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She ladles cool water out of the fresh water container in a smooth, shallow stroke and pours it into the steaming kettle. As the cold water trickles in, the hot water momentarily goes off the boil. When Sensei deeply ladles water out of the kettle and slowly pours it back in, the silence makes the pouring water sound even more like a waterfall. Her reverent handling of the water suggests she is dealing with the life force itself.

Unlike thin tea, which is whisked into a frothy head, thick tea initially uses less water to knead the tea powder into a thick paste. Steadying the tea bowl with her left hand, our host carefully ladles in a minimum of water. Once she has prepared a thick paste, she takes the ladle in her right hand and pours just enough water over the tines of the dark bamboo whisk to create a sumptuous viscosity.

Finally, she draws an almost circular character with the whisk. Its spiral form suggests a tradition that will continue to evolve. The front of the sombre bowl faces her guests. Sliding on her knees, the first guest retrieves the bowl and its handling cloth. Once she has returned to the first guest position, she turns the bowl clockwise to avoid the arrogance of drinking from its face. After the second sip, our host bows towards the first guest as she inquires about the condition of the tea.

The first guest expresses her pleasure before continuing with the tea, and our host picks up the ladle and lid rest before returning the lid to the steaming kettle. The shape of the bowl retains the fragrance of the tea. As I am about to take my first sip, a hint of the aroma wafts up.

When I take my first sip, the first guest bows to our host and thanks her before asking the name of the tea. Thick tea is an acquired taste. The intensity of the first mouthful brings back childhood memories of unpalatable medicines that had their own bright colour-coded warnings. By the second sip the senses have stopped working overtime and that swallow has a flavour that could be tea. One of the hazards of being the final guest is that the last slurp can be the thickest.

Thick tea sometimes resists the idea of leaving the bowl but today that is not the case. I continue to savour the final mouthful as I prepare to return the bowl and its handling cloth to the first guest. When I make my final slurp, our host turns back towards the hearth adding one ladle of cold water from the fresh water container to the kettle.

The principal guest must return the bowl to our host once I have placed the bowl and its handling cloth in the position in front of her. Kate then moves across the room on her knees, placing the bowl just outside the serving area. After Kate retreats, we silently savour the lingering taste of the tea as our host enters the closing section of the thick tea serving procedure. Kate commences the host-first guest dialogue by requesting to view the utensils, and Sensei places the thick tea container, its woven bag, and the tea scoop — with its curved end facing up and towards her guests — out for our inspection.

Our host returns to the tea-room and settles herself one last time, moving with the grace and precision that years of devotion to tea have brought her. She explains the provenance of the utensils we have been honoured to handle. Both guests realize that this is the dialogue that concludes the thick tea serving. Although we do not speak to each other, I sense that Kate is experiencing the same sensation of peaceful regret that I always feel when the tea ritual has come to an end.

She places each object, one by one, beside her on the floor. We all bow, and the door closes. The fictionalized account of a tea gathering suggests that the obvious pleasures of Hakata tea are the simple joys of being in a quiet room with friends, enjoying a hot drink on a cold day. There may also be the extra treat of seeing an unusual serving procedure. Or a luxurious feeling of having gone behind the glass partition of an art museum to handle historically significant tea utensils, indulging in a nostalgic dive into the local past. Sometimes there may be a sense of having learned a new way of expressing intimate respect through the medium of the tea-room interaction.

After passing the watchful scrutiny of their teacher, a tea student may be validated by a silent beam of congratulations as they discharge their duties as second guest. Perhaps a guest might bask in the pride with which a host has skilfully captured one particular instant of seasonal change. My favourite tea feeling is the knowledge that comes after leaving a tea gathering, a unique event that cannot be repeated: recognizing that I am somehow more integrated within myself, and more inclined to be at peace with others. This subtle internal sense may be what the sacramental value of tea has become in the twenty-first century, a faint echo of the Zen intent marked by the thoughtful placement of the sekimori ishi by the host.

This Japanese Tea Master Has Been Hosting Ceremonies for Decades - National Geographic

Between the host and their guests is the understanding that the competent cooperation of all tea-room players is required. However, experienced teachers often remind us that the sincere intent to remain in the tea moment should not be undervalued.


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The tea universe is structured by a complex relationship of hierarchies between utensils, serving procedures and tea spaces, but that delicate experience of unity in tea does not have to be monopolized by those with a particular linguistic, ethnic and cultural heritage. As we read the previous account of a fictionalized tea gathering, there is a spatial movement from outside spaces to experiences of boundlessness within the confines of the tea-room. An everyday act like the provision of water by the host that allows the guests to wash their hands is reconfigured as a shared signpost along the profanesacred continuum.

That fictionalized narrative presents tea as a social form of spiritual practice that demands a certain discipline. The mechanics of this taut ritual relies on an elevation of everyday materials and manners. The semantic fields of spirit, rigour and symbolic reversals combine to sacramentalize tea, transporting us from our everyday to the otherworldly integrations of tea. The previous account of Hakata tea pleasures presents tea as social, aesthetic and spiritual. Tea also functions in Japanese society as cultural capital and other embodied forms of knowledge.

The delight of these Hakata tea moments is located at the nexus of local identity and national culture, and these tea routines are wholesome ways of structuring weekly, seasonal and annual routines. The stability of these tea cycles provides a structure that buffers against the disrupting death of those we love and respect. In the spirit of Zen, wabi creates a simple, unpretentious beauty, with which all participants can identify.

The intention of this book is to offer a non-specialist audience an exploration of the subconscious of twenty-first century tea practices and pedagogy. I explore how transitive Rikyu -ness has been useful in forming certain identities. My wider agenda is to use the specific example of modern Sen tea values and practices to interrogate the more problematic category of the Japanese nation. The following chapters address certain ideological subtexts of tea by positioning tea-room pleasures as being framed by various forms of power and authority.

The manner in which tea practices are taught in the grand master model of cultural transmission is examined in terms of how tea invokes and sustains the idea of a distinctive Japanese national culture. Two films that depict Sen no Rikyu are examined in terms of this lethal discourse of transience and how they comment on sixteen generations of institutionalized tea pedagogy.

A discourse of seasonal change was used to nationalize nature and communicate the inevitable transience of human life by insisting on the primacy of the Japanese state over individual citizens in the nineteen forties. As a low intermediate student of tea, my interest is in identifying how the institutionalization of tea practice partially violates espoused tea values. My argument is that during the nineteen eighties and nineties, the professionalization of tea discourse marginalized the experience of tea students, and this situation is a consequence of a systematic insistence on privileging the tea teaching system over the pedagogical needs of individual learners.

The transmission of Japanese cultural practices is threatened by the demographic changes of an aging society. Anxious grand masters are facing the prospect of a generational reduction in enrolments, a trend that is compounded by a shift in the dominant mode of cultural identification. The performance of a particular cultural practice is no longer an absolute pre-requisite for Japanese cultural literacy. Being able to merely recognize certain symbols as markers of Japaneseness is becoming an important way of identifying as Japanese.

Changes outside Japan also affect how Japanese identity is consumed. Although tea continues to be an icon marker of Japaneseness, younger generations are more familiar with Doraemon and other anime cartoons than with how the formal and spiritual beauty of tea gatherings is represented in the Kawabata Yasunari novel Thousand Cranes. In an increasingly virtual world where we can become what we see, tea films should be closely analysed.

On-screen images of Sen no Rikyu operate as pleasant forms of education, informative entertainment that helps define Japaneseness. The agenda of Rikyu films goes beyond merely reproducing stereotypical images of a distinctive national culture by giving attention to the importance of displayed flowers in tea-rooms. The two Rikyu films surveyed here generate insights into the tensions between aesthetics and politics, illuminating the relationship between those Japanese citizens who are governed and those political elites who lead.

The analysis of a politicized Japanese culture contrasts with the way tea custodians present themselves as being merely cultural institutions. As a grand master of a flower arranging school, director Teshigahara critically reflects on the nature of cultural transmission in his film.

Critical and effective histories explore the triangular relationship between truth, power and the self. I am concerned with how tea practices are sustained by the categories of subjectivity, national identity and tradition. Effective history questions the truth of those grand narratives which produce versions of historical knowledge that favour a particular set of players. If those people see these excluding definitions as forces that can be acknowledged and resisted because they are not inevitable or neutral categories, that is the sort of intervention that has driven the critical intent of this project.

This book is an experimental history insofar that it points to the possibility of being conscious of the pleasure cycle of tea-room authority as a slippery opponent and component of the self. We have also seen how Japanese literature can be used in tearooms to express the impermanence of nature and human life. Through their complete silence, they communicate to us what is eternal. The early modern application of flowers as a political imperative is a major thematic concern of later chapters.

All flowers are not created equal: tea practitioners show little enthusiasm for flowers that remain in bloom for a long time. Teaching institutions of the early twentieth century formed the category of Japanese literature, transmitting a concept of nature as transient. The ideological work performed by certain interpretations of classical Japanese literature became part of a particular worldview that encouraged individual sacrifice as the highest service to the state. Being aware of this politicized version of nature will be useful later when we examine how national cinema comments on the role of tea in the exercise of state power.

We are concerned with how the idea of transience that was sustained by tea practices and literary genres became allied with a belief in Japaneseness. Our primary focus is how early modern interpretations of literature helped shape Japan as the community of unnatural death in the s.

The second point to be developed relates to national needs that demanded visual culture function as propaganda: the wartime strengthening of the commitment of citizens by Japanese culture depended on importing genres from Western painting traditions. It is in the context of these literary and visual cultures that the political appropriation of the legacy of Sen no Rikyu from the Meiji period — onwards is examined.

This brief survey of early modern tea includes comments on the grand master model of tea transmission. Tensions between the national self and the foreign other, and the fluid relationship between native tradition and foreign innovation were evident in Meiji era — literature and Sho wa era —89 painting. Although tea practices centring on Sen no Rikyu —91 present themselves as purely cultural, they are elements of a politicized Japanese culture whose ideology communicates the lethal transience of human life by insisting on the primacy of state over individual.

The legacy of Sen no Rikyu is more than the artefacts that have passed from his hands into tea history and tea-room anecdotes. In addition to these existential issues, the manner in which the legacy of Rikyu was coopted outside tea-room contexts to create a common cultural identity deserves close scrutiny. In the context of early modern Japan, the eternal presence of transience was harnessed into the project of inventing the nation as a divine identity. Nation building demands a politicized culture Since the Meiji Restoration, various segments of Japanese society have contested the construction of Japanese national identities, identities for domestic and international consumption.

Before the top-down promulgation of the Meiji Constitution in , the Japanese Diet legislated internal security measures that curtailed intellectual freedom through publishing restrictions , newspaper ordinances , revised , limits on assembly , revised and a total ban on revealing the contents of petitions to the government and the throne Power struggles resulted in the political power base attempting to use policy guidelines to direct institutes to present certain social practices and texts as the embodiment of the cultural exceptionalism of Japan.

The kokutai was one and indissoluble, and it implied a warm and loving union between the sovereign father and his children, the people. Given the widespread insistence on the sacramental unity of Japanese ethnicity, language and culture, it is no small irony that this invention of the Japanese national community was premised on the assumptions of nineteenth-century European nationalism: a common language defines the nation. The introduction of foreign modes of reasoning was a scourge to be resisted.

Censorship, rather than the Taisho period arrangement of informal discussions between censors and publishers, was an effective embargo on imported ideas in the early Sho wa period. Against this dynamic background of a regime of intellectual purity, the changing needs of Japanese foreign policy often shaped the domestic identity. This contradiction highlights the tenuous nature of the nihonjinron claim to the inherent cultural uniqueness of an unchanging Japanese cultural tradition. Lethal transience in Meiji literature: beauty and death as citizenship For several hundred years, Genji Monogatari The Tale of Genji was regarded as a text for scholars.

This eleventh-century text by Murasaki Shikibu c. Two separate developments led to the resurrection of this court culture text. By insisting that Genji Monogatari was something for all Japanese citizens to read, this institutionally-created surge of interest arrested the decline of national literature at a time when Japanese were infatuated with translated Western ideas. Citizens of all social stations had their collective attention drawn to an idealized conception of Genji. Using a literary figure to construct this authentic Japanese identity relied on a contradictory irony.

It is a well-known truism that the past is a foreign country, and establishing Japanese authenticity required identifying with a foreign self. In serving the political demands of the day, early modern citizens were asked to collectively identify with the idealized linguistic, historic and social other of Genji. Identification with the genteel figure of the aesthete Genji was one mechanism that incorporated citizens into an increasingly militarized national body.

The political process of using literature to shape the desires and self-perception of modern citizens demanded more than clever positioning for a mass market. The written language of Genji was modified to make it comprehensible to its national audience of non-specialists. Kanda Ko hei —98 , an expert in Dutch Western knowledge, coined the term genbun-ichi in when arguing for a written language bun that could be clearly rendered in speech gen.

The belief of the day was that the modern languages of the West were not afflicted with such a disjunction between spoken and written language. Genbunichi sought to bring writing closer to speech. Another impulse was to bring speech closer to writing by developing a standard written language futsu bun. As is typical with so much of the attempt to invent Japanese modernity, Yamada borrowed heavily from foreign devices. Advocates attributed to genbun-ichi writing the values of efficiency and neutrality. It is a lyrical poem that conveys through nature what I felt about nature.

Our immediate concern here remains with the constructed character of Japanese literary forms and the porous boundaries between those foreign devices that are co-opted in the literary performance of national identity, a form of Japaneseness oriented to nature.

After the Popular Rights movement was suppressed, religion assumed a political importance. Protestant versions of Christianity made an impact on those disaffected by the banning of organized attempts to expand the electoral franchise beyond those males over twenty-five who had made substantial tax payments. The rise of Western influence was reinforced by the Japanese victory in the Sino-Japanese War —95 ; as Chinese knowledge fell from favour, the hierarchies internal to the field of literature shifted: To a literary heritage inherited from China privileging histories and biographies over base fiction, modern Japan added its own reasons for revalourizing the sho setsu form as the nation entered a new era of international intercourse.

Meiji prose narrative informed by Western literary imperatives would be seen as a literature constructed to signify modernity, truth, seriousness, the West and even wholeness as a nation. Superior beauty is tightly bound to brevity of existence. That which is exceptionally beautiful is short-lived. This politicizing of Japanese nature embedded a lethal transience in the idea of national duty. This conjunction of nature and society has been useful in accounting for, shaping and justifying what now appear to be oppressive social relationships during twentieth-century wartime.

The personification of nature accompanied this emerging national discourse that integrated inevitable cycles of life, death and rebirth with political demands for sacrifice. The following poem of Jien the Monk — attributes consciousness to the plant kingdom: Let us not blame the wind, indiscriminately, That scatters the flowers so ruthlessly; I think it is their own desire to pass away before their time has come. Wrapping the inevitability of death in the brevity of beauty made Greater East Asian War demands for absolute loyalty to the state possible.

Ruling elites tempered this rhetoric with the implied promise of vernal rebirth in the eternal edifice of the nation. Cherry blossoms, symbol of peace and war,47 advocate the inevitability of individual obliteration as nation-building. If the primary task of Japanese literature scholars was to protect Japaneseness, one of the secondary tasks of Japanese authors was to internalize the official standards of censorship, and to self-censor accordingly.

Should producers of Japanese literature fail to anticipate what was permissible according to the changing standards of the day, they would, in extreme cases, be subject to the force of Home Ministry law. The translation of Genji Monogatari into comprehensible wartime Japanese, commenced by Tanizaki Junichiro in may be an example of just how effective the informal application of professional and private connections could be in maintaining an atmosphere of national seriousness.

Genji and his stepmother, Fujitsubo ; the enthronement of the offspring of that illicit liaison i. In , Tanizaki expressed his gratitude to the deceased Yamada by emphasizing that without the encouragement of Yamada, Tanizaki would have not managed to embark on the Genji translations. Such waves of patriotic ideology were not without their opponents who envisioned a different mode of identification with various polities. Interred behind Russian lines roughly four decades before a generation of Japanese youth were conscripted for suicide attacks, these Japanese officers sought permission to ice-skate and the right to drink vodka.

Sho wa era painting: foreign beats native Attempts to publicize an authentic Japanese identity were visible in the field of painting, and provide an interesting contrast to the attempts of literary censors to treat foreign ideas as forbidden fruit subject to confiscation. This political appropriation of Western realism around the turn of the twentieth century resulted in the now fundamental distinction between Japanese nihonga painting on paper and Western yo ga oil painting on canvas.

Our paintings contribute to stimulating martial spirit in wartime and will be preserved for posterity. Thus there can be none so happy as we Japanese painters today. This highly politicized genre promised a jubilant national future that contrasted with the individual miseries of everyday life during the terminal throes of a war that could not be won. However, propaganda requirements sometimes result in visions which do not tally with the fatality figures documented by military historians. In an ironic sleight of hand, Fujita disguised the failure of the Japanese invasion of Soviet-controlled Outer Mongolia in by evoking the glorious spectre of the successful defence against the Mongolian invasion in the thirteenth century.

Traditional nihonga modes and subjects of expression were reconfigured in the politically more expedient foreign yo ga genre of Western painting. Against this background of native techniques being less effective as propaganda, these images from the Great East Asia War Art Exhibition gestured towards an essential Japanese identity that aspired to represent the hopes of a decolonized Asia.

The colonial activities of Japan in Taiwan, Korea and China were given an aesthetic veneer of legitimation by a series of noh performances in those countries from onwards. Japanese audiences reported that hearing those noh songs and seeing the noh performances made foreign soil Japanese. More than merely acting to incorporate foreign territories into the Japanese sphere of influence, noh also became a means of honouring the Japanese war dead.

The souls of deceased Japanese military men, policemen and sailors were honoured at ceremonies that included noh performances. This survey has outlined something of the complicated manoeuvres necessary to stabilize Japanese identities for domestic and international consumption. This didactic use of literary and visual culture in the early twentieth century is consistent with the Theatre Reform Movement of the Meiji period.

Those statements clearly contradict years of historical evidence. Tactical maneuvres are here disguised as strategic, time-stopping statements. This image of tea as the one unchanging constant of Japanese cultural life anticipated the Genji boom of — The later cooption of texts such as Genji into the symbolic vocabulary that constituted the myth of national unity established a thematic unity between beauty, premature death and national duty. It is a powerful mechanism, serving to disempower people from maintaining and cultivating their own culture.

The Senke schools of tea, Urasenke, Omotesenke and Mushanoko jisenke, the three Houses of Sen, accepted the legitimating benefits of the state. Senke tea emphasized the conservative values deemed to be desirable for welding individual will into the life of the nation. As the cultural sphere was politicized and subject to government control in the early twentieth century, tea-room retreats by middle-class citizens into imaginative reconstructions of medieval court life were reduced to futile resistance.

As the following paragraphs suggest, even today consumers of tea discourse make gendered choices at the intersection of the aesthetic caress of state power and discourses of consumption and play. Imperialism continues to work through tea play because of various strategies to present tea practices as an elite cultural form at the same time as it operates, via the media, as mass culture. The interests of Sen tea schools coexist in a complex symbiosis with a particular configuration of political, ideological and religious concerns. Temae naturally takes us to the moral practice that everyone should follow.

The first point is the endorsement of Confucian virtues which tend to be associated with daimyo tea of Furuta Oribe — , Kobori Enshu — , and Katagiri Sekishu —73 , rather than the wabi aesthetic of Sen no Rikyu which gestures towards a form of Buddhism that rewards individual effort. After the petition of Gengensai, Senke tea served the interests of the modern state by being an instrument of leisure that carried the rigid social norms of feudal Japan into the modernizing Meiji Japan.

Instead of being a socio-political ritual for military elites, tea became part of the machinery that created Japanese citizens. The iemoto system prevented the tea sponsored by shoguns and daimyos to deviate from the norms established by social and political pressures. This kind of petrification of tradition was a useful device for the Tokugawa, allowing them to control the ritual arts and to convey a message of political immutability and stability.

The second point of interest raised by the comments of the fifteenth generation Urasenke Grand Master is a claim for the universality of tea practice as a moral technology. This significant shift away from tea as the purest embodiment of Japaneseness to tea as a global practice that everyone should follow is a form of cultural imperialism that affected how Japanese identity was represented in international media.

A later section considers the post-war export of tea values outside Japan by going beyond the personality cult that surrounds the contemporary figures of grand masters. Conclusion This chapter interrogates a central tenet of Japanese ideology: presenting the cultural world as natural and inevitable. This survey exposes the ideological strategy of presenting nature as neutral. The attention to the tension between Japanese self and foreign other in literature and painting is intended to undercut nihonjinron claims for the purity of Japanese identity.

My outline of a politicized Japanese nature lays a foundation for examining pedagogical forms of tea power in the following chapters. I execute a close reading of a range of popular culture texts in Chapter 3 to demonstrate the contemporary persistence of this state-centred ideology of transience. In Chapter 6 I denaturalize the authority of the grand master system and that analysis is useful in commenting on how film treats tea transmission in Chapters 8 and 9.

As such, nature was enabling; it facilitated the formulation of a modern notion of a Japanese society. The first section outlines the development of a belief that flowers generally, and sakura cherry blossoms specifically, were sacred entities. The second and third sections compare the meanings of sakura during wartime and in the late s. After the moral and financial excesses of the so-called bubble economy in the s, Japaneseness was both a sacrament and a commodity during the final years of the reign of the fifteenth Urasenke grand master.

Tea practices exist in a cut-continuance relationship with national identity. Tea is an internal other, a representative icon that marks a distinctive mode of hospitality that engages with natural rhythms. Tea practices are so cut off from the daily repertoire of many Japanese that tea continues to be a somewhat foreign performance of Japanese identity for a sizeable portion of the Japanese population. At the same time as tea practices are significantly removed from the corporeal literacies of residents of the Japanese archipelago, the depth of tea history implies that a national identity based on distinctive cultural practices has been a continuing presence.

This other-world of tea allowed Japaneseness to be defined in a manner that blurred the boundaries between the worlds of nature and society. Personifying nature and naturalizing Japanese subjectivity, and attributing a divinity to flowers, these three moves were the essential pre-conditions for the early modern creation of a sacramental Japanese identity. Tea as transience: divine flowers and sacred Japaneseness The early modern invention of Japaneseness drew on the domestic and imported resources of literary and visual culture, conjuring a common cultural identity that linked natural beauty, death and national duty.

This political project of linking the organic and divine realms with national identity was sustained across the Meiji, Taisho and Sho wa periods. The s development of censorship apparatus was consolidated by a comprehensive thought-control system implemented in the s.

The permanent transience of pre-global warming definitions of Japanese nature, where seasonal change was constant and therefore an eternal rhythm that exists beyond time, created Japan as an early twentieth-century community united by its destiny of unnatural death. The rhetorical deployment of innocent cherry blossoms, forever doomed to be too powerless to resist the annual orders of spring gusts, helped construct this fated destination of individual sacrifice as s national service.

The former aimed at reunifying the state, the latter at imposing the new social order on the nation. When he arrived, there was not a single bloom to be seen. Once the puzzled Hideyoshi entered the tea-room, he was allegedly stunned by the one perfect morning glory displayed by Rikyu in the alcove.

Given the choice between the oblivion of a death sentence and a lifesaving apology, which option would Rikyu select? The merchant tea-master wipes out a field of dearly nurtured flowers to emphasize one perfect bloom for the one warrior general who united the country. When Nishiyama Matsunosuke outlined his historical analysis of the importance of flowers in Japanese culture, he prefaced his remarks by noting that ,, Japanese people comprised a largely uniform ethnic group who shared a common language as they developed their island country.

Although distinguished culture was imported from the Chinese continent, something that existed in the hearts of ancient Japanese has not been forgotten. Being such a unique race, the Japanese cultivated an appreciation of flowers that did not exist within the culture of other ethnic groups. The individual — now citizen — was directly tied to the nation-state. Variation and difference were now permitted only within the Same. The self, the spiritual subject, is converted back kie suru to nature unconditionally mujo ken ni in such a way that the self overcomes itself and forgets itself in the wonders of nature.

However, instead of being seduced by the famous sakura of a specific location for example, Yoshino , the experience of the spiritual self is also overwhelmed by a more expansive frame, the national aesthetic of transience. Once the category of the nation achieved its primacy, a new authenticity emerges. The sakura of Yoshino were commemorated in the taiko noh Yoshino Mo de, a staged rendition of the pilgrimage of Hideyoshi to Yoshino that was performed for Hideyoshi during his visit to Yoshino.

The crucial themes of this tale of Japan as the land of harmony are warfare, imperial worship and nature as a divine entity. Yoshino was a site of crucial battles, imperial viewings of Yoshino sakura are recorded in the eighth century Manyo shu , and those sakura are associated with fertility, purity, sacredness and beauty.

The deity Izanami was buried at Kumano. And it was here that the existence of the sacred sword Futsunushi was revealed and from here a divine crow is said to have guided Emperor Jinmu into a position from which he was able to gain a foothold on the Yamato plain. From this sacred place he gathered strength to pacify the country and secure the throne. The sun-goddess Amaterasu allegedly appeared to him in a dream to advise him. Thus he may have intended to receive these oaths not only in his person but as a representative of his ancestors present in Yoshino.

Yoshino was thus a Japanese Valhalla. According to Shirakawa Shizuka, Yoshino became a place of imperial renewal tamafuri and purification because of its sacred waters. But the blossoms could also symbolize a divine land as the Japanese tried to see them as preludes to the fruit of another world. With the experience of nature acquiring more of a national scent, the modern enshrinement of sakura at Yasukuni Shrine and other Defence-of-the-Nation Shrines made a new mode of being Japanese possible.

Japanese identity became a sacrament, defined by an aesthetic of transience that celebrated flowers. Nishiyama identified four points that gave flowers their distinctive role in Japanese culture. First, Japanese people perceived divinity in flowers. Japanese are the race that saw flowers as gods. Second, in the course of time a classification of trees, rocks, bamboo and grasses attributed specific conditions to them. As a result, they too held divinity and were regarded as flowers. Three, in addition to this divinity of flowers, the visual apprehension of flowers as flowers was an aesthetic convention learnt from the high culture of China.

This link with unique Japanese culture resulted in huge developments in the flower culture of Japan. Four, moreover, this flower culture was embedded in daily life. Why Tea? I am very grateful to Cory Reynolds, Editor-in-Chief, for her thoughtful guidance through several drastically different versions. Several revisions have been made to the version that was printed in Index Magazine. Valerie Wilkinson and Edward Haig gave insightful criticism based on their expert readings of an earlier version of this manuscript.

Kate Bonansinga and Dale Slusser gave my project a boost that resulted in certain elements of my work being included in the edited collection Japanese Tea Culture: Art, History, and Practice RoutledgeCurzon, I would like to thank Morgan Pitelka for including my work in that volume. His close editing improved the coherence and focus of my chapter Rikyu has left the tea-room: national cinema interrogates the anecdotal legend.

I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to publish earlier ver- sions of certain chapters internally at Fukuoka University. The overall framework of the project was laid out in my Reifying the deified Rikyu. Chapter 2 draws on my Communicating transience, Chapter 7 draws on my Speaking truth to power, Chapter 8 draws on Cross , and Chapter 9 draws on my Communicating teas nationalist fable. Originally under an American contract to be published in , the last minute imposition of an unworkable title by the press made that undesirable.

Following the acceptance of the manuscript by Global Oriental, the generous suggestions of Herbert Plutschow resulted in more focus on the trope of Japanese harmony and the addition of Chapters 5 and 6. I would like to thank Paul Norbury for his patience and for arranging the introduction to Herbert Plutschow.

I would like to thank the Kyushu University students who com- pleted a rough first draft translation of the Kumai Kei film: Hashimoto Ai, Akiko and Mitsuyoshi. A soft copy of that amended film script is available from tim fukuoka-u. Persistent assertions by Nagata Motoyoshi and David Griffiths that this book was possible and necessary and the encouragement of Jeff Isaacs were all essential to the completion of this project.

The inspirational figure behind this tradition is Sen no Rikyu , the most famous of all tea masters, who perfected the wabi aesthetic based on tranquility, harmony and simplicity. Visually, it embodies the pursuit of minimalism, removing extraneous decoration and paring everything down to its most basic form. The passage of time is also reduced to the essence of the moment.

This encapsulates the ephemeral spirit of mono no aware literally pathos of things , the eighteenth-century scholar Motoori Norinagas term for the sadness felt over the fleeting nature of life which emerged in clas- sical Japanese literature during the Heian era As a result, notwithstanding its Chinese roots, chanoyu has come to be viewed widely both within and outside Asia as something quintessentially Japanese.

Rikyu s legacy lives on today in the shape of the highly institutional- ized tea schools, Urasenke being the most powerful among them, which trace their practice to the wabi aesthetic wabi cha he perfected more than four hundred years ago. Initially, this approach was intended to be something of a social leveller, enabling upwardly mobile mer- chants to participate during the great upheavals of the Sengoku age.

This was because the drinking of tea in Japan had always been closely associated with power and status. Following its introduction from China in Heian times it was long considered an expensive luxury and the preserve of courtiers in Kyo to. The Buddhist monk Eisai went on to lay the foundations for wider consumption when he planted some tea plants he had brought back from his travels in China at the end of the twelfth century. Nevertheless, chanoyu still found its formal expression as a ritual cere- mony mainly among priests, court nobles and powerful warriors.

As Rikyu actively cultivated ties with these social elites, the arts he practised were ideally suited to the needs of statecraft. This fact was not lost on his patrons and would-be masters of Japan, Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi Emerging from humble origins themselves, they used the rhetoric developed by Rikyu to employ tea ceremony as a political tool. Under Nobunaga it became a space for negotiating and forging alliances, as warriors could convene for talks safe in the knowledge that swords had been left outside.

In , for example, Hideyoshi used tea men chajin in a diplomatic gathering to diffuse a standoff between the O tomo and Shimazu armies in Kyu shu. By restricting access and even making the right to perform tea ceremony subject to his permission, he also locked the symbolism of chanoyu into the hierarchy of political authority. To some extent this spatial manifestation of power was hardly sur- prising. Drinking tea had long been part of a merchants everyday life as it provided an amenable social framework for negotiating business deals.

By encapsulating the essence of the moment in a confined envi- ronment, chanoyu set an ideal stage for confidential dialogue and reflection. It also enabled the engagement of ideas that found expres- sion in a number of sixteenth-century tea diaries recorded by men such as Yamanoue So ji, Tsuda So kyu and Kamiya So tan. The ritual use of space, moreover, offered a convenient vehicle for the exercise and delegation of power. The restrictions it placed on access in particular served as an emotive screen, symbolizing the social dynamics of inclusion and exclusion.

Curiously, however, this under- lying discourse of power relations is often left understated in written works on tea ceremony. Instead, the subject matter of chanoyu has been depoliticized and approached exclusively as an aesthetic pursuit as if all worldly concerns can be dismissed by the beauty of the tea bowl.

Tea, Authority and Identity The representation of chanoyu has undergone some remarkable changes in modern times. Following the opening of Japan in the mid- nineteenth century it initially suffered from neglect as, drawn by the allure of the so-called Meiji Enlightenment bunmei kaika , people turned to Western models of fashion.

Even the government attacked chanoyu as a remnant of the feudal warrior society it was trying to leave behind. It was in this context that in , Gengensai Sen So shitsu XI, , the Grand Master iemoto of Urasenke, responded with a petition calling for tea to be viewed as expressing the moral universe of the nation. After this initiative, tea ceremony was added to the cur- riculum in public schools for young women. As a result, what had often been an activity for men took the form familiar to many people today, an aesthetic pursuit primarily for women and synonymous with training in social etiquette.

Conscious of the need to shore up the political legitimacy of their new regime, the Meiji authorities showed a keen awareness of the con- nection between state and ritual. Cloaking their revolution in the rhetoric of an imperial restoration, even the administrative system was called the Dajo kan in deference to the civil bureaucracy of ancient times before the onset of warrior rule. In the early twentieth century, the power of ritual to reinvent and convey emotive imagery was also used as a political tool in mobilizing support for colonial expansion and war.

To foster the spirit of patriotism essential to this military cause, tea ceremony as well was enlisted in the service of the state. In wartime Japan, chanoyu was manipulated as an expression of cul- tural nationalism. In the post-war era that followed, the belief systems implicit in the imagery of tea were then adapted to changing needs. On the one hand, Sen So shitsu XV made considerable efforts to trace tea ceremony back to its Chinese origins.

At the same time, by promoting the Peacefulness through a bowl of tea campaign he once again aligned his Urasenke School with the state, now that a democratic gov- ernment was in power under a new constitution that renounced war forever. Government ministries responded by enlisting the imagery of tea ceremony in the cause of the countrys cultural rehabilitation.


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  • Tea ceremony now became a commodity of cultural nationalism, a pow- erful symbol of communal heritage and identity. Tea schools appropriated the illusion of sharing in this imagined community to. One tendency that has emerged is the uncritical association of tea with Japans cultural and national identity. Due to the hierarchical structure of the countrys tea schools, however, the values taught in practice are not so much collectively shared as imposed. The vertical transmission of tea room reduction compels participants to accept the definition of authenticity as articulated by their own tea school, and any deviation from this prescribed norm is almost automatically disre- garded.

    As Jennifer L. Anderson has pointed out in Introduction to Japanese Tea Ritual , in effect this is a carefully orchestrated per- formance. When people observe a tea ceremony they consciously compare what they see with their own received notion of authenticity, framed by a particular set of values which are themselves directly sanc- tioned by the grand master. Not only does the practice of tea, therefore, enshrine coercive pressures towards cultural orthodoxy, but the notions of authenticity imposed in the process make this aesthetic pursuit a powerful element in shaping perceptions of Japanese cultural identity.

    Tea, War and Society At first glance, the aesthetic imagery surrounding tea ceremony seems innocent enough: transience, ephemerality, purification and the beauty of cherry blossoms falling in their prime. Yet in the context of military conflict, embodied within this symbolism is a potentially lethal dis- course of transience with a practical application in the theatre of war. It is no coincidence, for example, that tea masters in the Sengoku age, Rikyu among them, conducted ceremonies for warriors on the eve of. The transience of life was extolled in terms of a pure death at.

    As Naoki Sakai points out in Translation and Subjectivity: On Japan and Cultural Nationalism, aesthetic terms have been systematically employed at different times to reinforce the nobility of ritual suicide and self-sac- rifice on the battlefield. The cherry blossom aesthetic was extensively repre- sented in wartime propaganda, and tragically reflected in the poetry written by kamikaze pilots and sailors on the eve of their departure.

    Significantly, the future fifteenth grand master of the Urasenke School also served in a Special Attack Unit tokko tai. During the last months of the war he conducted tea ceremonies for young kamikaze comrades before their final missions. In this context, tea ceremony can be seen as a death ritual, a per- spective that calls to mind Rikyu s own activities in the political sphere. In , he took his own life in circumstances that still raise specula-.

    In his introduction to the English translation of Sen So shitsu. Paul Varley suggests that his death may have been related to his involvement in gekokujo those below overthrowing those above which became such a feature of the Sengoku age. In Tea and Counsel: the Political Role of Sen Rikyu , Beatrice Bodart also showed that he was actively engaged in political affairs, in contrast to his pop- ular image as an aesthete who lived on a plane far removed from everyday concerns.

    Moreover, Gregory Levine has recently demon- strated in Daitokuji: The Visual Cultures of a Zen Monastery how key events involving Rikyu can be viewed independently from tea cer- emony and the image of him as a tea master often portrayed in films.

    Droits d'auteur :

    Intriguingly, in Kumai Keis Sen no Rikyu : Honkakubo Ibun , a film of his life made with the cooperation of the three Sen tea schools, the suicide scene does not show the act of disembowelment itself, but is portrayed instead by an almost abstract sequence of cherry blossoms being scattered by a ruthless, divine wind. This oblique treatment of Rikyu s unseen death perhaps serves to preserve his mystique and the aesthetic purity of his art.

    At the same time, it is in stark contrast to the conventional film treatment of Sengoku suicides, such as Oda Nobunagas end at Honno ji in , which are regularly portrayed in all their blood and violence. This study is an attempt to integrate a range of standpoints now emerging in the fields of Cultural Studies and Critical Discourse Analysis, which between them have been revising our understanding of the discursive roles of tea in Japanese society. It explores the trian- gular relationship between truth, power and the self in tea ceremony as. Rather than treat knowledge of tea as a merely cultural domain, here it is mapped out as a discourse of transience, using some close textual analysis of tea transmission practices, tea scholarship and films.

    On a broader level, Yumiko Iida has stressed the element of performance in presenting identity as a commodity in Rethinking Identity in Modern Japan: Nationalism and Aesthetics This work, in contrast, employs a methodological framework rooted in current approaches to autoethnography, which assumes that knowledge is perspective. The aim is to reveal how tea discourse, practices and organization attempt to construct certain forms of identity by locating the relationships between tea reason, domination and ethics in a wider cultural context.

    The result offers fresh insight into the perilous charms of articu- lating distinctive cultural identities in todays global environment. Drawing on many years experience as a first-hand practitioner of chanoyu in Japan, the author analyses the structure of the Sen grand master system and reveals some of the forces at work behind the con- struction of tea ideologies, outlined by Herbert Plutschows Rediscovering Rikyu and the Beginnings of the Japanese Tea Ceremony He also extends the approach in Peter Ackermans thought-provoking The Four Seasons to demonstrate how iconic images which supposedly function as timeless examples of Japanese tradition have been subject to manipulation as ideological tools.

    Drawing on works such as Victoria Brians Zen at War , Japanese tea writings from the s and s are used to present some persuasive evidence of the ways in which the Sen grand masters used tea to build support for the war effort. The combined effect is to undermine some of our common assumptions about Japanese society, particularly in relation to the notion of harmony. A number of leading questions arise from this study, particularly in relation to the power of symbolism codified in the practice of tea ceremony.

    Clearly, this operates not just in some abstract realm of an aesthetic ideal, but can be seen at work outside the tea-room as well as in the exercise of authority and representations of cultural identity in Japanese society today. The Pleasures of Hakata Tea hen Tim left the surfing beaches of eastern Australia for W Fukuoka, he had no intention of making tea his preferred way of experiencing the seasons. However, once he discovered the tran- scendental experience of tea rites, he was hooked. For the past two decades, he has been taking instruction in how to serve tea.

    His current teacher and mentor is Kamegawa Sensei, daughter of Tokushige Sensei. Both women followed their mothers into the tradition of teaching Nambo Ryu tea in Hakata. In the last winter of her life, Tokushige Sensei hosted an early morning tea gathering for Tim and his old friend, Kate, an art historian specializing in Asian ceramics, by inviting her to act as first guest.

    The first guest is expected to carry the main responsibilities of conversing with their host. As a second guest, Tim would be called upon to smooth any wrinkles in the flow of the ceremony an important role, since Kate had no formal training in the arts of tea. Just before dawn on a chilly winter morning, a lone figure crouches, meticulously wiping each leaf of a low tree in her irregular garden. Satisfied with the sense of welcome conveyed by the freshly cleaned leaves, scrubbed paving stones and scattered pine needles in the outer garden, our host places a sekimori ishi a stone wrapped with black string in the centre of the path leading away from the tea-room.

    The stone is meant to block the path, thus preventing guests from. But more than mere consideration, this stone implies that the host intends to guide her guests to an experience of shared enlightenment. Sensei stands, pausing to note that even in the half light every ele- ment in the garden evokes a crisp morning in a mountain valley. The outer garden has its own verdant logic.

    The inner garden is sparse. Sensei considers the contrast between them, knowing that this first subtle distinction will initiate her guests transition towards a height- ened state. Pleased, she returns to the preparation room, which adjoins the tea-room in the centre of the inner garden.

    Here she makes a careful final inspection of the utensils she has chosen, all of which have been placed close to the sliding rice paper door which she will use throughout the ceremony. The tea-room has two entrances: a full height entrance allows the host to come and go while carrying utensils as the serving procedure demands; the second entrance, which the two guests crawl through later, is only about knee high. Assured that everything in the preparation room is in order, our host enters the tea-room. It has an alcove where a hanging scroll is dis- played, illuminated by candlelight.

    The alcoves irregular timber structure contrasts with the geometric rigour of the paper-screen win- dows in the tea-room, as well as the black-bordered tatami mats on the floor. Tatami are an essential component of any tea-room because they provide the clear demarcation of space that is required for the proper movements of utensils and participants in the ceremony. Convention precludes the host from leaving the serving area to enter the space allo- cated to the guests, and guests have no business intruding into the transit and serving zones of the host once the serving procedure has started.

    While Sensei was making final preparations, Kate and I have arrived and seated ourselves in the outer gardens waiting arbor. Although our host has not been visible to us, we are soon alerted to her presence. We hear her splashing water around the final approach to the tea-room as she fills the stone basin where we will rinse our hands and mouths.

    As I prepare to exchange silent greetings with our host at the middle gate, I adjust my dark blue kimono and my Kokura Ori belt woven by Tsuiki Noriko. On this cold morning I have been keeping my hands warm by sliding them inside my hakama, those large and pleated trousers that I wear for tea and noh.

    When the first guest removes her overcoat, I. Finally, it is the moment to greet out host. As usual, I feel a tense anticipation during the choreographed bowing in unison. Our unspoken acknowledgment contrasts with the everyday custom of using speech to communicate. This unity in silence suggests we are about to embark on something powerfully sacramental.

    In the stillness, our host retreats to the preparation room while her guests finish the ritual purification of our hands and mouths. Our everyday anxieties dissolve. We are grateful for the consideration of our host when we discover the water has been warmed. With this thoughtfulness fresh in our minds, we file past a sunken waste pit, con- taining a small pile of garden refuse, where the last of our worldly concerns should be symbolically discarded. The low, garden-side entrance to the tea-room is barely two feet high.

    It must be entered on ones hands and knees. The mild discom- fort of crawling while wearing kimono is a deliberate attempt to intensify the division of space that started with our transition from the outer to the inner gardens. It encourages us once more to leave all social status and worries outside. The principal guest enters first, kneels in front of the alcove, and bows behind her fan before regarding the scroll. She then stands and crosses the tea-room diago- nally before making an acute right-hand turn. Entering the hosts serving zone, the first guest kneels to view the sunken hearth located between the positions of the host and first guest.

    Kate inspects its weathered wooden frame and cast iron kettle with an expression that suggests she is reminded of the greatness that can be found in the inconspicuous details of the irregular and the ordinary. At this point, it is my role as last guest to coordinate our interaction that will unfold in the tea-room. I enter, audibly closing the sliding door as a signal to our host that we are almost ready. I am aware that my kneeling inspection of the scroll, followed by my diagonal approach and acute turn towards the hearth, must allow the first guest to walk by me in that confined space.

    I take the hypotenuse while she performs a right- angle turn to the left that would not be judged ungraceful, even on the noh stage. A neat triangle is momentarily inscribed on the rectangular tatami mats by our pristine white split-toed socks. The rigour of our movements brings to mind the walking of monks between meditations. Eyes wide, the first guest sits in her designated place ahead of me in the candlelit room. Once we are comfortably kneeling in our positions, with the principal guest sitting closest to the hanging scroll, Sensei slowly slides the large screen open.

    Host and kneeling guests all bow deeply in unison. The candlelight contrasts the sheen of Senseis dark green kimono with the heavily textured obi that once belonged to her mother. Our host apologizes for her serving only tea and thanks us for taking the time to meet. In turn, Kate and I both express our delight at being offered this unique gift of hospitality. Our host stands and enters the tea-room, carrying a striking bamboo basket containing the necessary implements for preparing the charcoal.

    She leaves the room briefly, returns with a dish containing ash, and commences the formal charcoal preparation. Sensei method- ically places the metal chopsticks, two metal rings, a brush made of osprey feathers, and the incense container in their positions on the tatami. Neatly sliding the metal rings into the kettles shell-shaped lugs, she smoothly lifts the full kettle off the fire in a manner that belies just how heavy the vessel must be.

    She places it to one side on a folded mat of thick paper that protects the tatami from the heat of the kettle. Our host uses the feather brush to purify the hearth in a set of strokes that have a steady measured quality, adds the new charcoal, and brushes the hearth for a second time in a noticeably brisker manner. Using the metal chopsticks, she adds incense to the fire, and a heavenly fragrance fills the room, a most palpable gift from the host that confirms that the charcoal will boil the water. Both guests inch forward and I almost gasp at the simple beauty of the charcoal. Its red glow lends the ash a mon- umental quality that brings to mind the snow-covered mountains outside.

    After a few moments, I notice that the first guest seems to be mes- merized by the combination of this scent and Senseis economic handling of the utensils. I wonder if the first guest will miss the cue to address her host. As the first guest remains silent while our host closes the lid of the incense container, I speak somewhat out of turn, gently suggesting to our host that Kate might like to inspect this prized object. After turning it to face the first guest and placing it in front of her, our host returns the other tools to their specific positions in the dark bamboo basket, and leaves the room.

    While our host is outside the room, I silently invite the first guest to. She moves out and back on her knees. Once our host hears that her first guest has returned to her position of honour, our host reenters with a larger feather brush and sweeps away any dust from the serving area while sliding backwards on her knees, facing the guests. After she passes through the doorway, our host bows and closes the sliding door. When Kate makes the formulaic apology to me for inspecting the incense container first, I bow.

    She admires the hand-painted plum blossoms on its exterior, rendered in several sparse powerful strokes. As she passes it on to me, she whispers Kenzan, right? Ogata Kenzan! I carefully inspect both sides of the lid, as well as the unglazed section of the base, before returning it to Kate. She turns the incense container to face our host and places the incense container in the position that will be easiest for Sensei to handle.

    Once Sensei has heard Kate glide back to her position, our host opens the sliding door and re-enters the room. Although it is conventional for guests to repair to the outdoor waiting arbor while the kettle boils, the absence of a meal allows Sensei to hold an impromptu zazen meditation. We respectfully face the scroll and recite its contents: Short Pledge to the Way of Tea: To truly con- duct oneself, now, with Harmony, Respect, Purity and Tranquility; to have tea with body and mind solitary and clear; and, with hope, to per- petually adhere to the Secret and diligently realize the state of existence which conforms with the Ultimate Reality.

    We perform our medita- tion, kneeling in the formal seiza position. Sensei announces the end of the zazen session by soundlessly opening the tea-rooms skylight, and quietly leaving the room. At this moment when the candlelight is eclipsed by the first rays of morning sun, I recall the sekimori ishi on the stepping stone outside a symbol of our hosts promise that our expe- rience together will open the doors of perception. Everything seems so vitally fresh.

    As my eyes adjust, I notice the pledge scroll has been replaced by a bamboo vase holding a single white camellia laden with morning dew. Both the fresh water container and the container for thick tea in its decorative silk bag have been placed in their specific positions. I realize I have lost my sense of time. Kate and I stand, walk one lap of the room and then return to our positions.

    Now Sensei slides open the door, and the black Raku tea bowl. It contains the folded and damp linen cloth used to purify the tea bowl, the tea whisk, and the tea scoop.

    Search Results for: Tea Culture

    Kate recognizes the bowl. It is named Kamiyaguro, named after Kamiya So tan , a noted sixteenth-century tea master and merchant of Hakata. Because this bowl was made by Cho jiro , a sixteenth-century artisan who worked under the direction of Sen no Rikyu , it is nationally revered. But for members of Hakatas Nambo Ryu school of tea, this tea bowl has a different weight. This precious bowl is more like an heirloom from an honoured ancestor. Our host carries the bowl as if it contains the destiny of all present. She kneels and places it in its spot before standing and returning with the wastewater container, the lid rest, and the water scoop.

    Our host commences the relatively formal procedure for serving thick tea. She removes the tall-shouldered tea container from its woven silk storage bag. The guests catch a glimpse of the patina that the elegant bag has acquired over the generations. We notice the subdued details of its flower motifs. Senseis movements are deft, decisive, and delicate. While she solemnly examines the four directions of the almost-square silk cloth used to purify other utensils, I recall Kate telling me that this gesture refers to the pre-war imperative to respect the emperor, ones parents, ones teachers, and ones friends.

    Ever the art historian, she had also pointed out that after an American constitution was negotiated upon Japan, the emperor was no considered longer divine, therefore the nation itself became the object of veneration. As our host softly con- cludes, I also see teas ability to combine practices from four schools of thought: Shinto, Taoist, Buddhist, and Confucian. Our host reverently purifies the thick tea container with her pre- cisely folded orange silk square. She caresses its mouth in three fluid strokes, then rotates it slowly and deliberately against her silk square.

    When purifying the carved bamboo tea scoop, which I recognize from a gathering hosted for my father several years ago as being named The Fragrance of Dawns Moss, our host handles it as if she were polishing a weighty sword. Kate is visibly impressed by this demon- stration of the principle of reversal: treat light objects as if they are heavy.

    Sensei handles the ladle as if it were a mirror. As our host gazes into the ladle to steady her own awareness, the first guest breathes slower and deeper. Now our host begins to prepare thick tea, which both guests will drink from the same bowl. There is a brief pause to mark the solem- nity of what is to begin. The bowl is purified after being warmed by ladles of hot water. The bamboo whisk is turned three times before its tines are inspected.

    The bowl is wiped dry after the water is poured into a waste-water container out of our field of vision. Our host then bows slightly as she slowly picks up the tea container, removes the ivory lid lined with gold leaf and places it on the handle of the ladle. Three heaped scoops of brilliant green tea are taken from the tea con- tainer and added to the tea bowl before Sensei rests the scoop, curved side up, on the right-hand rim of the bowl. While holding the container close to the bowls left-hand rim, she rhythmically rotates the con- tainer.

    The remainder of the precisely measured tea cascades into the bowl. When no tea remains, our host wipes the rim to remove any powder which might discolour the gold leaf. The lid is replaced and the tea container returns to its position.

    The Ideologies of Japanese Tea

    She then uses the tea scoop to draw three lines in the tea, perhaps suggestive of a road. Pre-viewing reading: Making tea, making Japan, chapter 3 iemoto , pp. Potters and Patrons in Edo Period Japan, chapters , pp. Class plan: 1 Student-led discussion of Takatori reading material 2 Brief two minute presentations, explaining the charms of one piece of Takatori ware. The local as tradition: celebrate a life to acknowledge death July 11 field trip Asa Yamakasa. Can account for tea development and its current forms without resorting to reference materials.