Monday, April 25, 2016

Disputatious

There is a prominent but fractious figure in chado that receives scant mention except when it relates to a specific design of dogu (tea ware). This figure inherited — if that is the correct word — Rikyu’s post of head tea master to Hideyoshi after Rikyu’s suicide, I am speaking of Furuta Oribe (b.1544).

Rikyu and Oribe were caught up in the momentous cultural and political changes. There are three main characters in the unification of Japan: Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu. It occurs in the Azuchi-Momoyama Period (1568-1600), and is an amazing story of shifting alliances, conquering armies, remorseless murder of vassals and their families, and the complication of foreign powers in both a mercantile and religious sense.

Oribe was unorthodox. Unlike Rikyu — a townsman and a merchant — Oribe was a samurai and a daimyo. He was one of Rikyu’s Seven Sages that carried on chanoyu after Rikyu’s death and became tea master to the Hideyoshi.

A sure way to get a rise out of demure tea folk is to use a piece of tea ware that is based on Oribe’s design. They have a distinctive look. The chawan will be deformed in some way, usually with purposeful indentation in the rim of the bowl. The color scheme is flamboyant with spattering of bright matcha green over a dirty white glaze with obscure markings in brown or black. It is as refreshing as it is distinctive.

Rikyu is celebrated for his restrained sensibility. A Raku chawan is like fashion’s “Little Black Dress”, elegant and refined. But Oribe took license with the form. He innovated and broke with tradition. Not only in tea ware but also in how he used tea spaces, mixing soan (the thatch hut) with shoin (reception rooms), and introduced the display of both calligraphy scrolls and flowers in the tearoom.

Most of the books I consulted on Japanese history made scant mention of Rikyu and did not address Oribe’s role. Oribe was a student of Rikyu (an inept one if I read correctly) and as I stated above, one of the Seven Sages (all military men) that Rikyu anointed to carry on tea after his death. He became tea master in all but name to Hideyoshi. When Hideyoshi died, he then became Ieyasu’s (the 2nd Shogun) tea master, and eventually the tea teacher to the third Shogun, Hidetada.

Oribe, a renowned military leader and a supporter of Tokugawa Shogunate, miscalculated the effect of his communication with the opposing side during the siege of the Osaka Castle. Tokugawa Ieyasu ordered him to commit suicide, and then had Oribe’s family and thus his lineage destroyed. This made me think how valued that Sen Rikyu’s family must have been to Hideyoshi that it was banished and not decimated after Rikyu’s death, and then quickly rehabilitated.

Kumakura Isao, in an article he wrote in Tea in Japan: Essays on the History of Chanoyu, quotes a five-line verse that describes the tea of four tea masters from the Tokugawa period. The first line of the verse is “Oribe is disputatious…”. It is a rarely used word meaning argumentative, awkward, and contrary.

It is my contention that Oribe is remembered, out of the many tea men that came after Rikyu’s death, not just because of his unique utensils but also because of his contrary genius. May we all be so daring!

April 2016

Sunday, April 03, 2016

Auteur

Mike Nichols, the famed director of movies and plays such as the Graduate and Spam-a-Lot, sits dressed in black answering unheard questions. He is brilliant and confident without the slightest pretention. And he has a wicked sense of humor. At one point in the interview, he lashes out and firmly states that he is not an auteur, something that he has been accused of by his critics.

What is an auteur? I reach for the dictionary on my phone, read the definition, and realize that I have always wanted to be one. An auteur is an artist that has a distinctive style. I am not sure why Mike Nichols denied the label. It does not sound like a put down but maybe in the film world it is a derogatory term.

I wondered what my style would be when I first started to write. Did I need to invent one? Then one day I realized I had a style when I decided it needed to be changed. Does everything we do need to be innovative or is it okay to leave our distinctive stamp on it.

I mean a Rothko is a Rothko. Maybe his earlier works look different but not his later paintings. To the uninitiated, they are hard to tell apart. His studies of color are worth tens of millions. I wonder would he be upset at being called an auteur.

We all have a style, something that distinguishes us. The poor souls in my neighborhood that spend their lives outdoors have style. It could be their carts or their collection of bags or a stooped walk. I have learned to spot them wandering as I wander my north side bastion of Chicago. Few individuals have no style or distinction.

Of course, much time and effort is devoted to trying to stand out. Hair color, tattoos, garrulous cloths, enormous watches, 8 inch heels; I know, I know I am jealous. I am just too conservative and frugal to devote the time and money that it would take. An artist friend of mine, though dressed in black, always has a slightly quirky pair of eyeglasses on. In fact, I look forward to meeting him just to see what the new pair (for there is always a new pair) will reveal about him.

Whenever I get new glasses, I am determined to emulate him but fail. I suppose that is what makes us different. I cannot force myself out of my middle class rut to splash a little color or distinctive design somewhere on my body.

But then I am not completely without distinction, in my role as president of Urasenke Chicago Association (a group dedicated to chanoyu, the tea ceremony) I wear a kimono. This certainly puts me in the minority of Chicago males and maybe of most males in Japan. A kimono certainly makes me stand out in a crowd even if the kimono I am allowed to wear is a dower affair. It is like the pin striped suits that bankers and funeral directors wear.

Though, through none of my own doing, my obi stands out. An obi is a sash that is worn around the waist to keep the kimono intact. It was presented to me as a gift from a gifted tea master. I would have never thought to buy it. It is flamboyant with its gold ground and multiple pastel colors. One side has a linear design while the other is fleur de lis. But I enjoy wearing it and will never go back to the drab brown or navy blues of the past.

And I enjoy the attention I receive because of it. The black transparent jacket that is also part of the outfit shrouds it. Some attention to detail is required to see it. This means that I am being watched and so it reminds me to pay attention to my posture and my behavior. It is a good lesson in humility that a piece of fabric can and does take precedence over the whole of my personality.

Mike Nichols could wear only black. His brilliance drew people to him. He needed no outward affectation. For me though, I am grateful for my showy obi. It keeps me working for the day when I can fling it into space confident of my asteurism.

March 2016