Sticks. Long swords. Short swords. Sickles with ball and chain. Truncheons. Gentlemen's walking sticks. This was a fun week.
I just came back (a whole week ago now) from a 5-day training intensive in Japan. The event was by invitation only (hence I am obscuring details here). Starting on Saturday afternoon, a group of serious budoka came together to eat, sleep and train, train, train. Training on most days began at 8:30 in the morning and continued (with a short lunch break) until 5:15 every afternoon.
It's a tradition that does not really exist here in the US. Yes, we have seminars, but generally speaking, people come to the training, maybe have a meal together and go home to their families in the evening. If the seminar even lasts more than one day, maybe some who are not overburdened by work or family obligations will come for a second day of training if they can afford it. A budo seminar in the US is, generally speaking, brief, expensive and open to the public. In short, there is no equivalent to this experience here in the level of intensity involved in the training. (To be fair, I know there are various "camps" offered, here and there, in koryu arts in the US. I am not being critical, I am just saying it's not the same experience.)
This gasshuku (aka "training camp," an unfortunate-sounding translation, in our current way of looking at things) is held, weather and other factors permitting, two times per year. Attendance varies (and not all participants can stay for the entire time), but generally speaking, at the peak, there can be about 60 participants; most people stay for more than two days, and at least 20 stay for the entire time.
We fill up a huge, old dojo in a small town outside of Tokyo. Training varies depending on what the head teacher wants to do; sometimes the overall plan is not that obvious, but the overall goals for participants are: to train at slightly above your average level with a wide variety of people, and to be introduced to levels of training or even other parts of the curriculum that are not familiar. Over the five days we trained in various levels of Shinto Muso Ryu jodo, Seitei jodo, kusarigama (sickle with ball and chain), kenjutsu (swordsmanship), jutte (truncheon) and tanjo (walking stick). Though there were times when participants divided into groups according to ability, no one was allowed to stand to the side while unfamiliar material was introduced. Everyone had to TRY.
Introduction to new stuff was done in Japanese style - the teacher showed the technique once, or maybe twice, then everyone had to do their best. Sometimes they got more than one chance, but most times not. It is a place of opportunity to do new things, but if you are of the shrinking-violet variety, don't apply here. People are dragged out to show what they have "learned," even if that means trying to show what you were just shown a few minutes ago and given no time to think or analyze anything. The teachers were not looking for perfection, they were looking for effort. They were looking to see if you were paying attention.
Food is plain and abundant, and disappears quickly. There is not much conversation until evening, when the junpai comes around the table and everyone takes turns sipping very good sake'. There are speeches and toasts. After dinner, those who have the energy circulate to different rooms for more sake' or beer, but everyone is mindful of the fact that breakfast is at 7:00am, and everyone is expected to be on time.
The dojo is very, very cold in February and considerable ingenuity is employed in trying to stay warm. This was my fourth gasshuku, and the second time I have trained in February, and my cold-weather strategy is evolving, but still a work in progress. I think once I have the achingly cold feet thing nailed, I'll be totally good!
I have written abundantly on why people want to engage in this sort of thing. It's not that simple - Japanese work and family life is at least as complicated as it is in the US. As extraordinary as it seems that a small but determined group of foreigners would travel halfway around the world to take part, students who can see Sensei every week nevertheless take precious time off work to take part in this semiannual event as well.
What we are doing, of course, is playing. I remember a number of years ago someone on an email list being upset that the Japanese often interpret the verb for doing kendo as "playing." The writer felt that using the verb "play" rendered the activity somehow trivial, like kids' games or poker. As serious kendoka, they wanted a more serious verb to decribe their activity. But any expert on play will tell you that virtually nothing is more serious, for children or anyone else. If you think of the advantages of group play for children, you will discover that it is equally, if not even more advantageous for adults. It creates cooperation; develops a multitude of physical and mental skills; it enhances fitness; it's relaxing; and it's fun.
As a number of contemporary sages keep trying to remind us, fun is important, and especially grownups (though more increasingly, children) do not get enough of it. It's time to look up from our smartphones and take notice.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Religion, imported
(There are a few more posts here than usual, because I just got back from a very brief trip to Japan, and there are a number of issues and thoughts that came up while I was there that are now percolating to this blog.)
I hate traveling with people, generally. I make a couple of exceptions (my husband, a friend or two), but generally speaking, I like to travel alone. It's true, I have to lug my nimotsu up and down subway stairs by myself; and every now and then something stressful happens and I have to deal with it alone, but by and large, it's preferable. Especially when traveling in Japan, I get tired of the gawking, the questions, the need to tell stories and (worst) the bad habit many people have - making assumptions about a foreign country about which they have not got an actual clue.
But, all that said, having someone I don't know very well accompany me on a trip can lead to a discovery or two, and on this trip, a mundane chore ended up resonating with me.
I took a relatively new student on this trip. One of his obligations, he told me, was to buy a Christian cross somewhere while on his visit to bring back to a hyper-Catholic friend of his as a gift. I noted that Japan is hardly a Christian country, and bringing something like that back might be considered faintly ridiculous. He responded that that was probably the point (i.e., his friend would gain some sort of satisfaction from knowing that Christ was alive among the pagans - heathens? - whatever). Not knowing Tokyo at all, he was relying on me, if I felt like it, to help him out. My reaction, in one word: ick; though, being polite, I didn't say anything.
We were sort of busy, and I totally forgot about his request. He bought a shrine amulet for his friend, as an fyi thing, just in case he could not fulfill his actual request. Off the hook, I decided.
But, on our last day in town, I was scoping out the location of a private museum, and, on the map, not far from the area (in fact, a good marker for what street we should turn down), I saw it - St. Mary's Cathedral.
A catheral. Really? I remembered going to St. Peter's Church in Rome as a kid, and noting the brass inlays representing the different cathedrals around the world. St. Peter's of course, is the largest. NYC's St. Patrick's is the smallest. I do not remember anything called St. Mary's in Tokyo; but there it was. So before we set out for the museum, I mentioned my discovery. He was delighted.
We found the place. It was a spare, modern building, pretty large for Tokyo but not hardly a cathehdral the way we would think of one. While he was asking the nun on duty at the gift shop about which crosses were actually made in Japan, I browsed among the keepsakes for sale. I noted they were really not much different than what I might find at any cathedral gift shop anywhere in Europe, or even at St. Pat's - rosaries, charms for necklaces, etc. What really overwhelmed me, though, was the Western-ness of it. Jesus as White Guy. Mary as White Woman. Joseph (of course) nowhere to be seen.
Japan is a Shinto and Buddhist country - unlike Western religions, it is possible in Japan to pay a certain amount of attention to both, rather than be exclusively for one or the other; and, until the start of the Meiji period, there was a high degree of syncretism. Buddhism came from India, but a survey of sacred artwork confirms that images of the Buddha took on characteristics of the area where they were produced (my favorite Buddhist art period - Ghandaran - shows him with a very handsome moustache). However, the only cultural allowance for Jesus in Japan is the one adopted by Europe - instead of the image of a middle easterner, or someone who looks vaguely Asian, we have a fair-haired image that looks nothing like the the pool of potential converts.
This recollection, coincidentially, meshes nicely with an article I am currently reading that deals with recited performances of the life of St. Anthony of Padua that are performed in an area of Bangladesh that was once under Portuguese control. One style of performance thoroughly localizes the saint in the neighborhood where his chapel is located, and the other performance described could be taken directly from some version of the lives of Catholic saints, and is set entirely in medieval Europe. The writer is a Muslim who is very upfront about his identity, both in his writing and apparently in his described interactions with the St. Anthony devotees he observed at both performances. Not surprisingly, he was somewhat alienated by the medieval Europe narrative, though he was charmed by the recitation that manages to locate St. Anthony in the small town in Bangladesh. The more Western-oriented narrative strikes him as being more colonial, of course, while the other is not really nativized, but not totally an outsider story either.
My own thoughts, while I was wandering around the rosaries and little statuettes for sale at the St. Mary's gift shop, were similar to the writer's. How could an image so alien to Japanese experience, presented in such a western-centric fashion, possibly have any appeal to non-westerners? It felt so culturally imperialistic. Abandon your whole identity, and be saved.
My student, after going through the whole line of crosses and crucifixes hanging on the wall next to the cash register, finally picked something that he thought his friend would like. Even though he was assured it was made in Japan, it looked like pretty much any crucifix found anywhere in Europe or America, but he was happy - mission accomplished.
Just before we left, I noticed a few postcards that featured the virgin and child. Though the iconography was unmistakable, at least, this time, she was wearing a kimono.
I hate traveling with people, generally. I make a couple of exceptions (my husband, a friend or two), but generally speaking, I like to travel alone. It's true, I have to lug my nimotsu up and down subway stairs by myself; and every now and then something stressful happens and I have to deal with it alone, but by and large, it's preferable. Especially when traveling in Japan, I get tired of the gawking, the questions, the need to tell stories and (worst) the bad habit many people have - making assumptions about a foreign country about which they have not got an actual clue.
But, all that said, having someone I don't know very well accompany me on a trip can lead to a discovery or two, and on this trip, a mundane chore ended up resonating with me.
I took a relatively new student on this trip. One of his obligations, he told me, was to buy a Christian cross somewhere while on his visit to bring back to a hyper-Catholic friend of his as a gift. I noted that Japan is hardly a Christian country, and bringing something like that back might be considered faintly ridiculous. He responded that that was probably the point (i.e., his friend would gain some sort of satisfaction from knowing that Christ was alive among the pagans - heathens? - whatever). Not knowing Tokyo at all, he was relying on me, if I felt like it, to help him out. My reaction, in one word: ick; though, being polite, I didn't say anything.
We were sort of busy, and I totally forgot about his request. He bought a shrine amulet for his friend, as an fyi thing, just in case he could not fulfill his actual request. Off the hook, I decided.
But, on our last day in town, I was scoping out the location of a private museum, and, on the map, not far from the area (in fact, a good marker for what street we should turn down), I saw it - St. Mary's Cathedral.
A catheral. Really? I remembered going to St. Peter's Church in Rome as a kid, and noting the brass inlays representing the different cathedrals around the world. St. Peter's of course, is the largest. NYC's St. Patrick's is the smallest. I do not remember anything called St. Mary's in Tokyo; but there it was. So before we set out for the museum, I mentioned my discovery. He was delighted.
We found the place. It was a spare, modern building, pretty large for Tokyo but not hardly a cathehdral the way we would think of one. While he was asking the nun on duty at the gift shop about which crosses were actually made in Japan, I browsed among the keepsakes for sale. I noted they were really not much different than what I might find at any cathedral gift shop anywhere in Europe, or even at St. Pat's - rosaries, charms for necklaces, etc. What really overwhelmed me, though, was the Western-ness of it. Jesus as White Guy. Mary as White Woman. Joseph (of course) nowhere to be seen.
Japan is a Shinto and Buddhist country - unlike Western religions, it is possible in Japan to pay a certain amount of attention to both, rather than be exclusively for one or the other; and, until the start of the Meiji period, there was a high degree of syncretism. Buddhism came from India, but a survey of sacred artwork confirms that images of the Buddha took on characteristics of the area where they were produced (my favorite Buddhist art period - Ghandaran - shows him with a very handsome moustache). However, the only cultural allowance for Jesus in Japan is the one adopted by Europe - instead of the image of a middle easterner, or someone who looks vaguely Asian, we have a fair-haired image that looks nothing like the the pool of potential converts.
This recollection, coincidentially, meshes nicely with an article I am currently reading that deals with recited performances of the life of St. Anthony of Padua that are performed in an area of Bangladesh that was once under Portuguese control. One style of performance thoroughly localizes the saint in the neighborhood where his chapel is located, and the other performance described could be taken directly from some version of the lives of Catholic saints, and is set entirely in medieval Europe. The writer is a Muslim who is very upfront about his identity, both in his writing and apparently in his described interactions with the St. Anthony devotees he observed at both performances. Not surprisingly, he was somewhat alienated by the medieval Europe narrative, though he was charmed by the recitation that manages to locate St. Anthony in the small town in Bangladesh. The more Western-oriented narrative strikes him as being more colonial, of course, while the other is not really nativized, but not totally an outsider story either.
My own thoughts, while I was wandering around the rosaries and little statuettes for sale at the St. Mary's gift shop, were similar to the writer's. How could an image so alien to Japanese experience, presented in such a western-centric fashion, possibly have any appeal to non-westerners? It felt so culturally imperialistic. Abandon your whole identity, and be saved.
My student, after going through the whole line of crosses and crucifixes hanging on the wall next to the cash register, finally picked something that he thought his friend would like. Even though he was assured it was made in Japan, it looked like pretty much any crucifix found anywhere in Europe or America, but he was happy - mission accomplished.
Just before we left, I noticed a few postcards that featured the virgin and child. Though the iconography was unmistakable, at least, this time, she was wearing a kimono.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
I am an artist, not a work of art
My colleague, the Budo Bum, has (as always) posted a thoughtful essay. This time, he compares the self-improvement that is one of the stated aspects of budo study to the creation of an artwork. As he incorporates the self-improvement aspects of budo, he considers his life as a work of art-in-progress.
As much as I like this essay, I have to disagree with the premise. I am not a work of art, nor do I want to be one.
To begin with, there are many paths to self-improvement. Any sort of ethical training, for example, should, if conscientiously applied, lead to a better person. Yet, we would not consider an ethicist or otherwise consciously moral person a work of art. I like to consider myself a moral person, but I do not consider the development of my moral perspective to be a work of art.
An artist creates artwork. But the functions of different artists are different. For example, my husband is a painter. He is a modern artist. He has trained in art techniques and art history, but his art reflects his experience and his aesthetics, based on both his training and his life experiences. I would say he is a very interesting person, and I admire his artwork (that is actually one of the reasons why I married him!), but he is not a work of art.
I consider myself a classical artist. A classical artist has a slightly different function from a modern artist. In my view, a modern artist creates something unique out of his experience, whereas a classical artist creates something that is unique but also serves her tradition. In classical budo, as most casual observers know, we study kata. Someone who has never seriously considered kata may think of it as boring and repetitive, and think that those who study it are limiting their freedom to express themselves. To be honest, endless reps of patterned movement are boring and repetitive; or at least they can be unless done with a continuing sense of mindfulness. Mindfulness ends the boredom of repetition and results in improvement of technique better than mere repetition can. But what happens then? Just because we practice kata until it sinks inseparably into our physical-mental selves does not mean it becomes art. Or does it?
Here is where an analogy to another classical art might be helpful. A ballet dancer practices techniques until they become second nature, and memorizes choreography (whether new or part of the classical repertoire). If that is the extent of her understanding of what she is doing, she will indeed be limited and unable create any expression in performing a work of art. Watching a dancer who has simply memorized the moves of a piece is supremely dull (it happens alot in Nihon buyo - Japanese classical dance - believe me). In fact, if we think of a dancer as being an artist, we cannot consider someone who has simply memorized the appropriate moves to be a dancer. Likewise, someone who studies classical budo and limits himself to simply memorizing (even deeply memorizing) kata will never be an artist either. What is the difference?
This is where things get sticky because we have very limited vocabulary in trying to describe what that something is that makes someone who studies dance a dancer and someone who studies budo a martial artist. We can call it talent, but the word is ill-defined and somewhat misleading. There are plenty of talented youngsters at one thing or another who are never able to exploit their talent as adults. I have met people who had early talent in budo, but who declined later in life, as their technique declined with age. I have also met much older people who seem to simply get better with time, even though technically their skills can't match those of younger practitioners. What is going on here?
There are no doubt other theories, but my idea for marking the difference is the ability to express something through the form. What that something is varies depending on the art form being done, as well as who the performers are and what they set out to express. If we compare a crappy performance of Swan Lake with a good one (and let's assume for a moment that both performances are technically competent), the difference is in the way the movement is being performed. The good performance is expressive in a way that connects with the audience, where the other has no expression, which leaves the audience cold. Even if the audience does not agree with a given interpretation, if they can feel that interpretation in the performance, the performance has worked.
It's the same in classical budo. Put two equally-experienced budoka together and ask them to perform the same kata (it will help if they are facing away from each other). The kata will be the same, but the way the kata is performed will not be. The difference is the self-expressive aspect of kata. If there is no self-expressive aspect, the kata will be correctly done, but feel dead to the observer (and probably to the practitioner as well).
However, even brilliant kata will not make the budoka a work of art. It may make her a better person; even a more expressive person, but she will be an artist, and her kata will be the art, upholding and enhancing the tradition she serves, while giving it a character that is uniquely her own.
As much as I like this essay, I have to disagree with the premise. I am not a work of art, nor do I want to be one.
To begin with, there are many paths to self-improvement. Any sort of ethical training, for example, should, if conscientiously applied, lead to a better person. Yet, we would not consider an ethicist or otherwise consciously moral person a work of art. I like to consider myself a moral person, but I do not consider the development of my moral perspective to be a work of art.
An artist creates artwork. But the functions of different artists are different. For example, my husband is a painter. He is a modern artist. He has trained in art techniques and art history, but his art reflects his experience and his aesthetics, based on both his training and his life experiences. I would say he is a very interesting person, and I admire his artwork (that is actually one of the reasons why I married him!), but he is not a work of art.
I consider myself a classical artist. A classical artist has a slightly different function from a modern artist. In my view, a modern artist creates something unique out of his experience, whereas a classical artist creates something that is unique but also serves her tradition. In classical budo, as most casual observers know, we study kata. Someone who has never seriously considered kata may think of it as boring and repetitive, and think that those who study it are limiting their freedom to express themselves. To be honest, endless reps of patterned movement are boring and repetitive; or at least they can be unless done with a continuing sense of mindfulness. Mindfulness ends the boredom of repetition and results in improvement of technique better than mere repetition can. But what happens then? Just because we practice kata until it sinks inseparably into our physical-mental selves does not mean it becomes art. Or does it?
Here is where an analogy to another classical art might be helpful. A ballet dancer practices techniques until they become second nature, and memorizes choreography (whether new or part of the classical repertoire). If that is the extent of her understanding of what she is doing, she will indeed be limited and unable create any expression in performing a work of art. Watching a dancer who has simply memorized the moves of a piece is supremely dull (it happens alot in Nihon buyo - Japanese classical dance - believe me). In fact, if we think of a dancer as being an artist, we cannot consider someone who has simply memorized the appropriate moves to be a dancer. Likewise, someone who studies classical budo and limits himself to simply memorizing (even deeply memorizing) kata will never be an artist either. What is the difference?
This is where things get sticky because we have very limited vocabulary in trying to describe what that something is that makes someone who studies dance a dancer and someone who studies budo a martial artist. We can call it talent, but the word is ill-defined and somewhat misleading. There are plenty of talented youngsters at one thing or another who are never able to exploit their talent as adults. I have met people who had early talent in budo, but who declined later in life, as their technique declined with age. I have also met much older people who seem to simply get better with time, even though technically their skills can't match those of younger practitioners. What is going on here?
There are no doubt other theories, but my idea for marking the difference is the ability to express something through the form. What that something is varies depending on the art form being done, as well as who the performers are and what they set out to express. If we compare a crappy performance of Swan Lake with a good one (and let's assume for a moment that both performances are technically competent), the difference is in the way the movement is being performed. The good performance is expressive in a way that connects with the audience, where the other has no expression, which leaves the audience cold. Even if the audience does not agree with a given interpretation, if they can feel that interpretation in the performance, the performance has worked.
It's the same in classical budo. Put two equally-experienced budoka together and ask them to perform the same kata (it will help if they are facing away from each other). The kata will be the same, but the way the kata is performed will not be. The difference is the self-expressive aspect of kata. If there is no self-expressive aspect, the kata will be correctly done, but feel dead to the observer (and probably to the practitioner as well).
However, even brilliant kata will not make the budoka a work of art. It may make her a better person; even a more expressive person, but she will be an artist, and her kata will be the art, upholding and enhancing the tradition she serves, while giving it a character that is uniquely her own.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Temper, temper
Some time ago, when I was still with my old group, I had to deal with a bad-tempered junior student (he was junior in rank, but actually quite a bit older than me). Whenever the yudanshakai made a decision he didn't like (as he frequently missed the meetings), he would specifically come to me to express his displeasure. One time he even called me at home about some dojo issue that had upset him. He started yelling at me over the phone. I politely told him we could talk about the issue after okeiko that week if he still wanted to, and hung up on him.
I can take some consolation, I suppose, for realizing this stuff does not just apply to me - this being NYC, and everyone being so packed in all the time, every now and then I can't help but overhear a conversation where some guy is yelling at his wife/girlfriend over his cell phone. I always have the same mental response, beamed out to the woman at the other end of the line: Just hang up! Hang up! though I never stuck around long enough to see if my wish came true.
Recently, I had to ream someone out for misbehaving at an official function. Even though the guy was a relatively new student (about 1 year), he had been carefully coached about how to behave before the event, and even reminded during it. He had assured me that the event was too important for him to mess up! But things got out of hand anyway. And his behavior was brought to my attention by a couple of my own sempai at the event (just when I thought I could actually relax). So I had to read him the riot act, which I did before the following day's training. Being me, I was not loud, but I was very clear, telling him he had royally screwed up, and I was expecting the subsequent days of training to be screw up free.
At first, he was polite and apologetic, but it did not take long for him to get sulky and start offering excuses, whining about how no one cared about "his side of the story." I told him, essentially that he was right - no one did care, and he should just suck it up. A mistake was made, and it was over, and if he was going to behave from that moment on, we could just forget it (at least for the time). But no, it wasn't over for him, and even the day after the event I had to hear about how at least some of the reprimand was somehow not justified, on the basis of his excuse. In other words, he was taking issue with being dressed down for misbehavior that he committed himself, after having been warned that certain behaviors at the event were not acceptable.
So here's my thought: if I had been a male teacher reprimanding a male student, would I have gotten that response? Or would I have gotten a "Yes sir. Sorry sir," instead? I brought this up to one of my male colleagues of many years' standing. He said I should not suspend the guy yet, but consider him to be on probation. Given his character generally, as I now understand it, I doubt that he has the guts to stick out training much longer anyway.
My teacher used to say that you have three times to see the Buddha. This guy's count stands at two.
I can take some consolation, I suppose, for realizing this stuff does not just apply to me - this being NYC, and everyone being so packed in all the time, every now and then I can't help but overhear a conversation where some guy is yelling at his wife/girlfriend over his cell phone. I always have the same mental response, beamed out to the woman at the other end of the line: Just hang up! Hang up! though I never stuck around long enough to see if my wish came true.
Recently, I had to ream someone out for misbehaving at an official function. Even though the guy was a relatively new student (about 1 year), he had been carefully coached about how to behave before the event, and even reminded during it. He had assured me that the event was too important for him to mess up! But things got out of hand anyway. And his behavior was brought to my attention by a couple of my own sempai at the event (just when I thought I could actually relax). So I had to read him the riot act, which I did before the following day's training. Being me, I was not loud, but I was very clear, telling him he had royally screwed up, and I was expecting the subsequent days of training to be screw up free.
At first, he was polite and apologetic, but it did not take long for him to get sulky and start offering excuses, whining about how no one cared about "his side of the story." I told him, essentially that he was right - no one did care, and he should just suck it up. A mistake was made, and it was over, and if he was going to behave from that moment on, we could just forget it (at least for the time). But no, it wasn't over for him, and even the day after the event I had to hear about how at least some of the reprimand was somehow not justified, on the basis of his excuse. In other words, he was taking issue with being dressed down for misbehavior that he committed himself, after having been warned that certain behaviors at the event were not acceptable.
So here's my thought: if I had been a male teacher reprimanding a male student, would I have gotten that response? Or would I have gotten a "Yes sir. Sorry sir," instead? I brought this up to one of my male colleagues of many years' standing. He said I should not suspend the guy yet, but consider him to be on probation. Given his character generally, as I now understand it, I doubt that he has the guts to stick out training much longer anyway.
My teacher used to say that you have three times to see the Buddha. This guy's count stands at two.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The women warriors
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Women were members of the samurai class. They did, as far as we know, train with a variety of weapons. A samurai woman, when she got married, would have someone in the wedding procession (assuming she was high-enough ranked to have one) carry her naginata for her as she went to her new husband's home. There are many true stories about incidents of women fighting to avenge their parents or husband or to defend their mistress in case of danger. In kabuki, there are many stories of this type that made their way to the stage, and were based on real incidents. We should try to remember that the Western idea of Japanese women represents more of our Victorian sensibilities, followed by everyone's current cultural and political ideas. While women were apparently taught to fight, the idea that any of them would lead troops into battle is not likely. We have some legends, and they may have some facts behind them (we don't know) but simply looking at the historical military records in Japan shows that it was not a normal thing. There is a famous passage in Yoshitsune Senbon Zakura about Shizuka, Yoshitsune's lover, having a maid strap on her armor, taking her naginata from its place and running out into the night to stop a fight between Yoshitsune's retainers and those of his brother Yoritomo, before things got serious. No one thought this idea was ridiculous, so it suggests it was not an impossible thing to have happen. Obviously this photo has to be late Edo (or even newer than that) because photos were not around much before 1850. The technology was developed around 1826 but was not practical for a long time. There was also a tradition in Japan for people in later times to put on their father's or grandfather's armor and pose for a portrait, though it was usually guys who did so. This woman is wearing a chrysanthemum, and that suggests to me that she was taking part in some ceremony. It is possible she is wearing a male relative's armor as part of some ceremony honoring him, if there was no son or other male relative to take part in it. It's also possible, of course, that the ceremony was honoring HER in some way. Still, it's an interesting photo and I would love to know more about it.
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I could have added in some other true incidents, like the story of the two women who avenged their father's death at the hands of a corrupt official. This vendetta has been said to be the first time someone used a kusarigama as a weapon (her sister is generally depicted in woodblock prints with a naginata. The corrupt official is depicted as someone who doesn't stand a chance). There is also the play Kagamiyama, which depicts another true story of a maid of the samurai class who avenged her mistress' death by killing an evil lady-in-waiting in a fight. I have seen this play, and there are only fight scenes by women in it, as I recall.
Of course, kabuki actors were, and are, men. But in the writings of early women role-players, they note that fighting while appearing feminine for the audience was difficult, but all the same, a female role player must show she can wield her weapon, "better than a man can." They are not talking about comedies, they are talking about dramas depicting actual incidents. And that women characters needed verisimilitude in their handling of weapons, just like the male role-players did.
I was looking for the above photo (since things get buried quickly on FB) so I put "woman warrior images" in bing, because I thought it would save some time. I got things like this:
Cute, yes? I almost don't know where to start, but let's just say that this is much more the image of a 12-year-old boy's fantasy than any serious warrior, like the ones I am talking about. To be honest, in the raft of similar images, one could also find a chaste depiction of Joan of Arc, and one or two photos of female budoka - out of hundreds (thousands?) of images available. A search for "Images of Warriors" brings up mostly men (and some women who look like our friend here). The guys are mostly in the same goofy mode, but fully-clothed, and of course, showing some sense that they might actually be capable of doing something, even if only in action hero style (there were also a lot of film stills from the 70's film "The Warriors," but I digress).
A few weeks ago, also on FB, one of my male friends found a young woman's blog in which she wrote about her daily harrassment by men as she went virtually everywhere. He and some of my other male FB friends expressed shock - shock, I tell you. My reaction was, well, duh. We don't talk about it because it never does us any good. One of the good things about being slightly older is that the harrassment becomes more like being discounted, or ignored, or minimized, rather than being threatened with, say, sexual violence on a daily basis. Still irritating, but I can get past it more easily.
One of my martial arts colleagues, years ago, remarked, sort of off-handedly, "I don't know any other women who do what you do." If you ever wonder why you can't get more women into your budo practice, take a good look at the above image. Maybe they're just mad.
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