Some of the performances I have taken part in this (soon to be past, alas) spring have combined nihon buyo (Japanese classical dance) with swordsmanship demos. I study both; though I consider myself much more a budoka who dances than a buyoka who studies budo. I do these performances at the urging of my dance teacher, and I don't mind, because, taking a performance-oriented view of budo, I enjoy being able to perform whenever possible.
I also recognize that there are aesthetic aspects to budo training, and that, among other elements, one can take an aesthetically-oriented approach to training. I would like to be clear, since some people, even if they have read some of my writing on the subject, erroneously think that I believe that the traditional and deliberately applied aesthetics that exist in budo training are more important than actual efficiency in technique or even philosophical considerations. That is not the case; I emphasize the aesthetic properties because (1) they are there, and (2) no one else really writes about them. I would assume that people would give me credit for knowing that one of the original reasons for studying swordsmanship, for example, is to learn how to safely and successfully use a sword.
I have had enough contact with traditional teachers to know they acknowledge those properties, though the extent to which aesthetic principles, such as jo-ha-kyu and in-yo, are discussed during okeiko seems to depend very much on which students are in class. In a most striking example of difference, I remember going to a seminar by a koryu teacher that was held in Switzerland. As part of the practice, he demonstrated how he felt the techniques imbedded in the various kata he was teaching represented the principle of in-yo. However, less than a year later, at seminars in the US, the principle was never brought up. Instead, the same teacher favored a more straightforward curriculum of technique. Since the seminars were both fairly introductory in nature, I wondered for a long time why he chose to emphasize a fairly esoteric principle to the European students, but not the Americans (except for myself - I received a very detailed email from him on the subject some time after the European trip). At first I thought it was sort of snobby - he was probably introducing more esoteric stuff to the Europeans because he thought they were smarter, maybe? But eventually I came around to the conclusion that it was not that the Americans were incapable of understanding the idea, it was more likely that they were more interested in acquiring as many techniques in a short time as possible. Seeing this difference, this highly marketing-oriented teacher was giving each audience (including me) what it wanted.
Getting back to my title point, even though I have given joint performances of budo and buyo, I am well aware, over and over, that even though the aesthetic elements present in dance also exist in traditional budo, they have literally nothing in common. And while I enjoy being able to show people my kata, and explain to them what is happening (and, to an extent, what given kata might mean), I am sometimes troubled to be sharing the performance with dancers. It's not the prejudice against dancing that I sometimes hear in American budo circles. People who presumably study traditional Japanese budo who have no respect for other Japanese cultural practices (allowing for differences in personal preference) get very little respect from me. As a budoka who dances, I'd be pretty weird if I shared that prejudice. I have had my dance teacher come to my budo practice to teach my students proper suriashi footwork, which is important (for practical reasons, not aesthetic ones) in traditional budo. Nihon buyo has embedded in it the way people actually moved in the Edo period, when much traditional budo also developed. I would be seriously remiss if I did not recognize that movement systems with so much in common can beneficially influence each other.
No - the heart of the matter goes back to a story my teacher used to tell at every demo we did, so often that I could repeat the story word for word, complete with accent: "People always say to me - what's the difference between you and Bruce Lee?" (I am certain this story began when Mr. Lee was actually still with us, but Sensei never changed it, and why not? To this day Bruce Lee is still selling websites and magazines as a martial arts icon.) He would continue: "I tell them, it's because what we do is real." (And here, Sensei would take a sheet of paper, draw his sword, and casually cut the paper into fine strips as he continued.) "If Bruce Lee hits someone, they have to fall down. Otherwise they don't get paid. Bruce Lee is a fine actor, but we do real Japanese swordsmanship. We do real techniques." And we would proceed with our demonstration, hoping that we could at least, in some small measure, try to come up to the level of the guy who had instantly earned the audience's complete attention in the quietest and smallest of ways.
And that's why teaming up with buyo sometimes bothers me. Nihon buyo is beautiful, skilful entertainment. I can choreograph a fight scene, and even put it to music, and an audience will (I hope) find it thrilling, or at least interesting. But fight choreography is always much flashier than the real thing. In fact, the flashier the real thing becomes (as in some modern styles of swordsmanship), the less effective it is; but somehow, the more an audience, including one composed of sword-ignorant American martial artists, enjoys it. It's a paradox for me that I deal with every time I go out on a stage or rudely constructed outdoor platform: what is the audience seeing when they see me? Are they seeing budo, or the prelude to a dance?
Sometimes I wonder if my teacher was telling that Bruce Lee story more for the audience, or for us.
No comments:
Post a Comment