Susan McCormac 4/7/24 Susan McCormac 4/7/24

Chapter 4: Sakura (Cherry Blossom)

*Photo by Donald Peterson / PETERSONLIVE.COM*

It’s spring! Let us smile at the blue sky!

The loveliness of this season may inspire you to sing the popular old song: “Sakura, sakura, yayoi no …”

In this season of flowering, I would like to share my thoughts on flowers, specifically the beloved Sakura, or cherry blossom. Not only are these beautiful blooms an integral part of Japanese life and culture in general, they also feature prominently in dance and have become a central theme in my life as well.

First, let us explore why Sakura is so important in Japanese culture. Then, I will share with you what Sakura means to me personally, for these flowers have come to reflect the essence of the deepest philosophy of my dancing.

The light pink color of the blossoms of Somei Yoshino, the predominant type of cherry tree found in Japan, suggests naivety and the beauty of adolescence. Its delicacy has found a home in Japanese culture, which tends to emphasize the subtle rather than the brash. The ephemeral quality of the flower, and the shortness of its peak, makes one’s heart race as one strives to catch sight of its beauty before it falls. In ancient Japanese mythology, Sakura was revered as a divinity, one which would bring good harvests. The name of this goddess, Sakuya, shares a root with the word Sakura.

In spring, Japan has the Sakura Yoho, or Sakura Forecast, which functions just like a weather forecast would. It tells us when the trees will be in bloom in what parts of the country and helps people to plan their Sakura-centric spring events, of which there are many!

Ohanami, or flower viewing, is a special outing to see Sakura and have picnics under the trees. It is one of the nation’s most well-known pastimes and has been one of the favorite ways to view the flowers for centuries. Ohanami became popular among the nobility from the eleventh to the twelfth centuries before its popularity spread to commoners over the course of the Edo era, spanning the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries.

*Ohanami. (Photo from* *Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan*)

*Ukiyoe of Ohanami in Edo Era. (“A Hanami at The Edo Castle Yoshu” by Hashimoto Chikanobu)*

*The Kabuki dance* Sakura-gari, performed here by my dance company, depicts the same scene in Edo of people enjoying flowers by the Sumida River. Photo: Tony Sahara at Sakura Matsuri at Brooklyn Botanic Garden

*Ohanami calls for* wagashi, or Sakura themed sweets, made only in the spring. I love them all, but they are too beautiful to eat! Photos from *くらさか風月堂*, *JAPAMIGO*, *9GAG*)

I recall having seen the Japanese film Wonderful Life (titled After Life in English.) The characters of the story are deceased and must choose only one moment, the very best one, in their lives to take with them forever into paradise. An old woman chooses a time when she saw beautiful cherry blossoms falling, the flower petals fluttering and being blown by the spring breeze. It was a striking moment, and it reminded me how much the Japanese love and respect the beauty of flowers and how important they are in Japanese life.

There is a Japanese word, Setsugekka, which is a portmanteau of the words for snow, moon, and flowers, and which has become a phrase in and of itself, referring to the inherent beauty found in nature. It is a fundamental concept that has fostered Japanese arts and culture. It is a metonym for beautiful scenery in nature and expresses the beauty of seasons: Winter by Snow, Fall by the Moon, Spring by Flowers.

Setsugekka雪月花 (Photos from Wallpaper by yasha.kachin / Wallpapers.com *webjapan_mofajp* *Yarachan / Pixabay.com*)

As Isamu Kurita wrote in his Setsugekka no Kokoro (The Heart of Setsugekka), “Snow symbolizes impeccable beauty and purity, and the moon the immense expanse of the universe, while flowers symbolize phenomena of our existence that appear and disappear as conditioned by time and space.” In many Japanese dances as well as literature (particularly poetry), when flowers are referred to, they are implied to be Sakura. As Kurita eloquently says, the flower symbolizes impermanence.

In the 1970s, I was inspired by the writings of Zeami, who founded the Noh theater as it exists today in the 14th century.

In his Fushi-kaden, also called Kadensho, he said, “The flower is fascinating because it withers and falls. So are the performing arts.” This is called Karon, or Flower Theory. The cherry blossom, more than any other flower, is best suited to illustrate this point as its life is so short.

*From* Kadensho *by Zeami* The Taiyo: Noh, Kodansha International Tokyo, 1990

I interpret the flower as dance, rather than music or theater, which Zeami included in his art of “total theater, combining dance, music and drama.”

As soon as a dance is created, it disappears. As soon as it is born, it dies. You cannot capture it in your hand like a piece of art. That fleetingness is the very life of the dance, which makes it more precious, wonderous, fascinating, and beautiful than other art forms.

I tell myself and my students, “Every time we dance, whether performing or practicing, it is the only and last time for us to dance, the only chance for us to do our best.”

The preciousness of each moment is found in our day-to-day lives: This morning’s beautiful sunlight is the only time it will be shared with a neighbor; the moon perfectly balanced on the spire of a building is a singular point in time that can never be repeated. The moments that never return should be treasured, just as Zeami taught in the 14th century.

More than a decade ago, I came across the work of Kaneko Daiei, a Japanese philosopher of the 20th century. He says, “Flower Petals fall, but not the Flower.” This means that the truth of the flower lives forever. A mentor’s teachings, a mother’s hug, kindness from a stranger, a dance performance, or an encounter with a beautiful sight—if it touched our hearts deeply and left us with a lifelong impact, a moment can remain within us forever. These true flowers of life are precious gifts, and I feel so fortunate and grateful to have been given them. Conversely, I often wonder, “What kind of flowers I can offer?” I can only hope my performances and my teaching could be a true flower for others. These flower theories are ones that I have treasured, and which have inspired me over the years.

In Zeami’s writings, one can find the word Omoshiroki. He says, “Because flower petals fall, it is Omoshiroki.” Omoshiroi, in the modern language, means interesting or sometimes amusing. However, during medieval Japan, it meant fascinating, unusual, or surprising.

In the 1980s I had a dear friend who used to say, “You have to be a surprise to people.” I didn’t understand at first, thinking, “Well, if you are a performing artist, yes, appearing on stage, of course you should be a surprise. But if you mean daily life?” What he meant was a person’s presence when meeting people. Your first impression should be a surprise, one which warms peoples’ hearts and delights them.

It reminded me of Zeami’s word Omoshiroki. The way people find each other omoshiroki is one of the “true flowers” of life, as Kaneko Daiei taught us.

In the lyrics of the song “Itako Dejima,” found in the Kabuki play Fuji Musume, or Wisteria Maiden (originally staged in 1826), the following phrase stands out to me:

“There are many flowers in various colors, but there is no flower more beautiful than you are.”

When I dance it, I interpret it: Each person in the audience is a precious flower, and I try to meet their eyes, to tell them with mine that there is no flower more beautiful than they are. However, even when I am not dancing the Wisteria Maiden, I take the sentiment of the lyrics to the stage with me.

Sakura Matsuri, Rite of Spring

Sakura is the title of one of my dance company’s repertories inspired by the old song of the same name. It is the first dance I teach to children at my studio and at school workshops.

Over the years, I have choreographed many dances on the theme of Sakura and have danced at many spring celebrations centered around these lovely flowers.

Sakura Matsuri, the Cherry Blossom Festival, at Brooklyn Botanic Garden, was inaugurated in 1981. It is the oldest celebration honoring the beautiful flowers in New York City, and over the years the event attracted many people; in 2006, roughly 72,000 people attended the event over the weekend. My company and I had been invited to perform from the first year onwards, but the festival was halted by the COVID-19 pandemic in early spring of 2020. It has not been held since. This is a disappointment, since 2021 would have been our 40th year performing there. The annual Sakura Matsuri performance was what my company looked forward to every year as a rite of spring, having spent the fall and winter dedicated to rehearsing and preparing.

In the festival’s early days, we used to perform in the auditorium. In 1992 we began performing on the outdoor stage, for there were many who could not enter the auditorium and were fighting to get in! I must say that a performance on the outdoor stage is something extraordinary for a classical dance performance.

The years we spent performing at the Sakura Matsuri were studded with memorable incidents. One time, a leg of the bench I sat on at the end of my dance Osen fell apart. I felt very bad, as it was brought to the Garden by the director from her antique collection. Another year, the gold screen that was serving as a backdrop fell on me while I was dancing! Of course, I kept going, and someone came onto the stage to pick it up.

*Flyers for Cherry Blossom Festival in Brooklyn Botanic Garden in 2006 and 1995*

The date of the Sakura Matsuri was timed as best as the organizers could to coincide with the blooming of the cherry trees. The weather was always variable, and sometimes it would feel more like winter than spring. At one of our outdoor performances, it was so cold that my fingers were almost too frozen to tie the himo, or the tie that holds kimono closed, while changing costumes. They brought us small heaters in the dressing tent, but alas, the ceiling of the tent was open! Another year, it was so warm that the floor of the stage became as hot as a frying pan, and we had to wet our tabi in order to keep dancing. Unfortunately, this did little to help our poor hot feet!

The 25th Anniversary Sakura Matsuri was a special one, as we had been one of the longstanding performers who had attended each festival without pause. I had been caring for my sick mother in Tokyo and had returned to New York for one week just for the Sakura Matsuri, to keep my important commitment to the Garden. I spent the week rehearsing with my dancers, performed over two days, and headed immediately back to Tokyo.

*Brochure for Sakura Matsuri at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden from 1997*

Since 2021, we have been invited to perform for the Garden’s Spring Events series, which replaced the Sakura Matsuri. Our performance in 2021 was particularly memorable, for we danced with masks on our faces. The regular blue masks had to be turned over to the white side to match our white make-up!

*Sachiyo Ito and Company at the Sakura Matsuri Brooklyn Botanic Garden at the Herb Garden in 2023*

There have been numerous other cherry blossom festivals I have danced at as well. My 1978 performance at the Newark Museum was the first of many cherry blossom festivals I performed in New Jersey, in Newark as well as other locations. I was pleased to have had an opportunity to introduce Kabuki dance to New Jersey audiences.

“The Cherry Blossom Dance, the Sakura, simply celebrates the nation’s favorite flower, while Fuji Ondo imagines the spirit of the wisteria tree, and Ayame Yukata is a rhapsodic personification of iris flowers that line the banks of a pond. banks of a pond.”
“Kabuki Puts Premium on Refinement, Restraint”
Valerie Sudol
Star Ledger, June 3, 1991

*Sachiyo Ito and Company at the Bloomfest Cherry Blossom Festival, New Jersey, 2023*

In 2006, I took four musicians and five dancers to perform at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. The event was held in conjunction with the National Cherry Blossom Festival. I must say it was a miracle we could perform on time because the train was nearly two hours late! We barely had rehearsal time before the curtain rose, but the performance went well after all. The next day was such a treat for us, for we could enjoy the cherry blossoms in full bloom around the Tidal Basin. We were very lucky to be able to see the flowers at the peak of their flowering. The National Cherry Blossom Festival lasts for several weeks each year, and by the time a friend of mine participated in the closing parade, the flowers were all gone.

The luckiest performance in Washington, or at any other place, occurred in 2019. It was one of several sets we performed at the Tidal Basin Welcome Stage at the National Cherry Blossom Festival. As we danced, the flower petals were showering down all around us, almost as if they were dancing with us. The program included Sakura and Sakura-gari, two dances based on viewing the cherry blossoms and hunting for the most beautiful blooms, respectively. What a joy it was! It was the most blessed performance a Japanese dancer could ever have, I believe.

*Tidal Basin ANA Welcome Stage Performance for the National Cherry Blossom Festival April 7, 2019*

I would love to ask my readers: What is the most treasured moment in your lifetime? A meeting with someone? A meeting with a miracle of nature…such as Sakura?

“Like the delicate cherry blossoms that fade all too soon, the unforgettable work of Sachiyo Ito and Company came to an end as the applause died out and the lights dimmed for the final time. All that was left was a barren stage to remind us that art, life and beauty are to be fully enjoyed in the present moment before being released to eternity.”
“Sachiyo Ito and the Spirit of Sakura Matsuri”
Gerri Igarashi Yoshida
The New York NICHIBEI, May 23, 1985

The posting of this chapter to JapanCulture-NYC.com was paid for by Sachiyo Ito and reprinted here with her permission. Susan Miyagi McCormac of JapanCultureNYC, LLC edited this chapter for grammatical purposes only and did not write or fact-check any information. For more information about Sachiyo Ito and Company, please visit dancejapan.com. ©Sachiyo Ito. All rights reserved.

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Susan McCormac 3/2/24 Susan McCormac 3/2/24

Chapter 3 — In Honor of women’s History Month: Machi Ito

It’s March, Women’s History Month, so in the third chapter of Sachiyo Ito’s memoir, she pays tribute to her mother.

I owe who I am and my career to my mother, Machi Ito.

Not only was she an artist and journalist, but one of the first women to work as a film director for a TV network, in her case, for Nippon TV Network, the first commercial television network in Japan. In those days it was rare for a woman to work as an artist, let alone in the newspaper and broadcast industries. Her incredible resilience and strength saw her through difficult times. Reflecting on my childhood fifty years later, her career provided me an example for me to follow when it came time for me to face my own challenges, although I did not realize it when I was young.

My mother was thirteen years old when the Great Kanto Earthquake occurred in 1923. Among the 142,800 people who died were her father and several other relatives. Only she and her mother survived, along with a small portion of the family estate. She was in Tokyo for the duration of World War II, and saw much of the destruction of war firsthand, including the Bombing of Tokyo in 1945. The war left my mother with a lifelong dislike of sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes were the only food she could find when her family was forced out of Tokyo and into the countryside to avoid bombing runs. For my mother, the sweet potato came to symbolize war, which she was against. A dedicated pacifist, she was even thrown in prison for delivering anti-war flyers.

After the war, Japan endured a food crisis, as inefficient allocation of resources and reduced crop yields led to widespread hunger. Each rice ball was a treasure. She told me how angry she was when a rice ball that she had finally received after waiting on the food line for hours was snatched from the hands of my oldest brother by a stranger. This enemy was not an American combatant but another human being, who was also fighting to survive—one of the sad truths in any war.

After the war, she married, but her marriage ended in divorce. My mother had wanted to pursue a career as a painter but had to give up her dream to raise her three children—my two older brothers and me—on her own, as well as support and care for her mother. Perhaps, in giving up her brush, she entrusted me with her dream, which allowed me to pursue my own of performing and teaching in the United States. In turning away from her artistic aspirations, she embarked on a trailblazing professional career.

My mother worked for the Yomiuri Shinbun newspaper during the 1940s. In 1951, its founder, Matsutaro Shoriki, founded the Nippon TV Network and requested that my mother transfer to this new enterprise.

I remember that my brothers and I were so excited to see the television set in our home that my oldest brother started doing cartwheels on the tatami floor.

Since broadcasting was in its infancy, it was not easy to recruit participants for TV shows. So, as a family member of the network staff, I was requested to appear in a couple of the early programs. I remember sitting at a round table in the television studio. Wardrobe had dressed me in a yellow dress for filming, which was then given to me to keep as a reward.

My mother’s field of work was making documentaries for the education department of Nippon Television. It seemed to me that the male colleagues she worked with, such as cameramen, musicians, recorders, and narrators, respected her highly, more than other women at that time in Japan. She was very capable “despite” being a woman!

*Obituary titled “A Pioneer of Women Directors” in the Nippon TV Network Newsletter (2001)*

During my elementary school days, my mother’s work schedule kept us apart, as she was either on location filming around the country or editing into the wee hours of the night.

Late one night, a few months after I had started taking dance lessons, my mother came quietly over to the futon where I was sleeping and placed a dance fan case next to my pillow. I slipped my head under the futon cover, overcome with a huge sense of gratitude. You see, unlike the parents of my friends at the dance studio, my mother did not exactly approve of my decision to study Nihon Buyo. She considered it to be too old-fashioned for her anti-establishment views. Yet, she still got a precious gift for me, acquiescing to my choice without saying a word.

She was a most progressive woman. She simply smiled as I studied hard to take the entrance exam for a very competitive high school. For the “baby boomer” students in Japan in those days, entrance to a desired school was not easy. The school I was aiming for was strong in English education, a missionary school staffed by American teachers. (Learning English as a tool of communication was necessary for me as I wanted to introduce and talk about Japanese dance to the world outside of Japan.) However, my mother said that getting high scores on an exam was not a real education, nor was the system of giving grades in art classes. Even without her encouragement, I got into the high school of my choice.

It was not until my high school days that I was told the truth about her divorce and my father’s alcoholism. My two brothers got into a horrible fight, a war between capitalism and socialism, with each brother arguing about which system was correct according to their own ideals. As they threw chairs and tables around the room and at each other, my mother burst into tears. It was the only time I witnessed her in emotional tears; the fight had triggered traumatic memories she kept deep inside.

Up until then, my father was non-existent in my life, and I never asked about him. She told us how much he drank and how he went bankrupt, which inspired a hatred of those who drank heavily. Her intense dislike of alcohol sometimes affected my life: In the early 1990s, an old friend, whom I dated during the 1980s, and I bumped into each other on the street while my mother was visiting me in New York. He wanted to meet my mother very much, but she declined his special dinner invitation because she suspected he had a drinking habit. Unfortunately, and sadly for me, that was the last I ever spoke with him.

My father’s alcoholism was the cause of my parents’ divorce. He abandoned the family when I was very small, leaving my mother in enormous debt. I remember when red tags, the labels of repossession, were placed on our kimono chests and other furniture. My grandmother was crying when people from the creditors came to collect our belongings. Although I was only four or five years old and had no idea what was really going on, I could sense that it was not the money grandma was crying about, but something else. It was for the disgrace of the Ito family. Her great grandfather had served the Shogunate with excellent swordsmanship, but now, the honor of the Ito family was lost. I also remember a scene when my mother left the lawyer’s office, after the repossession incident. With three children in hand she said, “We don’t have money to buy tomorrow’s food.”

Indeed, it is said, “mothers are strong,” but mine was exceptionally so. I cannot imagine the depth of her sadness and the weight of her burden as she struggled to feed her three children and her mother with no money. She was determined to survive. To provide for us, she took various jobs as a writer for radio stations and newspapers.

At Nippon Television, she used to be called Kenka no Ito Obachan or “Ito Auntie, the Fighter,” although she would call herself Nittere no Komachi, or “Nippon TV Komachi.” Ono no Komachi was a famous poetess of medieval Japan and is considered to be one of the most beautiful women in Japanese history. Her name has become a nickname given to particularly beautiful women. Whenever my mother referred to herself thusly, I or anyone else would look at her face and smile.

My mother was a woman of strong personality. She had a quick temper but was also quick to forget. I must confess, I sometimes think to myself, “Am I her daughter? We are so different.”

She was a passionate woman and never lost her curiosity as an artist to truly see the things and people around her, regardless of whether they were strangers or not.

On the other hand, she had a critical eye for many things, including for herself. After she walked away from painting, she refused to pick up her brush again. It made me sad that she never wanted to paint again, even though I offered her canvases and easels at my New York studio whenever she visited.

*The 17th (Kimono), 18th (Mother), and 19th (Flower and a Person) Nikakei Exhibit Postcards by Machi Ito*

I also regret that I could not choreograph dances to the poems she wanted me to during her lifetime. The poet Sato Haruo translated the work of several Chinese poetesses into Japanese and published the anthology under the title Shajinshu in 1929, and it was one of her favorite volumes. In 2013, I was finally able to create dances to some of these poems in collaboration with Yong Hung Jia of the Peking Opera for my Salon Series No. 47. How much I wish that my mother could have seen this program, regardless of my poor dancing, for Yong was such a beautiful singer and actress and gave a wonderful interpretation of the poems! All the more, the Japanese melody that I asked her to incorporate into her performance sounded perfect.

I love reading my mother’s film scripts. The Pastor in Tsuwano City; Spring Light at Mt. Hakkoda, about woodblock artist Munakata Shiko; Hokuhen Niwa (Two Stories from the North), about the Ainu and the poet Ishikawa Takuji; have such a humane, heart touching quality to them. In the last film, one scene featuring a reading of Takuji’s Ichiaku no Suna, one of the most famous poems of the turn of the last century, often brings me to tears.

In the summer of 2023, I gave a special Kabuki Dance workshop to the current students at my studio. I wanted to keep a record of my instruction, since the workshops for dance majors at colleges in the spring went very well, while on the other hand, I was feeling low on energy. At the end of the workshop, I talked as I often do about Ichigo/Ichie (one time/one meeting), a Japanese saying that means that any encounter happens only once in our lives. As I spoke, I felt compelled to tell my students, “It’s incredible to see you all as my students. If I had not kept asking my mother for dance lessons, if my mother had not allowed me to go to the dance studio 68 years ago, I would never have met you, and we wouldn’t be together here and now.” Then I was overcome by a rush of emotions shed a few tears . . . so did some of the senior students.

I can still remember the late afternoon sunlight when I was begging her to take dance lessons, shaking her shoulder. Her “Yes” did not come until many months later. I can see my six-year-old self, commuting to the dance studio and coming home from lessons on the train during rush hour. Back then, passengers were packed into trains like sardines into a tin, and I was surrounded by people. Suddenly, I found myself on someone’s shoulder: a middle-aged man in a suit. As he was picking me up, he said in a loud voice to those around us, “Oh, this little girl will be crushed!”

It seems that who I am now has been helped by all these miracles—by encounters with other human beings, by the kindness they extended to me; and by my mother, who was my first and the biggest miracle. As I said in Chapter 2, there are occurrences and chances that never become a chain of events, but there are those chances that become a chain of life’s events—because of that and because of this. I was able to make an incredible journey thanks to my mother. I am proud to share our story with you as we honor Women’s History Month.

Machi Ito’s film, Kyo no Shimabara (Shimabara in Kyoto) with English subtitles can be viewed on my website, dancejapan.com or through this direct link: https://youtu.be/r6ZO41N8vkQ)

The posting of this chapter to JapanCulture-NYC.com was paid for by Sachiyo Ito and reprinted here with her permission. Susan Miyagi McCormac of JapanCultureNYC, LLC edited this chapter for grammatical purposes only and did not write or fact-check any information. For more information about Sachiyo Ito and Company, please visit dancejapan.com. ©Sachiyo Ito. All rights reserved.

Susan McCormac 2/11/24 Susan McCormac 2/11/24

Chapter 2: Dreaming the Possible Dream

“Is it too farfetched to presume that the art of the dance can serve as a form of cultural ‘communication’ and provide peaceful understanding between nations hitherto indifferent or even hostile? If you ask this question of Sachiyo Ito, an accomplished exponent of Japan’s Classical Kabuki Dance, she will answer that this ‘far-fetched’ idea is her very dream, the reason why she has come to America . . .”
“Dreaming the Possible Dream”
— Ernestine Stodelle, New Haven Register (June 23, 1974)

There are chances and occurrences that never lead to a chain of events, but there are chances and occurrences that do lead to a chain of life’s events, because of that, because of this. I was able to make an incredible journey thanks to my mother, artists, and friends I met in my life in Japan and my early life in America in the ‘70s and ‘80s.

Without meeting Robertson and Mary Paige Alford in Tokyo, I would not have found myself in America in 1972.

In 1970, I attended a concert of Japanese classical dance performed by the best dancers of the time. During intermission, I noticed a foreign couple standing in front of the portrait of Azuma Tokuho that hung in the second-floor gallery of the National Theater. Azuma Tokuho (1909-1998) was an innovative dancer, and with her son, Nakamura Tomijuro, she led her troupe on the first tour of Kabuki performances in the USA in 1954.

The dance she performed was titled Sono Omokage Ninin Wankyu (The Glimpse of Two Wankyu), originally staged in 1734. This was my favorite dance, which I have presented a few times in the U.S. Azuma and Fujima Tomoaki danced a memorable duet. As I was eager to talk about the performance and Madame Tokuho, I could not help but approach the couple to explain about the dance and the subject of the portrait they were admiring, the very same lady whose performance they had just watched. They were delighted to engage in conversation with me and invited me to tea afterwards at their home. We became fast friends and remained in touch after they returned to their home in Norfolk, Connecticut, two years later.

A funny story from early in our friendship involved a simple, but universal, struggle: finding properly fitting footwear! Mrs. Alford had begun taking dance lessons from me and needed tabi (socks worn with kimono that separate the big toe from the other toes). We searched but could not find tabi in her size; finally, we wound up going to Ohnoya, a store right across from the Kabuki-Za Theater, to have her tabi custom made. The tabi maker was so surprised to see her long and narrow feet—a normal size and shape in the West, but uncommon for the Japanese. Their minimum requirement to place an order was a dozen, and most of them ended up unused.

In 1972, Mr. and Mrs. Alford arranged for me to perform at the American Dance Festival in Connecticut, and they were also kind enough to host me for the duration of my stay in Connecticut that summer.

A memorable moment was when Mr. Alford’s mother, a gentle and graceful lady at the age of 80, asked me “Did you sleep well?” on the following day of flying to Hartford, Connecticut, my first arrival in the U.S. “Of course, I did!” I answered, for I had slept through the night and well into the afternoon of the following day, as you can imagine, because of the jet lag.

The Alford family was a good introduction to an upper-middle-class American family in New England. I learned about their manners, although I don’t think I acquired them, and I started to get to know the American way of life.

In the fall of that year, I began studying at New York University, finishing my MA in 1974. During that time, the Alfords moved to Italy. We kept in touch while they were abroad. After many years, they returned to their summer house in Norfolk and I would visit on several occasions, often for special holidays. They loved Japanese art and decorated their home with Japanese screens and paintings. Their friendship is something I will always treasure. There are no words to express how thankful I am for the Alfords for their support of me and my work. I am always amazed that our chance encounter in Tokyo eventually led me to come to the United States and remain here for the next fifty years.

Over the course of my travels and work, I have met others who became dedicated supporters and dear friends.

An early supporter of my career in the 1960s was Mrs. Martha Walker. She and her family have become my life-long supporters.

Martha Walker, who knew of me through my teaching at the Tokyo American Club, requested private lessons, and so I began teaching her at her home in Shiroganedai, Tokyo. My first meeting with her sons is still vivid in my memory. They all greeted me in unison with incredibly good manners. Richard Walker, her husband, worked for Mobil Oil, and was then on assignment in Tokyo. Later the company moved the family to Italy and Iran. By the time they moved back to their New Jersey home, I was already in the U.S., teaching and performing, and we happily resumed our friendship. The warmth of Martha’s friendship was extended to my family as well; she was so kind as to invite my brother and his wife to stay with them after their marriage ceremony in New York.

The Walkers were a very loving couple. For one wedding anniversary Richard had a kimono made for Martha. He enlisted my mother and me to help with the process, and we all went to the Mitsukoshi department store to help in its creation. The kimono was absolutely beautiful, and Martha looked stunning in it.

Martha was truly passionate about Japanese art. In addition to taking Japanese dance lessons with me, she also studied Ikebana (traditional Japanese flower arrangement). She was also enthusiastic about sharing her passion for my work with others. One example of this is when she hired a van to bring ten of her friends from New Jersey to New York to view my 50th Anniversary concert performance in New York in 2006.

Martha and I had a wonderful relationship that spanned over fifty years, until her passing in 2021. I am so grateful for her presence in my life. Not only was Martha a big supporter of my dance company over the years, but so have her three sons, Richard Jr., David, and Steven. They are brothers with loving bonds between one another, and a deep respect for their parents. They continue to support my work, as a part of Martha’s legacy, so that her love of Japanese art continues, although she is no longer with us.

After her passing, I wondered what happened to the kimono which my mother and I helped design at the Mitsukoshi department store? For the kimono and obi were so perfect on her. That image is always with me.

(left) Mrs. Martha Walker with Princess Michiko, the current Empress, in 1973. (right) Mrs. Martha Walker in Kimono

U.S. Debut

In 1972, I made my U.S. debut at the 38th American Dance Festival held at Connecticut College in New London, CT. Coming from the cramped campus of Aoyama Gakuin University in Tokyo, the campus of Connecticut College looked very huge. I was amazed to find many students using bicycles or cars to get from one class to another.

As a part of the festival program, I performed two Kabuki dances: Kyoganoko Musume Dojoji, first staged in 1767, and Mitsumen Komori, first staged in 1829. The audience was very patient because I had to change costumes without any help! In later years, during costume changes, I used narrations recorded on tapes to give information about the dances in the program and their cultural background in order to keep the audience entertained and engaged while I changed.

Arrival in New York

After the American Dance Festival, I decided to study the academic side of dance: its history and aesthetics. I realized that without knowing about dance cultures in the rest of the world, I could not compare and talk about Japanese dance. I needed to gain a wider perspective on dance. In those days, I knew that academic courses on dance such as history, aesthetics, alongside techniques were either at NYU or UCLA. Ultimately, I decided to go to New York City to study at the School of Education at NYU.

New York City was entirely new territory for me. I had no connections there, except for one, Becky Crow. She was a dancer I had met at the American Dance Festival and her parents lived in the city. Thanks to her kindness, I was able to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Crow in the West Village for a week while I got on my feet.

After my interview with the Chair of the NYU dance department, Dr. Patricia Rowe, I was accepted as a student. With that settled, I had to find a place to live and a part time job, one that was permitted to foreign students. I saw a job posting on the bulletin board of the school: live-in nanny for two children, Matthew and Samantha Gold. Mrs. Judy Gold was studying social studies and had a two-fold need: a babysitter during the academic year and an international student to expose her children to other cultures. She decided I fit the bill. Thus, I became a member of the Gold family for two years—and friends for many decades afterwards.

The first memory that comes to mind with the children was our “Mop Dance” for their father Arthur's birthday. Samantha was a star princess and Matthew held a mop, moving right and left representing the universe as the background. I danced Mitsumen Komori. Almost three decades after my living with them, having kept in touch on and off, I was invited to their Thanksgiving dinner. We all talked about that memorable performance. Matthew’s son was the same age as Matthew was when I used to take care of him, and a happy surprise it was to see the little boy behaving just like Matthew did when he was five years old.

In 1973, I began performing for AllNations Dance Company under the direction of Herman Rotenberg, headquartered at International House at Columbia University. I toured many states from Maine to Alaska with wonderful artists such as Noell, who became a Chair at Brooklyn College Dance Department; Hope, who was versatile in Indian and Flamenco dance; Chin, a Filipina, who became an actress later in her career; and Rick, a Hawaiian dancer. I remember we used to work together to make a fun-filled finale after each person’s traditional dance.

Once we chose Noel’s Voodoo dance, and in the height of hypnotized frenzy, my hair bun fell off, which Chin kicked away behind the back curtain. What a relief it was as the action seemed less than a second! We were such a friendly team, and I believe we learned a lot from each other's art with respect and love. I still cherish many memories of our tour and performances.

*The AllNations Company, the Concert Hering Auditorium flyer, University of Alaska (1975)*

Sachiyo Ito told a story of Urashima… Her movements were perfectly controlled in a fashion different from the dance of the West, yet fascinating and lovely. Hiroshige print come to life.”
“Down East with AllNations Company”
— Judith Boothby, Dance Magazine (April 1975)

Another supporter of early days in Tokyo and the U.S. was Mrs. Grace Peyton, though as I recall, neither I nor others ever addressed her by her first name but rather by her husband’s name, Mrs. Alton Peyton. She was the chairwoman of the Officers’ Wives Club at U.S. Camp Zama in Japan, where I used to teach during my college days from 1970 to 1972. Her husband returned to the Army base in Augusta after his tour in Japan. Thanks to her introduction, I also received the Peace International Scholarship, which made my study at NYU possible in 1973.

We maintained our relationship, and she helped arrange my performance at Augusta College in Georgia in 1973, which was my first U.S. performance outside of the Northeast. She also arranged a luncheon performance for wives of officers at the base. The memory of the beautiful flowers there, which at first, I thought were cherry blossoms but were actually dogwoods, is still in my heart like a picture-perfect postcard. The beautiful full-blown dogwood trees were so gorgeous and breathtaking—they were just like cherry blossoms from a distance. For a moment, it felt as if Japan, which seemed so far away, was very close. It was a brief moment of homecoming which I will always treasure.

In the summer of 1974, I was invited to perform at the Ethnic Dance Festival in Barnstable, MA. The Founder and Director of the festival was La Meri, a legendary ethnic and modern dancer, versed in many styles of dance, particularly in Indian and Spanish. She introduced various ethnic dance forms to the world. I was impressed and inspired by her continuing her mission into old age. Her beauty was striking, even at the age of 76. I remember an evening conversation with her; she was emanating radiance into the darkness of the night and was so full of life. In the 1990s, I returned to Barnstable to teach a course called Language and Culture of Japan at the community college there. I went over to the theater, hoping to find that La Meri’s legacy was being continued but I was told that there had not been a summer festival held there for several years. Of course, I said to myself, times have changed. But her beauty, both inside and out, still lingers as if shining a light onto the path of my life.

Last night Sachiyo Ito, the young Japanese classical dancer, gave a performance of rare beauty and exquisite refinement. . . . It would seem to be a symposium of all the arts. Poetry, drama, painting.”
“Sachiyo Ito dances show rare beauty.“
— Evelyn Lawson, Cape Cod Standard-Times (July 12, 1974)

Keeping the Dream

In 1973 I met Beate Gordon and showed her my dancing at the theatre of Japan House, now called Japan Society. After this audition, she chose me as an artist to introduce the arts and culture of Japan to schools in the tri-state area. I began working for Japan House’s education department, teaching dance and culture at public schools. Later, when Beate moved to Asia Society, my work began as their Kabuki consultant and touring artist. Many may know her as an important figure in Japanese history: She drafted the Women’s Rights section of the new Japanese Constitution that went into effect in 1947 after World War II.

In those days, the 1970s, words such as “Kabuki” and “kimono” were hardly known. I used to go to schools with maps of the world and Japan, photographs of Mt. Fuji, Kabuki dances, stage costumes, tea ceremony scenes, Ikebana flower arrangement, and more, to talk about arts and culture of Japan, and show demonstrations to young students. It was first through Beate that I finally began to realize my dream of introducing the beautiful art of Japanese dance to the United States as a grassroots work. Not only did I work for her educational programs, but I also gave many recitals of my own at Japan House.

Further, Beate’s father, Leo Sirota, was a well-known pianist. When Beate found out that my mother was a fan of her father's and had attended his concerts, Beate asked to meet her. She was charmed by my mother’s outgoing personality and enjoyed meeting with her whenever my mother visited me in New York.

*Beate Gordon’s obituary with Sachiyo Ito’s dance dedication in Shukan NY Seikatsu, 2013*

*Beate Gordon (seated, far left) with Sachiyo Ito’s mother (third from right) and Sachiyo Ito (far right)*

My relationship with Japan Society has continued to this day in the Performing Arts Department and Education Department.

Japan Society advertisement with Sachiyo Ito in “Sagi Musume” (“Heron Maiden”)
Original Photo by Thomas Harr. Also appeared in The New York Times Magazine (October 1976), Sports Illustrated (November 1976), and New York Magazine (December 1976).

*Sachiyo Ito performs “Haru no Umi” (“Spring Sea”) at Japan House. Photo by Ray Smith.*

I left New York after receiving my MA from the NYU School of Education’s dance department in1974, as my student visa had expired. But in 1975, I was invited to teach Japanese dance and culture in that very department. I resumed performing for Japan House/Society. Also, I was fortunate to be able to give recitals at their theater. One of the eight reviews by The New York Times about Japan House/Society performances was titled “Control and Grace in Miss Ito’s Dance” by Don McDonagh (1974). I was flattered by the description of me as having “control and grace” since those two words express the essence of Japanese dance and teaching principles. Looking back, the impression often captured by dance critics of my performances in those years such as "a model of control and refinement" in Dance Magazine (1976), also reflected the essence of my teaching that I have aimed at and keep pursuing through my life.

I also began showing my own works in the ‘70s. One of them was a series of dances inspired by Chieko-sho, the poems written by Takamura Kotaro. Being a classical dancer, I had to hold a breath in presenting my creations, knowing my boldness.

*“Chieko Genso” (“Chieko the Elements”) at Japan House*

“Sachiyo Ito, an expressive and powerful performer, is, at the same time, touchingly delicate.” “Who are the Watchers, Who the Dancers?”
— Deborah Jowitt, The Village Voice (February 12, 1979)

I have had the fortune of meeting these people as mentioned above early in my career, which encouraged my mission. Their support was invaluable while I navigated the culture shocks that came with moving from Tokyo to New York in the 1970s.

New York in the 1970s was much more dangerous than it is today. I experienced harassment, muggings, and robberies that I would have never encountered in Tokyo. And as an immigrant, I experienced further hardships surrounding my visa. But none of this prevented me from doing the work I wanted to do and develop. I had supporters such as mentioned above in this chapter. Furthermore, one of my thoughts about life is that “difficulties will occur wherever you are.” My challenges in New York may have been different from those I would have faced in Tokyo, but I would have faced difficulties there as well. The idea strengthened my resolve to move forward.

My financial situation was not something I could tell my mother back home, because I had to seem to be “doing well” for her. I could not complain about any difficulties I encountered. Because she turned down her dream of continuing to be an artist, she entrusted, so to speak, her dream to me by allowing me to leave Japan to pursue my dream. I wonder if others who have left their home country or hometown faced a similar situation.

I must say, looking back at those days, it seems unbelievable that so many people helped to start the life of a Japanese girl with ambition. Just this past summer, I found at my home in Tokyo many letters and pieces of correspondence with those who offered me everything from a night’s lodging or simple jobs to help me survive day to day to public dancing opportunities that became the base for performances in places unknown.

I can only bow to everyone I met with deep gratitude, even those who have caused me difficult situations, for I have learned so much from all these experiences.

Susan McCormac 1/11/24 Susan McCormac 1/11/24

CHAPTER 1 : Poignant Memory

Debut Photo, Kamuro (1956)

“Control and Grace in Miss Ito’s Dance”
— Don McDonagh
The New York Times, 1974

Sachiyo Ito at the wedding of her brother Tamiki Ito, 1975

It is a poignant memory, sometime in the ‘90s. I stayed a few weeks at my old home in Tokyo. I came across a photo taken by my brother, who had just discovered an exciting new device, a photo camera. I was his first model. I was 5 or 6 years old. In the aged photo, a little torn in one corner, I was smiling as if I had no worries in this world and expressing joy for being under the beautiful afternoon sunlight.

Then I started to cry because I realized that I had been clenching my teeth to carry on my mission since I began my work in America, without financial resources, taking all kinds of jobs to survive, regardless of circumstances like robberies and the dangers of almost being killed. I never had smiled so naturally from the bottom of my heart. There was a passion, a driving force within me, but I don't think I was experiencing happiness in any part of my life.

As a professional, I faced my students and audiences, addressing them about Japanese arts and culture with "smiles."

Luckily, my work has been reviewed numerous times by The New York Times, Dance Magazine, and other arts publications for my tours around the US and my work in New York. I only glanced at them and never fully read or appreciated the reviews, perhaps with a sense of incompleteness of my life and that I had to go onward without reflection.

It is true that many artists may be fighting with themselves, clenching teeth, to perform, working hard with the feeling, "I've got to do this!" No matter what adverse situations and conditions there are, there is a sense of righteousness that artists can send a message for the betterment of the world through the arts by making it possible to touch people's hearts. I wonder if the artist is nothing but a thirsty human being who has to share feelings and ideas with others?

I remember my older brother calling me Kawara Kojiki, a "beggar at the riverbank," as performing artists in Japan were referred to in the past. In some sense I have been that, but I didn’t mind. So, my response was silence, and only an inner voice said, “So what?”

In Japanese classical dance, Nihon Buyo, to present a performance, centuries-old traditions and authenticity require great resources. What a difficult fight it has been to obtain these requirements.

Seeing my smile as a child, I realized my life is not hard but blessed, as I was able to do what I believed in. Even though pursuing an ambitious and wild mission, I could carry on, thanks to my mother, friends, and all conditions that allowed me to do what I had to do.

With a sense of gratitude and acknowledgement of hard work and consolation, I feel how blessed I am to do what I believe in. No need to clench my teeth, for I can carry on with life as it was meant to be. I can embrace what I have and what I can do with joy, otherwise there is no meaning in life. Now I can smile perfectly at flowers, blue sky, sunshine, and people.

The human being is amazing, one who can do unbelievable things when she looks back. Nature is full of miracles. So, I say to young artists, yes, endeavor and pursue your path even if it has changed course or made a big turn. Life with passion and belief cannot be more beautiful. Let us do everything with joy, though. It will make a better art of whatever we are making. I often wonder if what I’m making is “art” or rubbish. But still, I believe a sincere offering of the heart can be called “art.”

Here I am as Kawara Kojiki

This past spring (2023), I was giving a workshop at a senior center near Washington Square Park. The area is the college campus where I used to walk as a student at NYU more than 50 years ago. The campus around the park is where you can see Kawara Kojiki every day. The same is with Union Square Park and many other parks and subway stations.

At Greenwich Senior Center in New York City

When I came to America with a one-way ticket and a suitcase with three costumes and a few kimonos, I never imagined being here for so many years. But one job led to the other, and to another, and like a snowball rolling down the hill, it seems that the years passed by quickly while I became a teacher, dancer, and choreographer of Japanese dance and the artistic director of a dance company.

Sachiyo Ito and Company at Sakura Matsuri, Brooklyn Botanic Garden

About Kawara Kojiki, the name my brother claimed for me, it did not seem to matter to me, because I am the one, regardless of the name, being disgraceful. But it also shows an important element as a performing artist: Modesty. It is a part of my training.

Whatever others say, there is a calling inside of us. I believe what inspires us most will lead our path.

I don’t know why, but ever since I can remember in my childhood, I used to think about life and death. I was six when my grandmother passed away. I remember that I did not understand her death. I was scolded for being excited during the funeral. It was like a festive occasion because there were so many people gathered at my house that was surrounded by a lot of food and flowers.

After the funeral I suddenly came to realize that my grandmother was no longer with me and the family, and that death was coming to me, also. The idea of death scared me so much that I clung to our housekeeper.

Then, if I only had one life to live, I would want to live it to the fullest, while on the other hand, I was praying to be reborn many times in various incarnations.

People ask me, "What do you like about New York? Is it easy to live there?” I believe that "living" is the same no matter where you are, and that each person's life has its own uniqueness and brilliance, regardless of whether it is painful, sad, beautiful, or joyful.

I have been living my life with too much tension, holding my own mission in my heart to introduce Japanese dance to the world and to play a part in cultural exchange. Putting aside the immaturity of my own art, I have lived my life with ambition, wanting to confirm my life through dance. And New York provided me with a place to do so.

Early Days: Childhood and Dance Training

I was born on July 31, 1949.

I began my classical dance training with Hanayagi Sakura at the age of six.

It is said that in learning “performing arts,” the training should start at the age of six years and six months. This teaching was first advocated by Zeami in the 14th century in his treatise, Fushikaden. But in many kabuki and dance masters’ families, they begin their children’s training even at three years old, just as I witnessed my Noh teacher teaching his three-year-old son.

There is an image of a late afternoon light coming through the living room. I was five or six years old, nagging my mother, moving her shoulder back and forth, “Mother, please let me take dance lessons.”

My desire was turned down at first, because my mother was a single mother, unique in the 1940 and ‘50s. She had to raise three children, so our means were very limited.

However, several months later, I was allowed to take lessons on the condition that I go to the dance studio on my own, for there was no one to take me there, and the trip took an hour with changing trains.

I began taking lessons twice a week at the studio of Hanayagi Sakura. She was the sister of the wife of Takeo Takagi, the editor of the Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper, where my mother worked. I recall gathering my friends in the neighborhood and teaching them dance as I sang and held up a case of a dance fan, which amuses me now. What was I doing?

Sometime during elementary school, I decided I would like to be a dance teacher and performer. I decided one thing during my childhood: I would not get married, which was absolutely a ridiculous idea. Sakura Sensei was single, and although my mother had been married (but single since I was three years old), she was too busy with work and had no time to see her children except on special occasions.

I was a lonely child, so to speak, almost like no mom or dad ever existed in my life. I thought, if I pursue my career, I will not make my children unhappy like this. Then later, Shotoyo Sensei, my second dance teacher, made me change my mind because I saw how wonderful it was to have a family like hers and realized that marriage and having a family would make a richer life that would contribute to richer expression as an artist. Also, a family’s support for work and career is very important. Certainly, I wanted to get married, too, but the truth is no one wanted to get married to me if I pursued my career.

Despite my desire, to have a career in the Japanese dance circle required financial support from one’s family or other supporters, which was not possible in my case. And yet, I wanted to pursue my dream of dancing. Further, my little voice used to say, “I have only one life. I want to make my life worth living as a human being, and I want to contribute to society.” Such a bold proposition for a teenage girl, who was ignorant of the world and the weight of such an endeavor.

Also, there was someone who inspired me a great deal. She was my senior student, Hanayagi Kosen. I witnessed her dancing when she was preparing for her recital to announce the opening of her own studio. She looked so beautiful, even if she is not what we call a “beauty.” I realized a transformation happens when one puts all their energy and heart into one thing.

She was truly alive, shining, emanating her beauty and light. In her case, giving the recital to commemorate her teaching certificate was a milestone in her career. The realization of her dream made her such a beautiful person full of radiance.

Then, later in my adolescence, I began to dream of working outside of Japan and introducing the beautiful art of Japanese dance to other people. That was to me, less costly; it seemed possible to pursue without having a millionaire family.

Sachiyo Ito and Company New Year Dance Odori-zome (2023)

It was too big of an ambition since I did not know anything about Japanese dance yet. Reflecting now, after more than 50 years of teaching and performing, I feel I still do not know enough about dance. Even when I started working in the United States in 1972, I had little idea what dance is, the depth of the art and tradition, and the huge heritage of the culture. Maybe such a realization is true in any art: The longer you trod on the path, the more you realize and how little you know and understand about art. It is immeasurable. But perhaps that makes it worth pursuing and learning.