Sometimes it’s hard for me to understand why I feel so drawn to a country so far away, and so different. But after visiting four times now, navigating this place has now a sense of ease.
When I arrived in April I spent ten days doing holiday and social things, I played a little show in a wonderful and warm place, I travelled from Tokyo to Kyoto, Fukuoka, and finally Itoshima, where I spent 4 weeks on an art residency at Studio Kura. By the time I arrived in Itoshima I was a little travelled out, especially with all my heavy gear (even if I did my best to bring lighter equipment!) trying to find my way in big stations, seeing so many tall grey buildings. I felt tired and overstimulated, and I was overjoyed to arrive in rural Japan where there are no crowds, and people aren’t tired of seeing too many tourists around (sadly often polluting temples and shrines with loud voices and disrespectful manners).
At Studio Kura, I settled in my little creative bubble. I was sharing with 3 other artists, and there were also other artist houses in the neighbourhood. I chose to set up my music equipment in the bedroom. I also used the studio space to make cyanotype and experimental printing.
Although I felt a little sad and overwhelmed the very first day (thankfully this only lasted a day!), the feeling of having all this time to just explore and create was magical. I was amazed that I could just create a routine and ‘micro-life’ so far away from home, in such a comforting way. I’m not a confident cyclist at all, but as it was the only way to get to the station and supermarket, so I slowly ventured out on the bike that was kindly lent to me. I did do a couple of 40min-walk to the supermarket at first though. I used the bike for practical reasons - for example racing to the train station to catch a train - but I found that walking was the best way to notice many things around me. My work during the month was about noticing details of the local landscape, so I embraced the slowness of my steps as much as possible, even if it was taking me 3 hours to go grocery shopping sometimes. I was stopping a lot to take photos (at least attempt) of herons and birds, but they were too clever, they always flew away before I could get out my little dad-on-holiday digi camera. During one of my last walks (a final 40min journey to the supermarket) I used the continuous shooting option. I felt sometimes very frustrated with this little Sony camera (it actually used to belong to my dad, going on holiday), but I also enjoyed working with limitations.
I felt very grateful for the presence of the other artists (everyone was so kind-hearted and open), but also for the little solo adventures and many moments of solitude. Sometimes I just need to be on my own to recharge.
I found that old people were talking to me quite a lot (unlike younger people). In our local station, where several swallow nests were located, I was sometimes struggling to recharge my travel card or get the correct ticket from the ancient vending machine. A lovely lady started helping me, all in Japanese, and once I had succeeded (only 1000 yen notes! Only old notes are taken! The machine was telling me off), we sat side by side on the bench, waiting for the same train. Older people seem to chat freely to anyone because ‘they already lived their life’. I’m understanding they don’t need to ‘be cool’, like the younger population - basically they don’t care, they’re not afraid to be judged. There is sometimes a little cheekiness in the way they speak to me in Japanese with such determination, probably knowing I don’t understand most of it.
I was trying to do a little lesson of Japanese and practice everyday, so in the end I was able to understand numbers (during my never ending grocery shopping trips) and some very basic things. The lovely obaa-san is sat next to me. She looks happy that I can get on this train after battling with the ticket machine. She asks where my family is, if I am travelling with them. She almost seems worried I am ‘on my own’. She tells me she is 78. I can also say my age. It is silly, but I feel a great happiness being able to have this small conversation in Japanese, with someone from a totally different era. She says it’s too cold for her today. Samui! We board the little red train to Chikuzen-Maebaru. I ask if she’s going to the shops. She says, no, she is going to the hospital. It makes my heart ache because she looks a little sad.
I feel so much tenderness for the Ojii-san and Obaa-san I encountered. The old lady in the shop who would always gift me something at checkout. The lonely obaa-san opposite our house, who wants to make sure I don’t get lost. The generous lady who paid my bus fare before I could even reach for my purse because I looked slightly confused for a second. The farmers in their fields, the random people making sure I get off the train at the right stop, checking on me out of pure kindness.
These are really precious memories - ‘small things in silence’. Next time I will try to say a little more about my art project ‘please consider the moss’.
Take care,
Clémentine x
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.