I had my first experience with Japanese dance, or Nihon buyō, in 1976. I was 19 and living in Fukuoka with my missionary parents. It was my third trip to Japan, but the first one I really remembered. My first trip was in 1956, when I was born on the kitchen table in Hoshiguma, an area of Fukuoka, on the southern island of Kyushu. My parents were then just completing an eight-year tenure as missionaries and were preparing their return to the United States. In three weeks I was on the road with my mother and sisters and Japan was not even so much as a memory.
The second trip to Japan was in 1964 when I was eight. We were on our way back to the United States after a year in Benares (Varanarsi), India. I remember very little about that visit to Japan, except we stayed with other missionary families and in one of the houses the young daughter (several years older than me) was showing us her pet parakeet. She took it out of the cage to let it fly. I screamed when it swooped over my head. The girl fell as she tried to catch it and landed on the bird, killing it. She was inconsolable. To this day I am terrified of birds, particularly when they fly freely inside a room.
But this third trip was long—lasting for one year—and I was on the brink of adulthood. It made a lasting impression. And tied to that impression is my experience with buyō. Lydia Barrows introduced me to dance. She was a “journeyman missionary,” newly graduated from college and sent to the mission field for a two-year term. Lydia was enthusiastic about taking part in all aspects of Japanese life. When a space opened up in the class where she was enrolled, she invited me to join, and I began taking lessons from the young dancer Yuko Ura.
When a space opened up in the class where she was enrolled, she invited me to join, and I began taking lessons from the young dancer Yuko Ura.
We met in her aunt’s house, and after lessons often stayed for tea, sweets, and gossip. Ura Sensei was an accomplished dancer in the Hanayagi School of buyō, the largest of the five schools of dance. Normally, she would not have been allowed to take on students (until she had earned a particular license after considerable time and expense.) But the headmaster of Ura Sensei’s school allowed her to teach us. We were gaijin, after all. Foreigners. It was unlikely that we would ever rise in the rigid hierarchy of the traditional performing arts. No, it was impossible. So, teaching us as a side hobby was not a threat.
As long as Ura Sensei retained her perspective in the matter, she was allowed to “teach” us. Like so many of her generation, she was genuinely sincere in her wish to share her culture and her talents with those from other countries. Taking lessons from Ura Sensei was the highlight of my year.
Photo by Mitchell Luo on Unsplash
What wonderful afternoons with Ura Sensei! What could be more fun than dance followed by tea, sweets, and gossip? I imagine Ura Sensei felt comfortable teaching young people and foreigners to boot, imagining that you would be more tolerant of her mistakes or ways that she did not fit in with the school’s regimen. This is pretty tangential but I am reminded of the dance scenes in Warbler in the Grove, which you translated for Modern Murasaki. The Meiji schoolgirls loved their dances at the Rokumeikan, and MIss Shinohara was “never too busy to dance.” Western dance became their entree into a romantic, different world that required them to dress and move and interact differently. As I recall, gossip and sweets figured in that story, too! Really enjoyed your post.
Thank you! Recently I’ve been corresponding with a Japanese choreographer. She now does traditional Japanese dance. But when she was young, she trained in Western ballet. From what she has said, Japanese women are more apt to train in Western modes of dance these days than in Japanese.
A lovely set of reminiscences. And now that you’ve taught for many years, you probably have an inkling that Ura-sensei felt enlarged and enriched by teaching you, too. You know how we’re better at the things we care about if we also teach them.
It’s such a shame that the buyō world is so closed off and incredibly expensive. I’d love to send my daughter just for a taste of its richness, but it’s such a stuffy and formalized and expensive and mysterious set of protocols that it defeats any but the most obstinate. The foreigners I’ve known who’ve enjoyed dance like you have had exactly the same experience as you: finding a teacher willing to skirt the formal process and take on “unusual” students.
Thank you, Gavin. When I was in Kyoto I managed to find a buyō sensei who accommodated foreigners. Sadly, she has passed away. But she worked with the AKP. Perhaps the admin of the program would know of another sensei? Also, might the Kyoto Arts Center have classes? I would like your daughter to study dance!