…there were a variety of games to play. And since my wonderful computerized electronic whizball of a sewing machine had to be sent off for a week in a sewing machine hospital, I was forced spend the weekend trying to remember what I did before that lovely electronic toy entered my life.
Fortunately for me, there was a Genji exhibition at the Museum of Kyoto this week, celebrating the thousand year anniversary since The Tale of Genji was published by Lady Murasaki Shikibu, an 11th century aristocrat. Widely considered the world’s first novel, Genji is a classic of Japanese literature detailing courtly life in ancient Kyoto.
For ten centuries The Tale of Genji has been a source of inspiration for the Japanese arts. Bugaku dance and Noh performances have re-enacted
the life of Prince Genji, while the games and pastimes described in the story were adapted and expanded to reflect the novel. The playing pieces for the 19th century board game shown at right were painted to represent all the main characters from Genji. The center panel of the woodblock print above shows the same game being enjoyed by a cluster of noblewomen.
Likewise, the kaiawase clam shell matching game with its hexagonal storage box were delicately painted with scenes from the novel. 
Kaiawase matching is an ancient game, but quite similar to the card game “concentration”. Pairs of cleaned and polished clam shells are painted with matching images, then multiple sets of clam shells are collected to form a complete game set. To play, the clam shells are placed painted side down and the players take turns trying to find and match the identical pairs. Though I’ve never had a chance to play the game itself, I’ve always been fascinated by the elaborately detailed imagery painted on the shells and storage cases.
And of course, there is manga. Reading manga has always been one of the quintessential forms of Japanese entertainment. The books shown here are examples of a 19th century retelling of Genji. Never having been stigmatized as “mind-rot”, the way western comic books have been, manga have always enjoyed an appreciative audience in Japan. In an earlier time, they were simply called e-hon (picture books) and attracted some of the brightest artistic stars of the day.
There were, of course, vastly more games on display in the exhibition, involving skills as diverse as incense sniffing and poetry reciting — far too many of course for a simple blog entry to recount. But it seemed as though in a simpler world, the goal was to find ways to delight each of the senses rather than just to kill time.
Under the gorgeous full moon a few nights ago, my friend Judith Clancy and I attended a gagaku concert in the garden surrounding Shimogamo shrine. Areas of the garden were lit with flood-lamps, which guided our way as we walked through the large gardens toward the stage outside one of the main buildings of the shrine. Though the autumn nights are definitely getting cooler, it was still lovely to join the audience clustered before the open air stage. Many in the audience had also attended Tea Ceremony before the concert and were still dressed in kimono.
The beautiful red O-higan-bana are blooming in the gardens of Shokukuji temple near my house. Known as “red spider lilies” in English, O-higan-bana translates literally as “the equinox flower” since it blooms suddenly but briefly, around the time of the Fall Equinox in late September. They spring up almost overnight in clumps and clusters throughout temple gardens and along the narrow paths through rice fields, a last showy gasp of fiery flowering color before the full onset of autumn.
The equinoxes, both of them — spring and summer, are national holidays in Japan. So Tuesday was a day off my normal work schedule and a chance to do a bit of catching up. Which means it was finally time to unbundle those bundles of haori that I bought a few weeks ago and prepare them to be posted on the 
With a friend to help the task speed along, each colorful piece of this jumbled bundle was tagged and measured by the end of the day. Next comes the photography, trying to show the color, the details and making sure to identify any flaws. But making pictures of garments on a homemade scarecrow appealing must require a special talent, and thus far such talent has eluded me. But I will keep trying and soon, I hope, these lovely little kimono jackets will be listed for sale. 
Kazari is a Japanese word meaning “adornment” and this exhibition was devoted to the history of the Japanese penchant for adorning object surfaces with beautiful and intricate designs and then arranging those objects to adorn public and private spaces. The world of Japanese design is so often renowned for it’s brilliant minimalism and yet intricate elaborations of surface design also play a strong role as shown by the items selected for inclusion in this exhibition.
In contrast, the Arita porcelain jar shown at right was produced several millenia later in the 18th century Edo period, yet it reflects an equal penchant for elaboration. In this case, however, the form has been simplified while intricately painted glazes provide the design interest.
The purse at right might have been carried to Tea ceremony. Notice the the tiny carved bird that forms the clasp in perfect complement to the embroidered swallow.
But the intent of this exhibition was more than simply a display of beautiful relics. Rather, the emphasis lay on the transformative nature of Kazari. In the preface to the catalog, the curator writes, “We are delighted to be able to present to you the timeless world of kazari, where functionality, beauty, the sacred and the secular collide to form an unexpected unity. The act of kazaru (adorning) momentarily lifts one’s spirits from the everyday realm. Efforts to adorn (kazaru) have at times revealed a surprising disregard for practicality but have proven to be a profound motivating force in Japanese culture.”
Sunday was a wonderful day spent in my favorite way — pawing through colorful silks, inspecting and selecting vintage kimono at my dealer’s warehouse. At right you see my bundles of purchases, wrapped in the traditional way in extra large squares of fabric called furoshiki. (So much more charming than a shopping bag!) You can see one of my purchases in bright turquoise silk peaking out of the top of one of the bundles.
With temperatures regularly reaching 35°~39°C/95°~100°F and humidity between 60 and 80%, summer in Kyoto can be rough, which makes the archeological textile rooms at local museums a particularly favorable summertime outing. Not only are the rooms temperature and humidity controlled to preserve the ancient fibers, but also the dimmed lighting that protects the ancient dye offers a welcome relief from the summer glare. So of course, when I saw a flyer advertising an exhibition of Noh kimono at Sen-Oku Hakuko Kan, I jumped at the chance to see it. Admittedly, I’m an avid kimono fan who would have jumped at the chance in midwinter as well, but my little museum excursion did make a particularly nice respite from the afternoon’s heat.
Noh robes also tend to be quite voluminous with relatively small sleeves. To some extent that reflects the prevailing structure of garments in the Momoyama period, but presumably this loose fit also facilitates quick costume changes for performers playing multiple roles. And although many of the designs appear to be embroidered, quite often they are the product of an intricate weave that manipulates dozens of shuttles to float variously colored weft threads across the patterned area. Although some of the oldest garments show a loss of pattern on certain sections as these threads have worn away, it’s truly remarkable how carefully these treasures have been preserved in a climate as humid and changeable as Japan.
None of these carts are motorized. Rather they are pulled forward with ropes by teams of young men, whose efforts are directed by the men holding fans riding at the front of the float. Those sitting inside the float are musicians playing flutes and cymbals. I only wish I could have also captured the music and dancing and all the festivities to go along with these few pictures….
With barely time to sweep up the remains of Tanabata, Kyoto has jumped into preparations for one of the largest oldest and most treasured festivals in Japan–Gion Matsuri! On side streets and main streets throughout downtown Kyoto, construction has begun on the 32 massive floats that will comprise the Gion Matsuri parade.
And at right, you can see the skeletal structures beginning to take form. Small streets are entirely blocked off, while major streets become restricted to a single lane that allows traffic to slowly crawl around the float during these festival days.
And of course we Kyotoites take a keen interest in the progress of the construction. As the floats grow, so does the festival atmosphere. Sight-seeing increases with each day as does the number of vendors selling cold drinks and a variety of souvenirs. Members of the “team” involved with each float can be recognized in the crowd because of their distinct summer kimono. At this particular float, the team members sport an indigo blue with a white carp design.
It’s hot and humid and typically summer in Kyoto. The mountains that surround the city hold in a stagnant cloud of heat that settles over everything. Children and families and friends try to cool off by wading in the the Kamogawa river that runs down the east side of the city. Those who can try to excape the summer’s heat with foreign travel and since many of my friends are English teachers and college professors, I’ve had a week of good-byes as I see them off on their travels. They’ll be back in September when school starts up and the weather begins to cool.
Tanabata celebrates two stars that appear to meet in the mid-summer night sky, although they normally remain quite distant through most of the year. According to mythological tradition, these stars represent Ori-hime (the weaving princess) and Hiko-boshi (the farmer), archetypes of skills needed by society. Through most of the year they busy themselves with their work, but take a summer break from their labors to enjoy each other’s company, then return refreshed and renewed, and re-doubled in their skills. To celebrate this holiday, Japanese adorn bamboo branches with colorful paper streamers and make wishes for acquiring or improving some personal skill. Traditionally, boys wish to improve their farming skills, while girls wish for better sewing skills, making it one of my favorite holidays all year.
The photo at left was snapped in front of the Kyoto police department. One can but wonder what skills they wished to improve…
As always the case with Tea, the preparations and utensils reflect and rejoice in the present moment. The utensils were carried into the room in a chabako, typical of the season and the bowl in which tea was served is decorated with bamboo fronds and Tanabata streamers. It was a beautiful way to enjoy a summer’s afternoon.