Snap! Gallery: Add Your Own Photos

Before I left for Japan my ArtLink artist Frank and I bound a book of digital images we had been working on.  We also bound a blank book in the Japanese style of stab binding.  This is a neat method of sewing a stack of paper together and Frank got the hang of it quickly.  “Fill it up while I’m in Japan, ” I told him, but doubted that he would get to it.  He’s been preoccupied with a lot of things since January when started to work together. Most of our time together had been spent talking about the incredible events in Frank’s life and building a relationship, but there hasn’t been much artistic focus.

This, my third match in the ArtLink program, has been the most difficult that way.  Grace Anne who dreamed up this great idea of pairing artists one on one to work together has left it to the teams to determine what collaboration means.  Frank and I are still exploring the meaning as the show opening looms.

I am wary of bringing too much of my own agenda to the table and have let the artists I work with lead the way. This is how I work with all Creative Clay member-artists and my students at the Handweaving Museum and Craft School in Clayton New York that I teach at in the summer.

In Japan I saw ArtLink teams paired for up to three years at a time who were producing impressive and very edgy conceptual art.  The “more well known artists” as the Japanese call the professionals in the pairings have varying degrees of influence.  But Japan is a society that thrives on collaboration and this probably explains why the ArtLink program has taken off so well there. 

Back home I called Frank.  He told me he’d read the blog every day.  He sounded upbeat and we planned to meet so we could make some final decisions on what we were going to show in June.  In the back of my mind I’d been thinking of some kind of freestanding sculpture of some sort with our digital images, but before bringing that up I would ask Frank if he had any ideas.

After I gave Frank the presents I brought for him from Japan he smiled as wide as I’d ever seen him.  “I got something for you Miz Sarah,” he said and gave me the notebook we bound.  He had filled it with his beautiful and poetic ideas of life and tiny cartoon illustrations.  It was amazing.  Rising from the ashes of displacement from Cuba, Columbia, and finally from New Orleans, Frank had chosen a phoenix as a symbol of his life philosophy.  The last three pages were the words “thank you” translated into as many languages as Frank could find.

“What do you think of making something that is standing by itself, Miz Sarah?” Frank asks about our piece for the show.  I nod, smile, and think maybe the ArtLink magic has happened again. 

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Twenty-four hours after our initial pick up at the Tokyo hotel; we are back safe and sound.  There were some minor complications and delays but nothing to blog about.  I was actually very excited to see my suitcase roll out on the baggage claim conveyer.  In Hakone, while my travel companions went on a gondola ride to see better views of Mt. Fuji, I stayed in my hotel room performing an emergency nip-tuck procedure on my Wenger, Swiss Army luggage.  By the time I put down my needle and red thread, it looked like Frankenstein’s luggage.  The experience reinforced my pension to always buy big-ticket items that have lifetime warranties.

My husband and two year old daughter, who, after ignoring me for only two minutes, spent the remainder of the car ride holding onto my index finger and welcomed me home.  My initial reaction when I returned was, wow, our cars are big, our furniture is big, but the Japanese still have the biggest T.V.’s.  In fact they like to install them on large buildings at the middle of major intersections for the pedestrians and taxi drivers to enjoy.

All in all, a great trip that was very inspiring.  I must thank all of the hard working employees, volunteers and members at Creative Clay for keeping things running smooth as Kyoto silk while I was away!  There is a lot more to this story so I hope to keep blogging until the opening reception of the ARTLINK JAPAN exhibit on June 15, 2007.  See you then!

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Toto, Japanese’s largest manufacturer of toilets recently had to recall thousands of its newest models because of a fire hazard.  Luckily no one has been hurt, but I believe it has given me permission write about how a toilet could catch on fire.

Here in Japan there are electrical outlets built in next to a toilet to accommodate the latest in personal hygiene and comfort.  Beginning with adjustable heated seats, you might have several bidet options and automatic flushing.  Many of the toilets I’ve seen here have had more controls than my microwave.  Since the detailed and lengthy directions are in kanji I have hesitated to try several buttons for fear of the hazard illustrations showing stick figures in compromising positions.

There is danger in bathrooms here.  This instruction was given on a label outside my hotel bathroom in Okayama:  “Because it is easy to glide in a bathroom, please be careful enough!”

One toilet I was on in Kyoto closed automatically and flushed when I got up from it, which was a little spooky.

When I sat down on the toilet in my room Ginza it automatically started an exhaust fan over my head.  The whirl of its motor really made me mad.  How dare it presume that I need an exhaust!

Then in public restrooms there are sometimes small boxes with speakers on the wall.  One pushes a button and the sound of flushing water blasts out to cover any embarrassing noises one might make.

But on a chilly morning a heated seat it is worth the many risks. There have been a few times in the past weeks that I feel as though I am sitting on a throne.  Or other times I feel like I could pull a lever and a skylight would open to allow my toilet to fly me high into the Japanese sky.  Sometimes the theme for Star Trek goes through my head as I ponder my options.

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Part of the reason why this trip to Japan has been so interesting for me is because I have a background of enjoying ethnic traditions while I grew up in an Italian American family.  I have scads of memories enjoying Sunday dinners at my grandparents’ New York apartment, running under the table, helping set the table and devouring pans of homemade lasagna, ziti and my favorite, Argurio Specials.  Argurio Specials are small tubes of macaroni stuffed with chopped sirloin and then boiled and prepared with a thick 7-hour tomato and pork gravy.

When I was a young adult I used to get so angry at how Italian American families were depicted in Hollywood.  The advertised version of Italians is that we are a prideful, hot headed, crime loving kind of people that tend to decorate our houses with garish gold and bronze trinkets.  Hollywood makes us look like soulless people and that could not be further from the truth.

In 2005 I wanted to find out about the people I descended from so I took a trip with my husband to Italy. I had real conversations with many of the locals.  What I discovered is that the average Italian is deeply concerned about the future of our planet, that they have advanced knowledge of art, art history and their culture.  They are beyond stylish and gorgeously hospitable. I felt truly connected and hold on to the prideful part of that stereotype.

My travels and business in Japan have been equally as enlightening as my travels in Italy.  Japanese Americans also endure a negative stereotype in our country.  I cringe every time I think that anyone would use Mickey Rooney’s character in “Breakfast At Tiffany’s” as a frame of reference for this culture.

As I enjoyed meals with my Japanese colleagues we spoke about our time with family when we were growing up and how modern day responsibilities are getting in the way of good old fashion family time.  I see this affecting our world in a very negative way.  My mom is the exception.  She makes sure every holiday is celebrated with the correct recipes and traditions.  She travels sometimes to four and five grocery stores making sure to get the proper ingredients.  Compromising is not an option.  At a recent Easter gathering my dad commented that he was afraid that these traditions would not carry on.  Now I know what my new goals need to be and where I should focus my energy.

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My American palette gave up.  I am sitting on the second floor of a McDonald’s fast food restaurant in the heart of Ginza, the fashion district of Tokyo.  It was time to make my life easier and I admit it makes me feel contented eating something familiar for a change.  Plus, I get to follow up on my unofficial travel research quest.  I will test the quality of Japan’s cheeseburgers.  Mine is A-OK.  So far I have researched and concluded that cheeseburgers from McDonald’s taste the same in Tokyo, Geneva, Rome, Vancouver, Prague, Brussels, Amsterdam and Miami.

I am proud of my uncanny ability to find McDonald’s restaurants in most major cities.  Consistency = comfort.

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One hundred people attended the ARTLINK forum hosted by the Museum of Contemporary Art in Tokyo.  The museum is a large modern building with a sculpture garden and some pathway extensions. The setting is exquisite.  Their collection houses a variety of conceptual installations and a new exhibit by a renowned Feminist Artist- Marlene Dumas.  If you know me, you know that I am passionate about advocating for persons with disabilities and access to the arts for all.  Even though this passion leads me, I do not feel worthy of this venue, but I oblige none-the-less.

David looked dashing in his brown wool blend suit jacket and consummate black artist shirt.  Sarah was beautiful in her green patterned silk blouse and fancy reading glasses.  Sarah continued to battle a cold that would not go away, so as she swayed with faint, I kept a close eye on her status.  What troopers these artists are!  It is difficult enough to travel in a country where there is little likelihood of being able to read and write their language.  It is exhausting to prepare presentations that take twice as long because of the translation.  I testify that Sarah and David did an excellent job of representing Florida, Creative Clay and the ARTLINK project.

The presentations are well received.  The speakers from the Japanese agencies have fresh, radiant photos that explain the project through color and smiles.  One presenter offers the thought that the essence of ARTLINK is to “promote some new change in your life”.  I really love this idea.  It is an inspiring afternoon and an honorable way to say goodbye to our Japanese colleagues.

After the forum closes, I race upstairs to view the Marlene Dumas exhibit.  Her work is amazing...large portraits of watercolor and ink paintings.  She is a prolific artist and the 2-story walls are satisfactorily filled with her work.  Some on paper, some on canvas.  I only have enough time to study the work for a few minutes, so I race back downstairs to the gift shop and buy the hardback catalogue to share with the member artists and staff at Creative Clay. 

Soon these experiences will be a flash of memories so a book may be the best way to relive this perfect day.

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The best thing about train travel in Japan to me is the bento box.  Divided neatly into sections of colorful and artfully arranged delicacies it is a treat for the eater who likes surprises.  Because you never really know what you’re going to get.  Even Japanese people shake their head sometimes when you ask them what different items are in your bento box. 

Sometimes what looks like a sweet pink thing turns out to be pickled something-sharp tasting and bitter.  But it’s good with sticky rice sprinkled with black sesame seeds.  Sometimes a scary looking mushroom-looking thing can be a bean that is more like a dessert.  Many things taste like fish because either they are or they are sprinkled with fish shavings or dried shrimp.  Bento box are not for everyone.

On the train there are attendants who come into your car pushing stainless steel carts filled with boxes, snacks, and drinks.  They call out in a singsong voice what they have to offer and bow politely before entering or leaving your car.

While it’s fine to buy a drink this way, it’s best to purchase bento boxes in the station where you can see what is inside.  Once an attractive packaging caught my eye on the way out of Okayama and inside were a dozen dusty green tea covered glutinous sweets that I could barely swallow.  My travel buddies were amused.

Still, I like to choose a box with as many unrecognizable items as possible.  There’s more sport in it if you have no idea what something is going to taste like.  And the variety in one box can be amazing.  The other day I had twenty two separate items in one box, such as several kinds of pickled veggies, rice, tofu,seaweed salads, fish, steamed veggies, beef tongue, tempura, beans, sushi, preserved fruit, and sweet rice paste.

For between 600 and 1500 yen ($4 to $12 U.S.) you can get an amazing menu of goodies.  Plus it gives you plenty to do during a long train ride.

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Our travels in Japan are about to end. In two more days we will get on a jumbo jet and endure 17 hours of flight back to Florida. We have one more presentation at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Tokyo today, at that point we will say goodbye for now to our old and new Japanese friends and wait for them to join us in June.

On this trip I experienced some of the same from my trip in 2003, but our conversations and plans went deeper, we talked about the global reach of ARTLINK and are making plans together to attend the Shang Hai Expo in 2010.  We discussed at length our need for change in the world and the increase of socially responsive art programs, especially in developing nations.  The inclusion of the youngest generation of professional artists is essential and to encourage mentorship from our experienced artists.  The joint vision is now shared to guide and support the member artists to explore their own messages and forms of expression.  Lastly, we will work tirelessly to elevate the level of our presentations, sponsored time and exhibitions at prestigious venues like the Kyoto Museum of Modern Art and The Museum of Contemporary Art in Tokyo is a great start.  We will continue on this path with our exhibit scheduled to open at the Florida Craftsmen Gallery in St. Petersburg on June 15, 2007.

I am always impressed by the collective work ethic of the Japanese people, especially the professionals that I have worked with on the ARTLINK project.  Their passion should be bottled and shared with the world.  I will leave here inspired and encouraged, and more endeared to the beautiful people who knocked my socks off back in 2001.

During my trip, the following things made my travels easier:
1.) Regular video updates of my two-year old daughter from my very considerate husband.  This was my tonic for homesickness.
2.) Scalding hot showers, the kind that make mirrors weep and leave your backside as red as a chili pepper.
3.) 15 ways to bidet in every hotel bathroom.
4.) Small courses at dinner served over two hours ending with strong coffee.
5.) An ancient city surrounded by three mountain ranges and a river.

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The narrow streets of Hakone end at a tiny combination tourist pier/fishing village.  It is a tired, sleepy place that softly touches Lake Ashi.  The restaurants close for the night at 3pm.  There are eight souvenir shops, a few cafes, one Seven-Eleven convenience store, a half-dozen docks and three large sight-seeing ships.  Hakone is not exactly the nature refuge that I was hoping for, but it is a welcomed change from our thirteen days in concrete jungles.

It takes three attempts to find the only open noodle shop.  It is on the second floor and overlooks the lake.  If the clouds clear, we will be able to see Mt. Fuji.  The lake is a glassy grey shifting with twinkles of bright light.  Sarah makes friends with the local fishermen and one catches a trout just as I arrive.  I take a few photos and then the fisherman goes to his van to retrieve his plastic portfolio of award winning photographs of Mt. Fuji.  We compliment him too much because he begins to pull some of the photos out of the sleeve to give us a gift.  We say “ie-ie-ie” (no,no,no) twenty times and he finally puts them back.  It is tricky in Japan to find the balance between a good sincere compliment and an accolade that will win you an unanticipated, obligatory gift.

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The country side that we see speeding along by train is the same from Okayama to Tokyo.  Flat land is crammed with buildings, industrial plants, and wires.  The gray concrete is punctuated by garish signage.  The mountains could be beautiful if you squint, but in focus mammoth towers and thousands of electrical wires march over the tops.  It’s enough to make my nature conservator heart grow cold.

This is what shocked me most in 2003, was this landscape of industry.  Even the ocean isn’t immune.  There is aquaculture, barges, and ships as far as you can see.  Riverbanks, even in rural appearing areas are cemented and controlled.

But then we got off the train. We wound up a tiny road on a bus headed for Lake Ashi.  As we entered the cool shadowy forest of the Hakone National Park little vistas began to appear that seemed remarkably untouched.  The iconic Mount Fuji appeared from cloud cover near sunset. Sketching Fuji in watercolor as the light faded might be up there in my top ten moments.

Granted that we were there with other tourist and big tour boats take crowds out for better vantage points to view Fuji, it still feels good here.  Fishermen yank out an alarming number of fat trout, which I suspect must be stocked.  But instead of distant din of traffic, there is the sweet sounds of songbirds, something that sounds like a loon, and the lapping of water on shore.

At 5 AM I went out to see Fuji-san as she woke.  It was according to my thermometer 38 degrees Fahrenheit, but it felt like 20 by the lake.  Fishermen were stomping around and blowing steamy air into their hands.  Almost all of them had pretty nice cameras.  They take turns messing with their tackle, casting grubs out on the lake, and snapping photos.  I made some pictures of Fuji, pink and reflected in the lake and booked it to the store for something hot to drink.

In Japan your hot drink selection is about 50 different bottles in a heated display area.  Without knowledge of Kanji- Japanese lettering, it’s pretty much a crapshoot on what you’re going to get.  This time I got a hot milky tea exactly like my cousin Charles makes me on cold mornings at the River in Northern New York. 

Happily I went back out and hiked along a checkerboard cobblestone path around the lake.  It was so quiet, moss covered and beautiful that I was stunned.  Eventually I found the hatchery where the trout are raised and then went back to join the Williams for a gondola ride up Mt. Komagatake

Even as I was cherishing this place I realized how fast the time was going to fly before we were again on a bus winding our way down the mountains to board a train back to Tokyo.  This is the Japanese landscape I want to remember.

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“Shadows of Star” is the title of one of my favorite artworks in Kyoto. I met the artists, Shiraishi san and Amakawa san at the National Museum of Modern Art while we were all panelists presenting at the ARTLINK Forum.  For me, the most inspiring stories were told by Shiraishi, an artist who loves to draw and paint, but happens to also be blind.

He spoke with a long lasting smile and with gusto.  In 2006 he was paired with a painter named Amakawa san.  A painter who was willing and ready for a challenge.  Shiraishi wanted to be inspired to interpret the abstract idea of how colors can be imagined by someone who has been robbed of the sense of sight.  The two worked together successfully for a while.  Then something unanticipated happened, Shiraishi began to care about the appearances of his artwork even though he could not see it.  He stated “my brain went totally blank…I was really confused that time like falling from the airplane in the air.”

It took him many weeks to begin to want to work again, and slowly through listening to music he began making circles and then began enjoying art again.  The two have made gorgeous work together, drawings and paintings combined with titles like “Color Of The Wind” and “The Tears Of Okinawa”. 

ARTLINK is a journey for the two participants and the journey does not always take you on a clear and easy path, but these two artists are perfect examples of the power of perseverance.

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At a sake and sushi bar Dave, Jane, and I met up with two cute twenty-something Japanese girls and a staff of sushi chefs about the same age.  We chatted away the evening in a mixture of Japanese-English and sake-induced fellowship. Cards were exchanged and then drinks.  One of the girls pulled a tiny heart shaped clip from her hair to put into mine.  Then I took off my necklace of a glass bead I’d made months ago and gave it to them.  Next, purses and backpacks were emptied out and gifts flew.  Part of a typical Japanese evening.

The following morning I had several plastic hair clips, a mirror with pink kittens all over it, a floral patterned nail file, a panda charm for a cell phone, a Minnie Mouse pen that lit when you wrote and other items not exactly essential to an American woman of a certain age (not even close to twenty).  But I will keep and cherish them all.

At Tanpopo-ne-ye Arts Center we were treated to an amazing dinner cooked on the premises, T-shirts big enough for American men and assorted gifts from individual staff members and artists.  More importantly we took away a renewed passion for what happens at Creative Clay and an inspiration for what can be created in our own studios.

I brought one bag specifically for gifts this trip.  Among them I brought a stack of opening day pamplets from Tropicana Field with Akinori Iwamura on the cover.  To the baseball loving Japanese these have been a popular gift.  Japanese TV only cover teams that have Japanese players, so thanks to him I can see game highlights and get scores.  I even saw a whole game against the Yankees on nasty and rainy day in Kyoto.  Excellent gift! 

Hugging or even shaking hands in Japan is rarely done.  When I was in Uruguay in February, I got used to being embraced and kissed on the cheek as part of an introduction to new people.  This, I am certain would flip out an ordinary Japanese person. 

They give gifts instead.  Sometimes they are little trinkets, candy, or in our case, fabulous items made by persons with disabilities.  We’ve also received extraordinary craft items, many lavish dinners, and experiences that can never be duplicated.  Each hotel we leave has a small pile of sacrificed clothes to make room for gifts and we’ve shipped home several boxes.

Last night as we left a forum on Japanese and American ArtLink experiences at the National Museum of Modern Art, my American impulses took over and some of the younger staff members of Tanpopo-ne-ye who I’ve known now since 2003 allowed themselves to be lightly embraced in farewell.  They might have been slightly nervous about it, but it felt good to me.

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Hot cocoa and a rainy morning leave me lingering in the hotel café.  I get to look at periwinkle and yellow irises.  Beyond the flowers there is a bamboo fountain with water trickling out.  Sarah is not feeling well this morning so I will explore more of Kyoto solo and remember to bring her back orange juice for her sore throat.

I go to the hotel’s front desk and in Japanese ask for a taxi to the nearest department store.  The attendant then goes outside in the rain and hails a cab for me.  I assumed she would call a taxi company on the phone. I instantly feel guilty and thank her profusely when one arrives in a jiffy.

The taxi driver and I chat about baseball.  He passes what look like to me, perfect department stores, but I realize later that he must take me to his wife’s favorite.  “Best items” he says and I try to give him a tip but he refuses.

Pink “Love To Mamma” signs are everywhere. Mother’s Day is a big holiday here. (Another reason to love Japan.) Rows and rows of designer handkerchiefs and scarves line the shelves.

I travel up an escalator to the second floor, round the corner and find my oasis.  A manicure shop that is not afraid of my ugly toes.  They frown when they notice my all terrain sneakers, but accept me as a client none-the-less.  My pedicurist is so gentle with me and speaks English with great fluency.  As if this experience was not relaxing enough, beyond our station is a flat screen TV that plays a recorded version of an ocean sunset.

Gentle turns into a massage by Cruella De Ville as my feet get rubbed.  The whole pedicure takes two hours, three types of lotions, two exfoliants and lots of sanding with a giant emery board.  Now I can present at the National Museum of Modern Art with toes that shine.

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The sliding doors are about to open and the performance is about to begin.  The crowd is made up of seniors, a few families, one or two British tourists, and me, the giant American lady who refuses to put down her pen.

I go to the balcony and see the stage for the first time.  The theater is huge, the seats are comfy and mine surrounds me like a hug.  The ticket lady at the counter must have noticed my long legs and so she assigned me an aisle seat.  My knees are very thankful.

As the clank, clank, clank of the instruments strum in unison with the geiko performers, twenty of them make it to center stage, all wearing the same silk kimonos and carrying fans.  I am told that the real drama to this performance occurs in the eyes of the geiko.  This is because the white make-up hides much of their expressions.

The dance is flawless, I literally try to find a mistake in the synchronicity of the performers, but they are not budging! It is their first performance of the day but this is no dress rehearsal!  One of my favorite scenes occurs when the stage is turned into a summer night at dusk and small green halogen lights dangle at varying distances from the rafters like fire flies.

The story line is difficult to interpret.  Something about a full moon, friendship and the seasons of the year.  Then blammo, it’s over.  Only one hour and it went by so quick.  I was warned that it may sound like stepping on cats but at times I was choking back tears for the shear beauty of the presentation.

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I am waiting with a group of Japanese senior citizens to enter into the theater where I will view the geiko cherry blossom dance performance entitled “Miyako Odori”.  Westerners call them geisha, but they prefer to call themselves geiko. The theater is decorated with large purple and white banners and then red and white fabric adorns the inside lobby.  The crowd’s hum grows louder and louder with anticipation as the time grows nearer to the beginning of the performance.  I am predicting this to be part concert and part circus.

Most geiko live and work in a section of Kyoto called Gion.  The cobblestone streets are lined with small craft shops, red lanterns and fake cherry blossoms that arch over and sway in the breeze.

Just then a man sitting across from me spits on the lobby rug.  This act does little to prepare me for the beautiful performance that I am about to witness.  I know this man is not Japanese because it is not customary to (and I have never seen a Japanese person) spit in public.  Later I see the tag on his bag and it reads Beijing.

Today in a coffee shop Sarah spotted the first geiko walking quickly, by the café window.  Not knowing that Tuesdays are days of performances, we luck out!  By happenstance we collect photo after photo of the beautifully costumed geiko ladies.  Their kimonos are gorgeous, some of them retailing for as much as $80,000.  Most of the geikos seem tired.  Maybe they were out too late last night, or maybe it just never gets easier to walk in those wooden platform flip flops.

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