a solo work; instead, it was a fruitful result of his teamwork with Ishizaki-san.

It was the culmination of arranging the space and the canvas, moving within that space, connecting through music and finally creating his own unique art. For this artist, I felt the whole room was his canvas.

Is this any different than the great calligraphers, preparing their brushes, inks and paper and meditating before making the first brush stroke?

A peaceful meditation, playing an instrument, taking a stroll or intensely bouncing on a trampoline, warming-up is an essential part in the act of artistic creation.

(日本語 編集協力:  石﨑史子)

アトリエひこを訪れる度に、小さな黒いトランポリンが部屋の隅に置かれているのを見ている。芸術の創作というと、キャンバスの前で静かに描くイメージを思い浮かべがちだ。トランポリンと芸術創造は一見関係なさそうに思える。私はどんな面白い繋がりが存在しているのか知らなかった。

火曜日のメンバーである道隆さんは瘦せ型で筋肉をつけつつある十四歳の少年。午後四時頃、アトリエ部屋に入るなり、わくわくして、椅子を並べたり、二つの机を分けたり、空間位置を変えたりしていた。

何が起こっているのか。私が頭を抱えているうちに、彼はトランポリンを隅から拾い上げた。空間に意識を持っているようで、トランポリンを部屋の真ん中に置く前に、周囲の椅子と机の位置を微調整した。準備に手落ちがないように、もう一つ大切な項目は、メニューみたいな冊子から音楽曲の絵カードを選び、石﨑さんへ渡すことだ。

待ちきれない道隆さんはいよいよ楽しそうにトランポリンで飛び跳ね始めた。石﨑さんの弾くピアノ音楽とともに、「Just do it」と書かれたTシャツが彼のジャンプに合わせて上下に揺れていた。音楽のテンポが速くなると、彼は高く飛び上がるほど興奮し、体の動きも活発になっていた。足を前に蹴り出し、手も振っていた。

それほど速やかに動きながらも、即興的に動きの変化を取り入れる道隆さんは私にトランポリン体操選手を思い起こさせた。ジャンプのスピードを自分でコントロールしたうえで、かっこいい動きに挑戦しているのだろうか。

一瞬、アトリエにいるのか、スポーツ会場にいるのか、私はわからなかった。観客として彼の素晴らしいパフォーマンスに拍手を送りたい！

盛り上がりつつ、道隆さんの顔が赤くなり、笑みが浮かんでいるのが見えた。「道隆さんもアイーン、ひこくんもアイーン…」っと、石﨑さんの歌が終わりに近づくと、彼も自然にスピードを落とした。終わりだと思ってたけど、彼は近くの机に直ちに歩いて、勢いよく黒いインクで描いた。

たった6秒ぐらいで、四つのオリンピックのロゴみたいな丸が並んできて、一枚の絵が紙の上に現れた。いいえ、書道なのか。円として見ることもできるが、ゼロとして読み取ることもできる。はっきり判断するのは本当に難しい。

それが何なのか尋ねようとしたが、彼らは祝うかのようにハイタッチすることがわかった。ああ、なるほど！道隆さんのやってきた作品は、単なるソロ作品ではなく、石﨑さんとのチームワークの作品になるのだろうか。

ジャンプしたり、歌ったりすることに続いて、間髪入れずに絵や書が生じる。そういう身体的関係が理論としてあるのかどうかわからないけど、中国の書道家で似ている創作過程を見たことがある。筆を執る前に、作者は目を閉じて瞑想し、始まると、すべての文字を一気に書いた。

静かな瞑想と、片や激しいジャンプ。どちらもウォーミングアップとして大切な時間であり恩恵を受けているのだろう。