I love スヌーピー

I've seen a lot of movies since I came to Japan.  Most of them have been Japanese films in Japanese without subtitles.  A few have been American or French films with Japanese subtitles.  I love スヌーピー (I love Snoopy, the Japanese title for the Peanuts Movie) is the first movie I've seen that has been dubbed.  Because it is an animated feature, it is hardly noticeable and not really objectionable.  And somehow, despite it's American origins, the voices are pretty spot on.  The Japanese child actor, Fuku Suzuki, who does the voice of Charlie Brown is so convincing you almost believe this is a Japanese cartoon.

I realized halfway through the film my Japanese language ability is almost at the level of an 8-year-old child, the approximate age of Charlie Brown.  I could understand about 50% of the dialogue.  Or maybe it was just because I know these characters so well I could follow along fairly easily.

The Peanuts have been dear to me since I was 8-years-old.  When I learned a new 3D CGI animated Peanuts movie was coming out I was skeptical.  Charles Schulz was a master of simple lines, and even his first foray into animation with A Charlie Brown Christmas in 1965 did not compromise his wonderful style.  There were a couple details I think missed the mark - Linus' hair, Woodstock's feathers and even Snoopy's fur.  But overall it looked and felt like a Charlie Brown cartoon.

Mostly what pleased me and warmed my heart was director Steve Martino and writers Craig and Bryan Schulz (son and grandson, respectively of Charles) faithfulness to the time period of the original comic strip.  For me, an old geezer, it could have gone completely off the tracks if they had tried to update the story and characters for an 8-year-old in 2015.  There are no mobile phones in the movie, no computers, no video games, not even a television.  The only slightly contemporary reference is a "bouncy tent" at the carnival; that and a few un-Peanuts dance moves.  Charlie Brown and his pals play ice hockey, they fly kites, play hopscotch, read bound books from a library, they write on paper with a pencil.  In one scene Charlie Brown gets tangled up in a telephone cord while talking to Peppermint Patty.  It occurred to me that most of the audience would have no idea what that was.

It is a strange experience to see something like the Peanuts Movie in a foreign land in a foreign language 35 years after the last Charlie Brown feature film I saw in the theatre, and still feel so connected to these characters.

(sigh)

I love スヌーピー

Musing

Sitting with your friends

    laughing

The late afternoon sun

    highlighting a yellow tree branch

A reed in the river

    twirling in the breeze

        like a ballerina

A slice of pear

        and a glass of champagne

We grow older

Still digging

A steep staircase (almost a ladder) on a dimly lit street called Nishikiyamachi-dori.  Curiosity.  Jazz from another era (another country for that matter) beckons me.  Were this 1925 in New York or Chicago it would be a speakeasy.  But this is not 1925 and this is not the States.  Tagai is not a retro bar; it is not a replica of that time or those places.  It is not even that old.  The owner tells me he opened it eleven years ago.  How he has created such a wonderful lived-in, wabi-sabi aesthetic in such a relatively short time is a Japanese mystery.

This 16-seat hole-in-the-wall izakaya reminds me of Tiki-Ti in Los Angeles for some reason. Perhaps it is the size, or the collection of figurines perched on the bar, or the warm patina of the aged wood, washi paper and hundreds of sake labels that cover the walls.  As much as anything, it is the warmth of the man standing behind the bar.  The hippest joint, the most chic establishment, the most famous or historic place falls flat if the staff is not friendly and inviting.  In five minutes I felt as if an old friend were welcoming me home.

There are a million places in Kyoto, obscure and famous, yet to be experienced.  I'm still digging.

The Kimono Queen

Perhaps I've written this before in these pages.  Things happen to me here in Japan that wouldn't happen anywhere else.  I don't think there is an American equivalent to the "Kimono Queen", but if there were, I'm sure I would not be asked to do a photo shoot with her.

My friends Okamoto-san and Uchiyama-san at be-kyoto gallery needed someone to play a Western tourist for a PR project they were working on.  Of course they called me.

I sat in the serene washitsu of this machiya-turned-gallery with the lovely current "Kyoto Hospitality Ambassador" and former "Kimono Queen", Noriko Zugawa dressed in a gorgeous pearl-colored kimono.  For the shoot she was to serve me tea, point out the highlights in a Kyoto tourist brochure and show me the fine art of ikebana flower arrangement.

She arrived terribly late so the perfect afternoon light was rapidly slipping away.  This meant there was no time for small talk or getting acquainted.  Uchiyama-san sat me uncomfortably close to this immaculately dressed stranger with piercing black eyes and quickly began shooting.  Her close proximity and self-possessed gaze made me rather nervous.  Uchiyama-san, like any good photographer, helped us, or rather me, relax by making us laugh.

Zugawa-san asked me things in Japanese that I sometimes understood and sometimes didn't.  Thankfully Okamoto-san was just off camera to translate when I stumbled.  There was something about her that reminded me of someone I knew, but I couldn't think of who it was.

The shoot was over almost as quickly as it had begun.  There was a long series of bows and "arigato gozaimasu".  Then Zugawa-san was whisked away with her stylist in a big, black, luxury sedan.

Analogue

Analogue.  Sometimes, oh to just sit and listen to records.  A vinyl LP, a turntable, an amplifier and some speakers.  Just sit and listen.  Don't talk.  Don't look at your computer.  Don't eat dinner or do the dishes.  Just listen.

About a year ago I found a postcard-sized flyer with a black and white photo of a young Paul Weller.  In red and black letters it read "KYOTO 6T'S CLUB".  It was an announcement for a Soul party at a little nightclub here called "The Weller's Club".  Of course I had to investigate.  

When I'm missing my records and I want to hear some good 60s Soul I come here.  I've since become friends with the owner and a couple of the DJs and regulars.

You have to give it up to Japanese DJs spinning this music on vinyl in 2015.  It was never easy, even in 1965 when these records were new.  They were fairly obscure 45rpm discs in the States where they were made.  In Japan?  Forget it.  That is a serious record digger that has these gems in their collection.

There is a reason it is called Soul.  Because it makes you feel good; it is good for you.  This music, perhaps more than any other, moves me - literally!

Roots are deep.  And the older you get the deeper they go, the stronger they get.

Keeps On Burning.

Nice work if you can get it

I have friends in France that do seasonal work.  In the winter they are in the Alps; in the summer they are on the Côte d'Azur; in between they travel.  I always sort of envied their lifestyle.  It seemed so simple and pleasant.  I wondered why more people, myself included, didn't live like this.

There is a wonderfully shambolic biergarten in Carroll Gardens (Brooklyn) called the Gowanus Yacht Club.  This to me is the perfect business model.  Get some German-style picnic benches, some patio umbrellas and a couple strings of Christmas lights.  Grill burgers and hotdogs, serve keg beer and crank the Stones and Van Morrison on a ghetto-blaster from April to September.  Then take it easy for six months.

I've found my Gowanus Yacht Club in Arashiyama, the beautiful, mountainous district on the outskirts of Kyoto not far from where I live.  It's called Kotogase Chaya.  Unlike the Carroll Gardens bar/café, this is actually on the water, on the south bank of the Hozu River.  There is a long, corrugated metal awning strung up with colorful paper lanterns.  This covers half a dozen tatami mat platforms with chabudai (short-legged tables) and zabuton (cushions).  They serve bottled beer, grilled squid, noodles and dumplings.  There isn't a ghetto-blaster playing classic rock, but the small waterfall that runs right through the café is a soft and most agreeable substitute.

I was there over the holiday weekend ("Silver Week").  I drank a beer and watched the people in rented rowboats paddle up and down the river.  I imagine soon this charming, slightly ramshackle café will close for the winter.  Maybe, like my friends in France do, they will head to the mountains for the ski season.

Ahead of the harvest

10-minute walk to the Katsura River.  There is rural Japan.  Japan from 100 years ago.  And I imagine, Japan 100 years from now.  Farming is labor and the coming and going seasons.  That's it.  The knowledge, part instinct, part technique passed down from generation to generation.  This is mom-and-pop agriculture.  By hand.  It is brilliant colors, contrasts.  Beginnings and ends, life and death.  A wonderful mélange of organization and chaos.  Neat rows and impossible tangles.  The farmer is a master of reusing and repurposing materials.  Nothing is wasted.  Small fires burn what can't be used over.  The air is pleasantly scented with this smoke.  It lingers in the fading afternoon light.

Musing

I woke with a real sense of possibility.  It was the morning sun spilling over the mountain touching the drops of night rain still clinging to everything.  It was an incredible light.  I was filled with joy.  For five or ten minutes it felt like everything would work out.

One can't hope for anything more.  Those minutes are a treasure.

Atsui desu, ne

It has been so hot for so long, without pause, I wonder if it will ever be cool again.  I've even forgotten the sensation of feeling cold.  Winter is a distant memory, and seems like a dream or maybe a voyage to another country.  I looked at my wool scarves in the closet and couldn't ever imagine needing those here in Kyoto.

It is a heat that makes you a little dizzy, a heat that makes you feel slightly sick.  It touches not only your body, but your mind.  It controls your every action, like a disease.  You can think of nothing else but the temperature.  It dominates conversation: atsui desu ne (it's hot, isn't it).  You hear this phrase over and over and over.  It is a reflex, like blinking.

The world even sounds different in the summer heat, a low, dull, mumble.  The science fiction soundtrack (circa 1955) provided by the hundreds of cicada in the trees makes you think the apocalypse is nigh.  You are sure the Earth is on a collision course with the sun.  It is only a matter of time before things begin to spontaneously combust, the city around you engulfed in flames.

There is always a note in the information pamphlets you get at temples and shrines about the structures burning down.  They are never specific as to the cause of the fires.  I'm sure now it is spontaneous combustion caused by summer heat.  I believe this may be the real reason the emperor moved the capital to Tokyo after more than a thousand years.  The royal family just couldn't take the summers anymore; they wanted a home in a slightly cooler locale.

Sweating while engaged in vigorous physical activity - sport, labor, etc. - is normal.  This heat is such that even perfectly static positions like sleeping somehow produce perspiration.  Eating, sitting, standing, reading, talking are all sweaty activities in Kyoto during the summer.

I now understand the semi-obsessive placement of vending machines dispensing beverages around the city.  It is not so much competition among beverage giants like Asahi and Suntory; it is something more noble - an attempt to save the population from fatalities like sun stroke and heat exhaustion.  The vending machines placed every 50 meters or so are aligned with the distance a human can walk in temperatures near 40°C (104°F) before needing to slake one's thirst.

I said something similar about the Kyoto winter last year: 17 summers in New York could not prepare me for summer in Kyoto.

Under the Influence: exhibition views

Notes from Kamigamo Tedukuriichi

An early rising with the cicada.  The heat and sunshine already pouring into my apartment.  The Sunday train platform is quiet.  The walk from Kitaoji station along the Kamo River is pleasant, the sound and smell of the river somehow makes me feel cooler.

I arrive at Kamigamojinja sometime after 8:00.  The temple grounds are already buzzing with vendors setting up shop.  I realize immediately I am a rank amateur among serious professionals.  Giant, mylar picnic tents, sandwich board signs, easels, tables with table cloths, director chairs, multi-tiered shelving, bust-forms, racks, hangers, mirrors.  I unroll my tatami mat on the gravel with the large black ants and place my moku hanga T-shirts in six neat stacks.  Open and ready for business in 5 minutes.  This is the Zen approach to business.  Exactly and only what you need, nothing superfluous.

I am happy to see my neighbor shares the same minimal aesthetic.  He sells musical toys made from found and recycled materials.  I become slightly less self-conscious.

I am grateful for the clouds that periodically block the blazing sun.  It is my only respite.  One must suffer silently, I suppose.  My other neighbor, a jewelry maker, graciously offers me the shade of her tent.  I fear I may ruin her business if the passerby see a gaijin, so I place my chair at the back of her space.

One hour and 35 minutes pass before anyone stops to look at my T-shirts.  The seeds of doubt have been planted.  I am reminded of the pop-up gallery I had in Red Hook.  The hours and hours of doing nothing.  Only here there are hundreds of people expressing their indifference to my creations.  In Red Hook simply no one turned up, so the insult was less bruising.

I am glad for the ¥1,200 folding chair I bought.

The horrible "Engrish" mall T-shirts parading by are salt in the wound.

On this sweltering day mostly people just want something to drink, or maybe a fan or hat or tenugui to mop their sweaty brow.

The musical toy maker sits stoic on his little stool waving his fan like a Buddhist monk doing zazen.

I busy myself by shaking the dust from my T-shirts and sprinkling the gravel with water.

I study the people passing, try to pick out the ones who might be interested in a limited edition moku hanga T-shirt: a young rock-n-roller, a stylish mother, a hip dandy.  But no, but no.  Everyone walks by without a glance.  I think I could have a sign that reads "free T-shirts" and they would still pass by.

Hot, tired, dirty and disappointed, I close shop at 2:00.

Under the Influence

           the Influence

Under

paintings and the collected ephemera of life

by Robert Wallace

2015年8月1日 – 8月16日  |  August 1 – 16, 2015

オープニング・パーティー8月2日(日) 17:00-19:00  |  Opening: Sunday, August 2 17:00-19:00

かつてファッションデザイナーのポール•スミス氏は、”インスピレーションはどこにでもある”と言いました。

まさにその通りで、通勤通学での道のり、電車や車での移動中、近所のカフェやショッピングマーケットなど日常生活のあらゆる場面でインスピレーションを受ける事ができます。

これらの大小様々な影響を無視せず認識して行く事は、流れの速い２１世紀を生きて行くにあたってとても大切な要素なのではないでしょうか。

私のアートは、この”日常の陽炎”（その瞬間に出会う日常の出来事）が原動力になり、またそれらは実際に私の絵画の原料となりました。新聞、地図、レシート、手紙、ショッピング袋、名刺、小説の１ぺージ、映画のチケットなど、私のアートは日常生活の中で出て来る廃棄物によって構築されています。まさに私のアートの中に、私の生き方の本質を見出す事ができるでしょう。

このエキシビションUnder the Influenceでは、私たちの身の回りにある一見ランダムで何の変哲のないものを使用し、それを全く違う角度から新しいものとして見ていただきたく、また私のアートに触れた方々がそれぞれの”日常の陽炎”を考慮していただけるキッカケになれば、と願っております。

The English fashion designer Paul Smith once said “you can find inspiration in everything.”  Indeed the world around us not only inspires us, but shapes who we are as individuals.  Our environment, from our home to our school to our office, from the train we take to the road we drive, from the café where we dine to the market where we shop all have an influence on us.  Every detail of our daily life affects and informs us.  One can’t really navigate life in the 21^st Century successfully without acknowledging these indiscriminate influences.

My artwork springs from this “ephemera quotidian”.  It is literally the source material for my paintings.  They are built from and upon the daily detritus of my life: the morning newspaper, a street map, a market receipt, a letter, a shopping bag, a business card, a page from a novel, a movie ticket.  This material provides the texture of my life and at the same time the texture of my paintings.

Under the Influence is my attempt to show how all these seemingly random and unrelated things collect around us, penetrate our subconscious and resurface as something else.  For me, these are the influences large and small that shape my paintings.  This exhibition is an invitation for the viewer to consider their own personal daily ephemera and what influence it has upon them.

Kyoto summer

July 14, 2015 6:16 AM, 32°C (90°F)