Sachiyo Ito’s Memoir: Chapter 15
Since January 2024 renowned dancer, dance educator, and choreographer Sachiyo Ito has been serializing her memoir on JapanCulture•NYC with monthly installments, each chapter revealing a different aspect of her early life in Tokyo and career in New York City.
Ito offers of a profound exploration of the experience of dedicating herself to traditional Japanese dance at an early age, arriving in New York City during the tumultuous ‘70s, and making a successful career in the arts. Each chapter offers a glimpse into the complexities that shaped her journey. It is a literary examination of not only Ito Sensei’s life, but of how New York City’s culture evolved over the decades and what sacrifices one must make to achieve a thriving career in the arts.
The memoir is an invitation to delve into the layers of a creative life and career that has spanned more than 50 years. As a work in progress, it is also an invitation for you to offer your feedback. Your insights will contribute to the evolution of this extraordinary work.
To read all the chapters, please click here. For more information about Sachiyo Ito, please visit her website, dancejapan.com.
Salon Series: Vertical and Horizontal Threads
(Vertical Threads connecting various cultures and peoples around the globe and Horizontal threads from the ancient to modern, the classical to contemporary 縦横の糸：横は世界を巡り、縦は古典から現代)
Held three times a year, the Salon Series was a series of grassroots programs presented in various formats and subjects, informing and investigating aspects of Japanese cultural and artistic heritage. The dialogues between the world class guest artists and the audience often led to new insights and deeper understanding, not only of Japanese culture and art, particularly dance, but also human nature.
By the time of its conclusion in 2023, the Salon Series had presented 74 programs to the public, and three additional special anniversary concerts. The series lasted for 25 years, far longer than I had expected at the onset. This continuation was made possible not only by my passion to introduce Japanese art and culture to the world outside of Japan, but also by the support of the audiences and guest artists.
There have been many wonderful collaborators of such incredible artistry and kindness who have joined me at Salon Series. I have no words other than those of deep gratitude for their willingness to collaborate with me, the minor artist.
One of the aims of the Salon Series was to introduce Japanese art and dance forms in depth. In addition to dance and music performances, demonstrations, lectures, audience participation, and Q&A sessions with the guest artists were important components of the programming. Audience members both familiar and unfamiliar with Japanese arts and culture had many questions. However, those who were familiar with the topics would ask questions that led to lively discussions, insightful perspectives, and new discoveries.
When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade: The Story Behind the Salon Series
The inspiration for the Salon Series was not my mission to introduce the Japanese arts to the wider world, which I have pursued all my life, but a bad review that I received from a Japanese critic for a concert I had given. The most upsetting aspect of the review was the critic’s ignorance of traditional Japanese theater and its practices, such as the Kurogo (stage assistant) being seen and handling props, and not using the curtain to delineate scenes, as a western production would. These are conventions I follow when presenting centuries-old Kabuki dances.
Once I began performing outside of Japan, my audiences were mainly non-Japanese, and I developed a format of demonstrations and lectures for American schools, libraries, and museums, with the intention to relay how the original productions should be since they would have little knowledge of conventions and traditions.
However, the writer was a Japanese and a professional dance and theater critic who should have been well familiar with these conventions. Then I thought: Why not begin a program for both Japanese and non-Japanese? It could be a presentation about our arts that goes beyond superficial information and explores Japanese arts in greater depth. Furthermore, discussions with featured artists would provide a valuable forum for the exchange of ideas. I hoped that this might serve both as enlightenment and entertainment. Little did I know that this tiny seed of an idea would grow to have a huge impact on my life, leading me to collaborate with great artists, scholars, and experts from all over the world—an incredible and fortunate privilege.
How It Began: A Gallery in SoHo
Having an idea does not bring a project to fruition. I went around to several cultural institutions with my proposal but was greeted only with rejection. Only one place, a small gallery in SoHo, showed any interest in the venture. One day I found myself on the street outside of Tenri Cultural Institute, uncertain if I was in the right place or not. “Plucking up my courage,” to use the English idiom, I knocked on the door and was graciously welcomed inside by Rev. Toshihiko Okui, the institute’s director. I presented my plans and waited while he considered them. Finally, he said, “Well then, let’s begin and see.” Thus, my proposal was accepted. No words can express how grateful I am to Rev. Okui, for at the time, I was nothing but an unknown dancer and a stranger to him. He would later connect me to the Tenri Gagaku Society of New York, which became one of the few guest artists I would invite to the program repeatedly, another thing for which I owe him a debt of gratitude. Not long after our initial meeting, Tenri moved to its current location on 13th Street, and I presented the Salon Series there for more than twenty years.
Salon Series No. 34 featured the second collaboration with the Tenri Gagaku Society of New York. I wanted to introduce the ancient Japanese songs, a part of the Gagaku repertory, since we had introduced repertory imported to Japan from parts of China and other places in Asia in the earlier Salon program. For this occasion, I created a trio dance called Kashin. I chose the song Kashin for this new work because I was very intrigued by how it resonated with a song from Sui Dynasty in 7th century China. The song says, “Let’s celebrate this happy occasion! May this joy be limitless, last ten thousand years, and grow forever!”
The fact of the matter is that it was not easy to follow the words of the song. My dancers, and even I, from time to time, got lost as to where we were in the music while rehearsing. This was because of a prolonged vowel sound which lasted several minutes. During the program, I showed the Kanji characters to the audience on a large piece of paper, while I had one of the singers pronounce each word. The slowness of the progression of music made me realize that there is a difference between the body clocks of ancient and modern times. For the Japanese of the Edo Era, time was kept at a slow pace, marked only by temple gongs that were struck once every two hours.
The modern world has become far more aware of time and counts exactly not only hours but minutes and seconds. Japan, in particular, has become known for its punctuality.
This reminds me of a story from my high school days. I had a date at Shibuya Station, the closest station to my school. My date was late. As I waited, I grew more and more anxious, getting worried about his well-being, wondering if an accident was the cause of the delay. An hour later he arrived, telling me that he had wanted to test me to see if I would wait for him. I never saw him again. I doubt anyone would wait longer than half an hour for someone nowadays.
YouTube Clip: Salon Series #34: Gagaku and Ancient Song of Japan
Comparison with Various Dance Cultures
From the very inception of the Salon Series, I have been eager to present comparative studies of dances in Asia. The countries I included in the Salon Series were Okinawa, China, India, Korea, Tibet, and Indonesia. We held programs featuring Indonesian and Okinawan dance on more than one occasion.
Okinawa is the southernmost tip of Japan, and due to its geographical location, unique history, and diversity in the arts, it is one of the most interesting regions to explore among southeast Asian countries.
My fascination with Okinawa began when I first visited the islands in 1976. In the 1970s, I began researching the roots of Japanese dance, and in Okinawa I discovered beauty and traditions that the mainland may have lost over time. Eventually, my interest led to my doctoral dissertation, The Origins of Okinawan Dance, which I discussed in Chapter 8.
Because of interest shown by artists and audiences in the similarities and differences between Japanese mainland and Okinawan culture, I presented many programs with Okinawan themes, often comparing music and dance. One of the themes of these programs was Karate and Okinawan dance. I was pleasantly surprised and happy when the first Karate program attracted a large audience, more than a full house, so I added two more Karate and Okinawan dance programs with different focuses and different Karate masters. And yet, Okinawan Court Opera: National Identity of Okinawa, a program about Tamagusuku Chokun, the 18th century dance master and creator of Kumi Odori (Okinawan Court Opera) did not attract a crowd. Perhaps I was the one who enjoyed it more than the audience, because I was passionate about voicing how important the arts are to cultural identity, not only for Okinawa, but for every country.
In addition to traditional Okinawan dances, I was also keen to introduce contemporary Okinawan dances, among them Nanyo Hamachidori (Plovers in the Southern Pacific) the most interesting piece that I presented several times at the Salon Series and other concerts. Fortunately, two decades before I began Salon Series, I was given permission to perform this dance by my teacher Takako Sato, who had restaged it as a solo for her group’s concert at Asia Society in 1986.
Getting sponsorship from Asia Society and the Okinawa American Association of NY for this performance was not an easy task, but I was so grateful to them for their support, for I believed that New York audiences should discover and see the beauty and artistry of Okinawan dance.
Hamachidori (Plovers on the Beach) was choreographed by Tamagusuku Seiju in the late 19th century. It featured a particular hand gesture derived from court dance technique: the repetitive, soft undulation called koneri-te (kneading hands). It was Iraha Inkichi who adapted it to create Nanyo Hamachidori around 1930. Along with koneri-te, he incorporated elements of ballet in the dance after his tour in Hawaii. These hand gestures and movements are intriguing to anyone who watches Okinawan dance. As a continuation of the investigation of hand gestures, I invited guest artists from Indonesia to two different programs.
*Ms. Sato’s performance was the second time an Okinawan dance troupe visited New York, Miyagi Minoru’s troupe being the first in 1981.
YouTube Clip: Salon Series # 62: Traditional Japanese Dance and Theater in Contemporary Performing Arts
In one of the Indonesian collaborations, Salon Series No. 10 with Dr. Deena Burton, we discussed female power in performing arts in each country. During a time when dominance of women by men was the norm in all parts of society, there was yet a strong feminist voice in the theater. In the millennium, women’s power and equality became a commonplace idea, but Deena and I talking about female power in each other’s traditional dances in the early 1990s was a unique subject.
Influence and Comparison of Japanese Classical Theater Forms with Contemporary Theatre and Dance Forms
The historical progression and evolution of art forms has always been my great interest, and I wanted to compare the traditions I was familiar with to contemporary dance, such as Butoh and ballet, and contemporary theater.
In Salon Series No.62: Traditional Japanese Dance and Theater in Contemporary Performing Arts, my guest speaker and artist were Yoko Shioya from Japan Society and Annie B-Person, the director of Big Dance Theater, the avant-garde theater group to whom I taught Okinawan dance. Along with their presentations I demonstrated the basics of the three classical theater forms: Noh, Kabuki, and Okinawan court dance. We attracted a large audience, for we aimed at illustrating the influences of those dance styles on contemporary theaters in the 21st century, a topic intriguing to both theater goers and dance enthusiasts. It was a huge task for me to demonstrate three classical theater and dance forms in a limited time, for I had to summarize the forms, and generalization is always dangerous and can lead to misunderstanding.
One aspect of the demonstration was to show the differences in facial expression between Kabuki and Okinawan dance. In Okinawan court dance, one is not supposed to show obvious facial expressions, just as if wearing mask in Noh. In Kabuki dance we do use facial expressions, although they are quite subtle. I must admit it was hard for me because of my decades of training since childhood.
Simplicity and subtlety are two of the major characteristics of Japanese culture. Restrained, almost hidden, feelings are the core of expression. In Noh, to suggest hidden reality underneath the surface reality is the ideal, and Noh masks serve this purpose well. Such control seems to attract practitioners of modern art and modern performing art. The audience is made to search for the true expression in the distilled, carefully chosen motions, where we find freedom of interpretation. I wonder if that freedom of choice is what modernism prefers. Or is it attracting a certain kind of audience?
Perhaps that was what William Butler Yeates was trying to achieve when he showed his Noh plays. He did not care about attracting the masses, but only those who might understand his literature, poetry, and themes.
In this Salon, I also presented my experimental dance, Umie (To the Sea), a fusion of Japanese dance and Okinawan dance. As the costuming difference is important for us to understand the dance forms, I had the costume designed to combine Okinawan and regular Japanese kimono styles. In the dance, I incorporated Koneri-te, but I took liberty to add folk elements, along with faster execution of hand movements inspired by the tempo of the music. I must say that the program was full of agendas.
YouTube Clip: Salon Series #62 – Traditional Japanese Dance and Theater in Contemporary Performing Arts
In Expressions in Traditional and Contemporary Japanese Dance in #63, we explored the contemporary expressions in Japanese dance and ballet with Shoko Tamai on the theme of Sky, Water, and Fire. Live music was provided by Yukio Tsuji, the composer and percussionist, with whom I have collaborated since the mid-1970s, as well as by Beth Grifith, a singer and vocalist.
Collaboration with Guest Artists
Over the years, I showed not only the differences and similarities of our Japanese traditional forms with guest artists, but I also enjoyed creative collaborations with many gifted artists from different cultures.
The collaboration with Rajika Puri, an Indian dancer, was an honor for me. As you can imagine, my guest artists had very busy schedules, so I was pleased that we could work out the performance with only two rehearsals. That program, Salon Series No. 37, was accompanied by traditional flutes of India and Japan, played by Ralph Samuelson and Steve Gorn. We reversed the musical accompaniment of each country and danced to it, and the switch was enjoyed by both the audience and performers. One of the most pleasing comments from the audience was, “I was blown away by how similar Indian dance and Japanese dance are!” Well, actually, we paralleled our gestures and movements as they emerged and inspired the other’s.
YouTube Clip: Salon Series #37: Modernity in Tradition (1:54)
My comparative studies extended beyond Asia to include Spain and Russia.
My longtime dream to work with Flamenco guitar came true in Salon Series No. 51: Expressions of Love in Japanese Dance and Spanish Dance. I loved dancing with Juana Cala and to the Flamenco guitar played by Jose Moreno. For our creation, we exchanged standard instruments: Her dance was accompanied by Shamisen, while mine was accompanied by Flamenco guitar. Each of us danced expressing love in our own tradition, but united happily at the end.
Nodding to the musicians as I turned back, the signal for the musicians to move on to the last phrase of music and the dancers’ final steps and pause was such a fun moment.
There was one thing I was quite worried about in presenting this program, though: the floor. Juana had great stomping power, and I feared that the gallery floor might be damaged. I was so worried about this that I increased my insurance premium. However, there was no damage after our performance, not even the slightest scuff. To say I was very relieved would be an understatement.
YouTube Clip: Salon Series #51: Expression of Love in Japanese Dance and Spanish Dance
Walking
Recently, a friend’s family named their newborn son Ayumu. I thought, “What a wonderful name it is!” The word used for the boy’s name is the Japanese verb which means to walk, the same verb as aruku. I could infer what the family wished for him: to grow up in good health, progressing little by little onward and forward.
In Salon Series No. 44: The Art of Walking, we explored walking, the very fundament of dance, as used in three different styles: ballet, modern dance, and Japanese dance. We discussed how and why we walk the way we do in each style and how this is influenced by cultural and social factors. I demonstrated how to maintain the body’s center of gravity low and downward, to achieve the characteristic gliding walk in Japanese dance. I then discussed the reasons for these characteristics, which are known to dance and theater scholars and ethnomusicologists in Japan but not to wider general audiences. Fascinating subjects and favorites of mine, about which I often talk during my demonstration programs at schools and cultural institutions are the etymology of the words for dance—“mai,” “odori,” and “buyo”—the insularity of the country, its geography, and even its architecture and agriculture. But for now, let me put these subjects for another chapter of my memoir.
As we all know, walking is the simplest, most basic movement in dance. In addition to being the physical foundation, it is also of great significance in delivering the message of the dance. It is such a simple movement, and yet, it is the hardest, which I find true in any art form and anything we do in our lives. In Japanese dance, there is a saying: “After ten years, you start to walk properly.” Even at my age, after seventy years of dancing, I am still learning it. It is an art form, just as Gunji Masakatsu, the prolific writer and one of the greatest scholars on Japanese performing arts, pointed out. He called it Aruku-gei (the Art of Walking). In the dances Gion Shoja and Resonance, even though I was the one who choreographed them, the most difficult part was walking off stage at the end, but I had to incorporate the exit walk into the choreography since it was essential in conveying the themes of those dances.
Dance has always been a metaphor for life for me. A dance can express our life events, our human emotions. Often it mirrors where we are in the stage of our life. In dance, we can show our life in a short time like a snapshot, condensing it or taking a single fragment. Walking in dance can serve that purpose well as a distilled movement, showing the essence of dance and its message. In doing so, we also hope that the expression or message is not simply personal, but universal, showing emotions that we all share.
In our day-to-day life outside dance, our walk can also show how we are feeling, heavy on one day, light on another, and it exhibits how we hold our emotions both inwardly and outwardly as we trod on the path of our life.
Quite often, thinking about the miracle of walking leads me to think about the miracle of life. To take a single step requires nerves, muscles, blood, and brain to function together almost miraculously! What a feat of coordination it is. Many speak of the miracle of Jesus walking on water, but I must say that even walking on the earth is a miracle. I used to observe my dog as he walked, following behind him, bending low to get a better view. I know it sounds funny, if you picture how I was following him, but the coordination of his four limbs is incredible.
I have had a fracture in my foot and knee injuries that required surgeries. When such injuries and operations make us temporarily unable to walk, we realize how blessed we are to have the ability in the first place. Such experiences, along with passing by people on crutches or in wheelchairs, remind me of how precious the gift of walking is. Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh taught, “Walk on the earth as if you love the earth, since when you walk in anger, you spread anger.” His teaching shows us that love is so important to nature, both sentient and insentient objects, to others, and to oneself.
In the upcoming Chapter 16, I will talk about the Salon Series from a different perspective than in this chapter.
To read about two guest artists who stood out, Robert Lala and John Stevenson, please refer to Chapter 6 and Chapter 11, respectively.
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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