Susan McCormac 9/8/25 Susan McCormac 9/8/25

SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: CHAPTER 16

In Chapter 16, the continuation of her Salon Series exploration, Sachiyo Ito takes us deeper into the cultural heart of Japan through her collaborative programs. Photo of Sachiyo Ito in kimono by Larry Thompson.

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 II

Cultural Introduction beyond Dance in the Salon Series

1. Literature: Poetry

While exploring different aspects of Japanese culture beyond dance, I decided to delve into the literary arts. As I am not an expert in literature, my intention was to rely on the expertise of writers and scholars. Other literary forms, such as essays and novels, felt too vast for me to connect meaningfully to dance—except when they served as the basis for dance dramas. As a result, I often turned to poetry, which has always felt more evocative and approachable as a source of inspiration for choreography.

My first attempt was a historical introduction to Japanese poetry, spanning from medieval to modern works—more specifically, from waka and haiku to Gendai-shi (modern Japanese poetry). Guest lecturers provided context and analysis while I presented classical dances inspired by waka, such as Shigure Saigyo, a Kabuki dance based on the monk and poet Saigyo. I even ventured into Western contemporary poetry—not as a formal introduction, but as a creative wellspring for choreography that explored universal themes. It was a joy to choreograph pieces inspired by poets like Rainer Maria Rilke and Mary Oliver. One special highlight was the opportunity to restage one of my favorite works, Chieko, based on Chieko-shō, which I had first presented at the Japan House in 1980. I was fortunate to collaborate with the beautiful voices of Mary Myers and Beth Griffith in that performance.

Among the most frequently presented poetry programs in the Salon Series were renku (linking verses) and dance, that is, alternating dance and haiku stanzas in linking form in the manner of renku. This idea first emerged through a collaboration with the Haiku Society of America, presented by Japan Society in 2006. (See Memoir Chapter 11: Poetry and Dance.) While most choreographic works in the Salon Series were improvised within a structured framework, the Renku and Dance performances featured “pure improvisation,” involving haiku poets, musicians, and myself in spontaneous creation. When asked by audience members how I managed to combine these art forms, my answer was simple: “The only way it was possible was because the poets and musicians were superb artists.”

Inspired by the success of Renku and Dance, I began offering free workshops at senior centers in Manhattan under the title Dance and Poetry of Japan Workshop. Over the past ten years, I have held six programs, and the senior participants have consistently been enthusiastic and creative. On the other end of the age spectrum, I also led Children’s Haiku and Dance workshops at elementary and high schools. I was deeply moved by the children’s haiku—not only were they beautiful, but they also revealed profound wisdom. These experiences taught me that observing the world with innocent eyes can lead to life’s most meaningful discoveries.

Renku and Performance

Because a core rule in renku is to avoid simply replicating the previous verse, I strove to create a progression—from waterfall to drinking water, to drinking sake, and finally to becoming drunk—in the video linked above. As is customary in Renku-related programs, we invited haiku submissions from the audience at the end. I then improvised dances inspired by those haiku, which delighted both the audience and the participating artists.

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 32 Renku and Dance: An Afternoon of Improvisation

2. Literature: From Classic Works

The Heike Monogatari

Inspired by Hoichi the Earless, a tale retold by Lafcadio Hearn (Koizumi Yakumo), I created a dance titled Sound of Emptiness for the 10th anniversary concert of the Salon Series. This work later evolved into a larger-scale production for the 30th anniversary concert of Sachiyo Ito and Company in 2011, featuring singers and dancers portraying the ghosts of the Heike court ladies. Although we didn’t have access to a hanamichi (Kabuki theater’s walkway), we were fortunate to use the audience aisles—from the upper to the lower levels—for the entrance of singers and ghostly figures. This use of space made the transition from the other world feel especially effective.

However, my aim was not simply to depict ghosts. I centered the piece around the teaching of Prajnaparamita—a profound Buddhist sutra—making the work appropriate for the concert’s theme: “Praying for the Deceased of the Great Tohoku Earthquake.” We concluded the performance with a prayer for peace, joined by all company members, musicians, and Rev. T.K. Nakagaki, who inscribed sutra prayers onto lanterns on stage.

Looking back, the collective efforts of artists—both in Japan and abroad—to raise funds and support the victims of the earthquake became a powerful motivation for our performances in the following years. Now, with so many disasters and calamities occurring, it feels increasingly difficult to label them as merely “natural”—they are, in many ways, caused by humans, a result of climate change.

Postcard for the 10th anniversary of Salon Series

Flyer for Sachiyo Ito and Company’s 30th anniversary concert

Gion Shoja

For the 15th anniversary concert of the Salon Series, I choreographed Gion Shoja, inspired by the iconic opening lines of The Heike Monogatari (The Tale of the Heike), which epitomize the teaching of Buddhism, impermanence—one of the core aesthetics of Japanese culture.

The guest artist Yoshi Amao and I embodied the spirits of warriors from the Genpei War (1180–1185), a fierce conflict between the Taira and Minamoto clans that shook Japan during the late Heian period. Though the war lasted only five years, its influence on literature, music, and dance has been immeasurable.

“The sound of the bell of the Gion Temple echoes the impermanence of all things. The pale hue of the flowers of the teak-tree shows the truth that they who prosper must fall. The proud ones do not last long but vanish like a spring-night’s dream. And the mighty ones too will perish in the end, like dust before the wind.”

— Translation: Paul Varley

Despite the gravity of the theme, choreographing a dance defeating a samurai was fun!

Sachiyo Ito with Yoshi Amao. Photo: Larry Thompson

Flyers for 15th anniverary (Photo: Larry Thompson) and Salon Series 66

The collaboration with Mr. Amao on Gion Shoja was so satisfying, and for Salon Series No. 66: An Ode to Autumn, the theme of impermanence seemed especially resonant during the autumn season, I invited him to the program to present the dance once again. I felt the dance would be suitable for autumn, the time when fallen leaves evoke deep reflection on the transience of life.

YouTube Clip: Gion Shoja from 15th Year Anniversary of Salon Series

3. Ma: The Japanese Cultural Concept

Ma in Space

We cannot speak of Japanese performing arts or Japanese culture without mentioning Ma, so I have presented several programs in the Salon Series inspired by Ma.

What is Ma? Ma is the Japanese concept of space and time. It refers to the interval between spaces, and the pause between moments. And yet it is not an empty void; it is a space filled with meaning.

Before I encountered Ma as a distinctly Japanese concept through the writings of Edward Hall*, I had only a vague sense of it—more as something personal, something learned through dance training: a felt sense of space within timing. The following reflections I offer are only my perspective as a dancer, for I am not a cultural anthropologist.

My exploration of Ma in the Salon Series began with the idea of approaching it as it exists in both space and time. I asked myself: Can we create a moment outside our ordinary perception of time and space? A serene experience where everything pauses—where time and space seem to freeze, and we exist fully within that stillness.

In Salon Series No. 48 Ma: Creating Sacred Space and Time Here and Now, my intention was to evoke a sense of sacredness in the physical space where we gathered, and in the musical space created through the sparseness of the Buddhist chant Shomyo and the sound of fue (bamboo flute). To deepen this sacred atmosphere further, I incorporated Shakyo, the meditative practice of copying Buddhist sutras into the costumes. The calligraphy featured the Shiku Seigan (The Four Great Vows, such as the vow to save all sentient beings), which I had sewn onto the kimono sleeves on stage as a visual and spiritual element.

Color played a symbolic role: black costumes accented with red, with layers of white revealed later in the performance. In the opening scene, the use of kurogo (stage assistants in Kabuki) in black near my dancers and myself seemed highly effective.

One unexpected challenge arose: The calligraphy ink was too wet to attach directly as sleeves to the costumes. It reminded me that “having an idea in the head doesn’t always work in practice!” Fortunately, my stage assistants clad in white kimono, Mariko Suzuki and Monika Hadioetomo, who were both costume designers. saved the moment by carefully drying the ink with paper towels on stage. They executed the task with grace and in a meditative manner. When the ink was dry and ready, they sewed both sleeves to the white kimono while I was wearing it on stage.

To conclude, we invited the audience to join in a walking meditation as a shared closure to the experience.

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 48 Ma: Creating Sacred Space and Time, Here and Now

Flyer for Salon Series 48. Photos by Larry Thompson and Akiko Nishimura

Ma: Sacred Space II was presented as nature worship in Salon Series No.55 Creating Sacred Space II: Japanese Nature Worship and Labyrinth Walk. This time, I incorporated Shinto ceremonial elements of reverence for nature, such as water purification ritual into the performance space. I believe we were able to transform the venue, Tenri Gallery, into a sacred space without relying on theatrical effects, despite its intimate size, which is typically too small for a labyrinth.

For the music and singing, I selected Etenraku Imayo from gagaku, Japanese court music. The goddess and her attendants descended from the gallery’s upper balcony as they sang, signifying their divine arrival from heaven. Bells echoed through the space to ward off evil spirits during our dances—performed by the goddess, her attendants, and myself.

To evoke a labyrinth, I shaped a winding path with rope, connecting the performance area to the corridor and entrance. Each audience member held a candle as they joined in the walking meditation. At the closing, we gathered in a perfect circle, an expression of unity for peace.

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 55 – Creating Sacred Space II: Japanese Nature Worship and Labyrinth Walk

Ma in Time and Iki

Ma in timing is one of the most vital elements in the performing arts, whether in dance, music, or drama. Its significance also extends to our social interactions, shaping conversation, emotional expression, and energetic presence.

In dance, Ma can be structured by musical rhythm (hyoshi) or guided by breath. Yet in Japanese, breath is expressed in two distinct ways, though both are translated into English simply as “breath.” The first is kokyu, referring to the physical act of inhaling and exhaling. The second is iki, which encompasses not just the physical function, but also intention and the internal energy known as ki or chi.

A powerful example of iki is found in the traditional orchestras of Kabuki and Bunraku. These ensembles perform without a conductor, yet the musicians begin, pause, and resume in perfect unity through shared breath. It’s an intuitive synchrony, cultivated through practice and passed down through generations.

Kabuki critic Tamotsu Kaoru once stated, “Iki is the foundation of acting.”

My personal journey with breath began in the 1980s when I first encountered yoga. At the time, I struggled with deep inhalations and exhalations. I later realized this difficulty may have stemmed from my dance training, which emphasizes concealing breath—even during high-impact movements. Dancers and actors must appear effortless on stage; therefore, shallow, controlled breath becomes essential. Here, breath transforms into iki—an intentional, internal force.

Curiosity led me to explore breath’s role in healing arts, which then inspired Salon Series No. 49: Ma in Healing Arts and Dance. My guest was Wataru Ohashi, the founder of Ohashiatsu (the Ohashi Method). His charismatic presence drew many audience members into participating. Pairing strangers who sat next to each other to try shiatsu techniques brought laughter and connection, while exploring iki through shared breath proved deeply engaging.

I also demonstrated how iki is used to convey emotion in Okinawan female-style dance. In portraying sadness, subtle breath supports the graceful flow of movement, but it must remain hidden from view, felt rather than seen.

Iki (breath with control) and kokyu (breath as physical function) form an expansive topic across the performing arts. For the Salon Series, I could only touch on the related practices in two programs that featured Karate and Okinawan male-style dance, the dance form influenced by Karate, in Salon Series No.12 and Salon Series No. 29. These presentations revealed how critical it is to grasp hara.

In all the traditional martial arts and traditional music, including utai singing, breath originates from the abdomen, known as hara. It is the body’s energetic center, grounding one's stance and channeling power through movement. Hara is the anchor, and mastering it is essential in dance, Okinawan dance, Japanese dance, martial arts, and in healing arts such as Mr. Ohashi’s.

While unrelated to the topic, I wish to express heartfelt gratitude for the kindness and long-standing friendship of Mr. Ohashi and Mrs. Ohashi, who generously hosted a celebration at their Manhattan home in 1988 when I received my Ph.D.

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 49 – Ma and Breathing in Dance and Healing

Flyer for Salon Series 49. Photo by Mariko Suzuki

Ma in Dance

So now how can we achieve Ma and iki successfully in dance?

Ma is an essential part of dance learning and yet cannot be learned. Well then, a student may say, “Not fair!” Ma is crucial, and yet elusive. Still, finding the right Ma is a journey every dancer and artist must pursue.

The same was expressed by the noted Kabuki actor Ichikawa Danjuro VII, “There is Ma you can be taught, while there is Ma you cannot be taught.”

According to another great Kabuki actor, Onoe Kikugoro VI, “Ma is 悪魔の魔 (Ma of devil), 魔術の魔 (Ma of magic).” That means if Ma is executed poorly, it will destroy the acting, dancing, even the whole play, while if implemented well, it can be magic to mesmerize the audience. I must say, “fearful and awesome!”

The Kanji character he used in his analogy was different since Ma is written as 間, but it cleverly mentions how, on the one hand, it is difficult to use it properly, while on the other hand it can be used to great effect in art.

Then how can we make 間 magical as 魔? The answer lies in refining one’s craft.

If you’re not a dancer, feel free to skip the next section, for it summarizes my dance instruction.

We first go by the prescribed timing of music, the rhythm (hyoshi), which is clearly punctuated by the music. A difficulty may be that there is more than simply following hyoshi in mastering a dance piece. It is characteristic of Japanese music to place importance on melody more than rhythm. Furthermore, classical choreography often requires movements with the words—such as at beginning or the end of a word or phrase. The latter poses an additional difficulty for non-Japanese-speaking students, one they can however overcome through their studiousness.

Then, we brush up our Ma through breath—more precisely, breath control—with iki: long and short breath, deep and shallow breath in executing movements and gestures. They are first controlled by intention: how you want to express the emotions or the meaning of the lyrics, the character in dance. Then find a good Ma in between the clear musical stomps: Try going against the music rather than going together with the tempo of the music or simply pause. Yes, the pause. Ma is the essence. It is not a static pause in dance. As is said in Noh, dance and acting are stillness in silence. Energy flows through after the punctuation of words and the rhythmical cues.

The above is my general instruction in lessons, but over the years I began to think of another word to be used, or should I say a linguistic approach to reflect what I really mean. It is “resonance,” as I believe dance can have an effect of resonance as in music.

The word suggests audiences create their universe as they hear the echo in their mind.

Does it sound hard? Not really, experimenting is a fun process. There, you are given freedom for your own creativity, although we get the criticism that there is no freedom in traditional dance. I need to remind those who consider traditional art as rigid: Japanese culture is a culture of pattern, going into pattern and out of it. Once you master discipline, the basic, there is freedom. So have fun!

Then, as a part of investigation of Ma, I presented Salon Series No. 54: Resonance in Music, Dance, and Literature. My guest speaker and shakuhachi player was James Nyoraku Schlefer, to whose music I danced. He demonstrated the importance of sound—to be absorbed in the sound, which gives us meditative quality—more than melody or rhythm. Also, realizing the importance of pause/silence in haiku, I invited John Stevenson, the haiku laureate. (Refer to Chapter 11 of this memoir for his insightful comments.)

My aim in the program was to show how important it is to have resonance, the echo in music, as well as resonance in the movements of dance, and to consider this concept: Dance does not and should not end at the punctuation of or stamp of sound in music. My further quest was, “Can I send an effective message of the dance through the pause, by doing nothing, just as Zeami the Noh dramatist said, ‘Doing nothing is captivating’?” 　

Here it may be interesting to know that Roh Ogura, the composer and writer, mentioned in his book Japanese Ear that the Japanese ear has a fondness for the silence after a music performance and a temple gong.

Now, I know you are reading this, and we are not facing each other, but what I shared in the Salon may be interesting for you.

““Please close your eyes. Keep breathing easy, in and out, feel space around you, and you are the space itself, and you are expanding.
“Here is the Gong. Keep soft breathing, 10 seconds.
“…
“Open your eyes.
“Smile!””

Did you hear the echo, and even hear the silence after the sound is gone?

Ma is not a void, but alive and critical.

My Shimai (Noh dance) teacher likened the stillness, the non-movements, to pressing both brake and accelerator pedals in driving at once: The action holds both forward and backward tension. When that control is released, energy radiates outwards. But please, don’t try that in your car. We’re speaking about dance.

Resonance after motion. Silence after sound. What message can we send in the space, the “Ma,” that follows?

In conversation, silence between words can be powerful: “Will you marry me?” “……”

In literature, The Pillow Book exemplifies simplicity and resonance: “Spring, dawn.”

The two words, that resonate afterward, offer us infinite meaning that we can enjoy.

A haiku by Basho echoes similarly.

An ancient pond—

A frog jumps in

The sound of water

The splash fades, then comes the deeper stillness, inviting us into timelessness.

Things are unsaid but resonate after sound and movements are performed or words are spoken, offering limitless opportunities for audience/reader/viewer to participate in the completion of the art with their imagination. What freedom we have! The unimaginable wonder of Ma: Resonance after a word, movement, or sound offers the audience the freedom to imagine, to co-create the meaning of art with artist.

Ma has been one of my lifelong quests, and yet I am not certain if I could see any of it. But I hope this chapter offers you a window to look into this fascinating subject in the arts, and in our lives.

Cultural Introduction Beyond Dance: Flower and Tea

A decade into the Salon Series, still exploring the crucial yet elusive concept of Ma, I began to broaden my efforts. Ma cannot be taught in the conventional sense, and that may seem unfair to students. Still, finding the right Ma is a journey every dancer and artist must pursue.

Recognizing that its scope goes beyond the performing arts led to the introduction of other cultural forms: Ikebana (traditional Japanese flower arrangement) in Salon Series #56; Chanoyu/Sado (茶道), the Japanese tea ceremony in Salon Series #57. For the Ikebana program, I performed classical dances themed around flowers: Shikunshi (The Four Noble Flowers), Aki no Iro-kusa (Flowers in the Autumn), and Shiki no Hana (Flowers in Four Seasons). For the tea ceremony program, I was fortunate to have Cha Ondo (Tea Ceremony Song) accompanied live to complement the tea ceremony demonstration.

The Ikebana demonstration sparked the idea of creating a dance centered on a flower theme, leading to a collaboration with contemporary florist Katsuya Nishimori in Salon Series #57: Flower Petals Fall, But Not the Flower. The title was inspired by the teaching of Kaneko Daiei, as mentioned in Chapter 4 of this memoir, which details my belief in dance, “flower theory.” This dance unfolded as sequences in the dream of a playful, vain woman, proud of her beauty. In her dream there appears a lavish flower arrangement, built by the florist in real time on stage in Kurogo costume.

Destruction: Consumed with jealousy toward the flowers for their beauty, she destroys the blossoms in a fit of rage.

Regret and Awakening: Overcome with remorse and sorrow for her deed, she glimpses a light of redemption.

Acceptance: Acknowledging the fragility of emotions—like flowers— she prays for the “real flower” that transcends temporality.

The woman walks to drape a white net across the stage over fallen petals on the floor, covering them as if she were consoling these fallen lives into a peaceful sleep. At the end, the scattered petals were meant to symbolize the transient nature of life.

Flyer for Salon Series 57. Flower arrangements by Katusya

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 54: Flower Petals Fall, But Not the Flower

Flyer for Salon Series 56. Ikebana by Masako Gibeault

Beyond Barriers

The initial focus of the Salon Series was to foster “understanding beyond boundaries of culture and ethnicity through the introduction and exploration of Japanese arts and culture.”

Over time, however, this evolved into a profound message:

“We are all human beings. Regardless of cultural, racial, or physical differences, let us overcome these boundaries and work together.”

One of the programs that embodied this vision was Salon Series No. 65: On the Human Spirit. It was a multidisciplinary collaboration featuring poetry, dance, music, and sign language.

Inspired by Ishigaki Rin’s poem Taiyo no Fumoto de (At the Foot of the Sun), the program began by portraying the world we live in as a beautiful place, blessed by the sun. The performance began by celebrating the beauty of our world, blessed by sunlight. Through poetry and singing, we expressed wonder and gratitude.

The dance segment that followed represented tragedies of our human history: war and natural disasters such as earthquakes.

In one symbolic gesture, I shredded pieces of the inner sleeves of my kimono to express the torn state of the human spirit. Then, I began tying them together, signifying the act of healing, of picking up the broken emotional and physical pieces of ourselves. The reuniting of the fragments was a metaphor for healing and reclaiming emotional and physical wholeness.

Audience participation was an essential part of this process. I invited them to join me in tying the fragments together into one long string as they sat next to each other in their chairs. This act symbolized unity and the possibility of recovery from both natural disasters and personal tragedies through mutual and collective support.

To close the program, Amelia Hensley (of Deaf West’s Spring Awakening on Broadway) taught sign language to us, dancers, poetry reciters, and audience members. We were so delighted to see the audience engage and try the sign language gestures. The vocalist Beth Griffith then sang “Amazing Grace,” a light to guide us to healing.

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 65: On the Human Spirit

Dance and Prayer

Amid the crisis of COVID-19, I felt a deep need to offer a message of prayer and healing. In response, we live-streamed Salon Series: Prayer for Healing and Peace through the Symbolism of Cranes to welcome the New Year with hope. Drawing on Japanese traditions, the crane—symbolizing health, longevity, and peace—became our central motif.

The program featured classical dances themed around the crane, an origami paper-crane folding session, and my original dance works honoring the lives of those we had lost. It was a gentle offering of peace, renewal, and collective memory.

Also featured in the program was my new piece titled Memories, dedicated to all those who died during the pandemic.

YouTube Clip: Salon Series No. 67 Prayer for Healing and Peace through the Symbolism of Cranes

The dance in the link below is an excerpt from Seiten no Tsuru (Cranes in the Blue Sky). Though it is not from No. 67, but from No. 63, it will give you an idea of the classical dance Seiten no Tsuru.

YouTube Clip: “Crane” from Expressions in Traditional and Contemporary Dance in Salon Series No. 63

The Meaning of Dance

What is most important in dance? For me, it is not technical virtuosity or performance for the sake of display. Dance, at its core, is an offering and a prayer. This intention was at the heart of Salon Series No. 67. I was pleased that our crane dance conveyed this message so clearly. It affirmed the deeper meaning of dance: to connect, to heal, and to transcend.

Closure of Salon Series

As the saying goes, “Where there is a beginning, there is an ending.” The final Salon Series, No. 74, was held in December 2023. My photo appeared in Shukan NY Seikatsu, was captured in a moment of emotional intensity, perhaps even a bit of theatrical distress, and still brings a smile to my face. It was taken after I recreated the earthquake stanza from one of the audience members, after moving with fear, possibly rolling on the floor in response to the earthquake scene.

I have been deeply fortunate to have longtime friends and collaborators John Stevenson, Yukio Tsuji, Beth Griffith, and Masayo Ishigure join me in closing the Salon Series, which spanned a quarter of a century.

Thanks to the unwavering support of audiences and guest artists, I was privileged to embark on this incredible 25-year journey. The Salon Series was not only a platform to share my knowledge as a dancer and educator, but also a source of profound learning. Each presentation led me to explore vast and varied subjects so expansive that they stretch beyond the scope of a single lifetime.

This journey reaffirmed a humbling truth: The more years I spend pursuing my path and craft, the more I realize how little I truly know.

Above all, the artists and audiences have gifted me with deeper insight into our shared human nature. No words can fully express my gratitude.

With deep bow

Salon Series No. 65 Review

The Salon #65 performance ended ecstatically with vocalist Beth Griffith singing Jacques Brel’s If We Only Have Love. With the full cast onstage, Ito’s parting words to the audience were to observe nature and engage the love that connects everything on earth.

— Dalienne Majors

60th Salon Series Welcomes Shogo Fujima

Ito performed “Petals Fall But Not the Flowers” and “Only Breath” with Indian and European dancers, closing the event in a spectacular atmosphere.

— Kaoru Komimi
Shukan NY Seikatsu, June 24, 2017

Flyer for the 60th Salon Series installment. Photo by Jason Gardner.

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 7/7/25 Susan McCormac 7/7/25

Sachiyo Ito’s Memoir: Chapter 15

Sachiyo Ito’s Memoir: Chapter 15. Photo by Jefferson Maia

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.

Susan McCormac 4/29/25 Susan McCormac 4/29/25

Sachiyo Ito’s Memoir: Chapter 14

Sachiyo Ito. Photo by David Fuller.

To read all the chapters, please click here. For more information about Sachiyo Ito, please visit her website, dancejapan.com.

Japanese Culture Through Dance II

For this chapter, I would like to share episodes and memories I treasure, which I encountered through my program Japanese Culture Through Dance.

Free Children’s Workshop

As a part of our community service for the city of New York over the past two decades, my company has offered free children’s workshops at schools and libraries and performances at geriatric centers.

One of the schools I cherish memories of visiting is P.S. 72 in the Bronx. The instructor in charge was Mrs. Sharon Williams, who was an incredibly passionate and loving dance teacher. Wholeheartedly she welcomed me and my program to introduce Japanese arts and culture to her young students. I must say students were mirrors of their teacher: I have never met a class of students who were so affectionate, as if Ms. Williams’s beautiful personality, her passion, and love for dance and children were reflected onto them. Even though it was the first time for my assistant Maiko and me to meet them, each one of them came up to hug us to show her/his appreciation at the end of the workshop. It goes without saying, their gestures and smiles touched our hearts deeply. I haven’t had such closeness and love from one-time workshop students though there have been countless schools and libraries that I have visited during the past 50 years. I went back to the schools to teach the following year, but the third time was not realized due to the pandemic.

There is one more school that stands out in Brooklyn, P.S. 147 in Bushwick, where there is a good-sized Japanese community. One class I taught for a few years was all Japanese or Japanese American students. It was when I was too naïve to know about this large population in the community in Brooklyn. I was also so surprised to learn that there were many Japanese students in the class who did not speak Japanese.

For the Free Children’s Workshop, I bring yukata and obi for the students to try on. This is very exciting, and almost everyone in the class will volunteer to wear them. I also have small dance fans with a Japanese flag design for them to practice with, as you can see in the photo of the Muscota New School below. I am so pleased that learning dance movements and about different cultures can be a joyful and fulfilling experience rather than just another school assignment. For me, it has been a gratifying experience to meet youngsters who are keen to learn Japanese culture through dance. Unfortunately, the pandemic has resulted in such in-person workshops being drastically cut, even though the teachers and I know how valuable it is to have human interactions with students, face-to-face communication with them. In fact, it is one of the most essential aspects of education.

Giving my workshop at the Beginning with Children Charter School was a wonderful experience, and I visited the school repeatedly over 2018 and 2019. Not only did this provide my dancers and me with a wonderful opportunity to introduce Japanese culture and dance to the students, but it also connected me to Mr. Colin McNally, one of the teachers there. He had recently completed the “One Thousand Crane Project” with his students, folding a thousand paper cranes to benefit cancer survivors.

I invited him to be a guest artist at one of my Salon Series programs in 2020, titled “Prayer Through Symbolism of Crane.” As we know, the crane is a symbol of longevity and healing in Japan. In addition to performing dances in honor of victims of the pandemic, I talked about Sadako Sasaki, who died as a result of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, and Mr. McNally explained his project and demonstrated how to fold origami cranes. At the end, my friend Beth Griffith sang a touching rendition of “Amazing Grace” as a light to guide us toward healing.

*Beginning with Children Charter School, Brooklyn (2019)*

*Kingsbridge Community Center, Bronx (2017)*

Flushing Queens Library

Among the many public libraries with which I have worked, I have had the longest association with the Flushing Queens Library. This relationship, which has spanned two decades, I owe to the dedication and efforts of Ms. Alexandra Sanchez, who promoted various cultures and their arts in the library’s international program. It is a relationship that continues to this day, even after Ms. Sanchez’s retirement. My company performed for 16 years in the library’s auditorium. After the pandemic, this program became the Cultural Bridge program, presented in a hybrid format, in person and streaming. I have also worked with their children’s program several times over the years.

Our performances at the library opened another door for us. Patricia Welch, a professor at Hofstra University who was in the audience during one of our performances, made a dedicated effort to bring us to the university to perform, an opportunity we were able to take in 2016. I admired her perseverance in securing funding for our performance, which took a few years. We received very good responses and comments, even emails from students, faculty, and people from the area after the event of my lecture-demonstration and the company performance. Though we were appreciated and thanked for bringing Japanese culture to their Long Island community, the event could not have been realized without the efforts of many and their love for the Japanese culture and arts, something for which I am forever grateful. I bowed to all involved after our performance, not only to the audience.

*Children’s Workshop at Queens Library (2017)*

Nightingale-Bamford School

I have always been happy to work with Nightingale-Bamford School, a private girls’ school. It is Ms. April Tonin, an art teacher at the school and an artist, who brought me to teach at the school for more than ten years. The first graders were my students, and I was always impressed by them; they demonstrated excellent behavior and good manners as young ladies should. They would listen quietly and attentively to my talk about Japan and to my dance instructions. Their greetings in Japanese to me, their bright and intent eyes, and their smiles are unforgettable.

My company also performed at their school assembly programs. I will never forget their greeting to me: the entire school, around a hundred or so students, speaking in unison, “Good morning, Ms. Ito!” It is a memory I will always carry with me.

Cultural Institutions

Aside from schools and libraries, there are several cultural organizations I worked with to form bridges of arts and culture among people. The organization with which I worked closely is the Center for Traditional Music and Dance.

My association with them began more than thirty years ago. The organization promotes ethnic music and dance from various cultures around the world. They offer rosters of artists in muti-cultural and multi-art disciplines. During the pandemic I was impressed by the director’s initiative and resilience, continuing their mission and prevailing over the challenges brought on by COVID-19. He proposed a broadcast of artists’ works over the course of three months titled “Beat of the Boroughs: NYC.” I was one of the artists who was invited. The filming was done at my small studio. To tell the truth, I was amazed by myself; the filming went smoothly, and we did not have to do retakes.

*Wall Street Journal 2020:* *New York City Cultural Scene Increasingly Draws Immigrant Artists - WSJ*

Japan Society

I have worked with Japan Society since 1972 for many programs, such as my recitals, workshops, and lectures for performing arts, education, and language departments for participants and audiences of various ages: from preschool, high school, high school teachers in social studies preparing to teach Japanese culture to general audiences for pre-performance lectures.

For the very young, there is a special traditional occasion called Hina Matsuri, or the Dolls’ Festival. This festival celebrates the health and growth of all young girls. At one of the workshops there, I was pleased to see that many boys also participated, though the boys’ celebration is in May. The Japanese celebrate the health and birthdays of girls on March 3, while the celebration of boys takes place on May 5. Traditionally, the Japanese would recognize these days as birthday celebrations for every child, rather than recognizing each individual’s actual birthday. This is what I was familiar with as I was growing up. However, as Western customs have become more prevalent, individual birthdays are now celebrated alongside March 3 and May 5.

As a child, I used to enjoy having friends over to celebrate Hina Matsuri, sharing special sweets with them in front of our display of dolls. Traditionally, the dolls are passed down to daughters from their mothers and grandmothers. There was a legend that at the end of the festival, the dolls must be tidied up and stored away. To display them for more than a week means that the daughters will never marry. Maybe that is why I am single?

Also, Young Audiences of NY and Midori & Friends gave me wonderful opportunities to offer Japanese dance workshops in various parts of New York City in the 1990s and 2000s.

Lincoln Center Institute for the Arts in Education

The passion of the director of the Lincoln Center Institute for the Arts in Education and her love for Japanese dance, which we discussed whenever we met, are still in my heart. I worked with them for an entire year, culminating in the Tri-State School Performance, conducted in the spring of 2000, taking place over several weeks. I admit I was not keen on the idea of a 6:00 a.m. call for departure, required for consecutive weeks to arrive at the performance locations on time, but in the end, it was not worth worrying. With a musician who accompanied me during dances, and the young and cheerful stage manager, our minivan seemed like my old days of touring in a station wagon with the AllNations Dance Company. The stage manager’s wild, purple-rainbow hair would wave up around her head as she started the engine of the car, and then our day began. It was such fun. I appreciated having a stage manager who knew what was needed in terms of preparation and logistics for my performances and who could deal with schools. Normally, such preparatory work would fall to me, in addition to dancing. Having her made my work, both dancing and teaching students, so much easier.

Geriatric Centers

As I mentioned in my previous chapter, the original idea of Japanese Culture Through Dance was intended for youngsters, aiming to help them open their horizons and better understand other parts of the world. This is important work, as the world is becoming a global village, where people from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds interact on a regular basis.

However, as I gave workshops at geriatric and senior centers more and more often in recent years, I began to realize that speaking about cultures through dance is important not only for the young, but also for the elderly, for they can share their life experiences through watching and learning Japanese dance. Many times, in the facilities where we offer our programs, people happily told us their stories about Japan: visiting the country, their experiences of getting to know Japanese culture, and musings on their own cultures, stirred up by watching our dances. They showed their joy in being able to try some gestures with dance fans, even if they were in a wheelchair.

There are two geriatric centers where I have made repeated visits. The first is the Schervier Nursing Care Center in the Bronx, where on one occasion, my dancers were thrilled to be treated to a special Valentine lunch, while I was happy with the raised stage, so well-suited for our concert, different from small lunchrooms. The other is the Isabella Geriatric Center, where my longtime friend, student, and volunteer Yachi Teramura was in the audience. She welcomed us with her usual big smile. Her appreciation for our dances was touching to me and my dancers, as she had studied with me, and our reunion brought us both to tears. I was so relieved that she moved away from the center before the pandemic hit—more than 90 residents passed away due to COVID in the spring of 2020.

New York University

The first year I began teaching at the college level was 1975, at New York University. It was an assignment from the NYU School of Education, where I had finished my MA in Dance. I was so happy to be called back by Dr. Patrica A. Rowe, the department chair. She was also my mentor in dance education. In later years, another great dance educator, Martha Hill, appointed me to teach dance at the Juilliard School.

I vividly remember the first week in New York after returning from Tokyo. Staying at the social welfare hotel was clearly a bad choice. I hadn’t expected it to be so dreadful: The hallway bathroom was too dirty for any decent human being to use, and there was a crazy lady who would hit the bathtub at a certain time each night, the percussive noise accompanied by her screams, which made me feel even more miserable than I already was. Somehow, I had to pull myself together to teach.

The course I was teaching was titled “Japanese Culture and Dance,” and I had about fifteen students. It was important for them to learn the history of Japanese performing arts, aesthetics, and the cultural background that nurtured our dance forms. I had brought dance fans and yukata back from Japan for them to use, but the yukata was too small for many of them, particularly the sleeve length. I told the students to add extra material to the sleeves so they could practice properly. I had already taught Western non-dancers in Tokyo; in comparison, this group of students seemed easier to teach. They had to have had previous dance training to be admitted to the dance department, just like the students at Juilliard, where I later taught. Many wrote very good term papers about Noh, Kabuki, and Nihon Buyo, which I held onto for a long time, as some of their writing and insights were incredible. Several became dance historians or critics in later years. Some kept studying with me and performed with me after they graduated. One student studied with me from those NYU days until last year, when she moved to Vermont. Jean Hurkin-Torres and I became close friends over the course of those 40 years.

My time as a professor lasted only eleven years. Toward the end of that time, I realized that I needed dedicated time to finishing my research in Okinawa and writing my Ph.D. dissertation.

Although my days as a full professor were behind me, I have remained active in the collegiate world, giving performances, workshops, and lectures.

Giving workshops at Barnard College’s Theater Department is particularly enjoyable for me because I meet many aspiring dancers, actors, and even directors who are eager to learn the basics of Kabuki acting and dancing. One of the good things about the program is that it is open to students from both Barnard College and Columbia University. I am fortunate and grateful to have met Prof. Shayoni Mitra, who included me in her course of World Theatre. She is keen for her students to have a real grasp of the Kabuki dance movement experience rather than just an intellectual and visual understanding, including use of the essential stage prop of fans.

I did not mind at all purchasing and bringing fans back in my suitcases from Tokyo. In recent years, I have been gearing the workshop toward the students’ experimenting and sharing their experience among themselves.

I have given workshops through the Dance Department as well. I wish I could continue offering workshops to the young dancers there, as they are very good and quick to pick up the techniques of Japanese dance.

It was in one of these workshops that I met Akin-san, who would go on to become one of my company volunteers. He was incredibly brilliant and always willing to help us. He was the head of the Japanese American Friends Club at Columbia University in 2015. After graduating with honors, he was briefly employed by the Columbia library before leaving for Japan to teach English at high schools in Chiba prefecture. Not only was his contribution to my company tremendous, but he also arranged for us to perform for the Friends Club. I still miss him, the young man who was passionate in his love for Japan and the Japanese.

Barnard College Theater Department 2015 Class

Barnard College Dance Department 2023 Class

In 2009, I took a leave of absence from my New York studio for three months to teach at Stephens College in Columbia, Missouri. I was doubtful at first about leaving New York and the students in my studio, but it was worth the worry, and I was very happy to teach at the college and to live on campus. I was impressed with the beautiful environment, its historical buildings with the most beautiful dance studio, and the campus—luckily, I was there in the fall, and the trees were all beautifully colored.

There is a photo featured in the Columbia Missourian that I love; it features all of us in class walking forward and in so doing, captures one of the most important basics of Japanese dance. It was very easy and enjoyable to teach these aspiring students, who were all eager to take up professions in the performing arts. All of them were excellent dancers, having made it through rounds of auditions to be admitted to a department known for its high standards. They were very quick to follow my instructions and were always ready to start class promptly, already dressed in yukata. We held another audition for a production for which I would create new choreography. The students who were chosen to perform were truly top notch. I cannot describe how much I enjoyed working with these students, regardless of whether they were trained in modern dance or ballet. The new work, titled Just Like Birds and set to a modern koto composition by Sawai Tadao, was a joy to choreograph.

One big surprise I received was the gift of a large photograph of me in Mitsumen Komori, taken in the early 1980s as a promotional photo for Asia Society. The photographer, David Fuller, had a friend who worked in the college’s administration, and on hearing that I was coming, prepared the special photo for me.

Another surprise occurred much later, when I met two of the young men I had taught at Stephens at a rehearsal space in New York. They had both come to the city and joined professional dance companies after graduation. It was such a delight to see them again, particularly knowing that they had kept pursuing their careers and continued to dance.

Teaching is a Blessing

I have learned a lot of things from teaching, but one of the most important insights I have gained is the affirmation of our predecessors, from Plato to Socrates and so many others: “I know that I know nothing.”

For me, the longer I teach dance, the more I realize how little I know about dance. Dance is composed of more than just steps, movements, and techniques. There are the cultural aspects that go into it: the history, the stories, all of which are distilled down to a few beautiful moments on a stage. Looking back, I must be apologetic, since I began teaching at an early age when I knew so little about dance. Of course, I could teach technique and dance repertoire, but there was more I should have been transmitting to my students. In the 50 years since I began teaching, I have learned so much about my own heritage, and the roots of the Japanese culture that has nurtured our dance forms. Five full decades, and yet, I know that still I don’t know enough.

I suppose this realization is true for any artist; the longer you toil in your life’s work, the deeper you go into the truth of art, only to realize you have just touched the tip of the iceberg. So, I often find myself sighing as I face the immensity of traditions. But still, I want to share it, offering my limited resources in whatever capacity I can to my students. In return, my students have given me the precious gift of their curiosity and questions, leading me to look at dance from different angles and see it in a new light, helping me to grow as both a teacher and an artist.

I did not always look at teaching this way. There was a point in my life when I envied artist friends who did not have to teach; I would have preferred to concentrate on my own choreography and performance, as they did. However, I was wrong. For over time, I realized how much teaching was deepening my own performance. Teaching provides the ability to reach a new angle of choreography, of technique, of dance itself. Learning through teaching is a priceless gift, and it has become my nourishment, bone, and blood: a great blessing.

My program, Japanese Culture Through Dance, expanded over the decades in ways I could not have imagined when I began it. What began as a local program for children grew into something encompassing all ages which took me to many different parts of America. It has provided me with irreplaceable and precious opportunities and experiences. Although one would assume that the recipients of the workshops and classes are the beneficiaries of my teaching, I think that it is the opposite: I am the one who has received the countless benefits of learning and beautiful gifts to treasure.

Affirming that learning art enriches our lives, regardless of whether one aspires to or succeeds in becoming an artist or not, the joy of discovery and the insights we shared together in class become the nourishment for all participants—students and teachers alike. This in turn has become my own engine, the force that propels me forward in life, the only life I was given on this earth. Humbled, I can only vow to continue spreading the beauty of Japanese arts and culture.

Susan McCormac 5/22/24 Susan McCormac 5/22/24

SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: Chapter 5

Sachiyo Ito and Company at the 2024 Japan Parade. Photo by Jon Jung.

This year 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.

To read all the chapters, please click here. For more information about Sachiyo Ito, please visit her website, dancejapan.com.

AFTER 50 YEARS: JAPAN PARADE AND MY 1970s

Welcome, May – the beautiful season of green leaves, and Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month!

A very important springtime event for the Japanese community is the Japan Parade, which has been held annually on the second Saturday of May since 2022. My company participated in the parade for the third time on May 11, 2024. I must say that participating in a parade as a Japanese classical dance company would have been totally inconceivable when I arrived in America from Japan in the 1970s!

Sachiyo Ito and Company at the 2024 Japan Parade. Photo by Jon Jung

Last year’s parade was a very gratifying moment for me; it seemed emblematic of how far we Japanese had come in American culture. Fortunately, my company was in the first group of the parade, and from my vantage point on our float’s highest spot, I had a perfectly unobstructed view of an incredible sight: the black and white horses of New York Police Department in front of us, leading the way.

There are two things that the parade highlights about the difference between the New York City of today and the New York City of the ‘70s when I arrived here: the recognition of the Asian and Japanese community in the city, and how much safer the city has become over the years. Even though Asians still deal with racially motivated attacks, it is certainly safer now than it was in the ‘70s. I noticed the beginning of this change in public perception when, during his term as mayor, Mike Bloomberg held receptions at Gracie Mansion in honor of what was then called Asian Heritage Month, culminating with the 2022 organization of the Japan Parade.

Sachiyo Ito with Mayor Michael Bloomberg in 2006

In this chapter I would like to talk about the culture shock and the dangers I encountered in 1970s New York, not to dwell on negative experiences, but to provide a contrast that allows us to appreciate and support the current direction toward a peaceful community, a melting pot of cultures.

Culture Shock

My first stay in the U.S. in 1972 was spent in a dormitory at Connecticut College during American Dance Festival, where I made my American debut. The first thing I experienced was taking a shower instead of taking a bath. The bath ritual is a very important one for the Japanese. Not only is bathing privately in the home significant, but public bathhouses are as well – they function like a social center to the local community. When I was growing up, everyone in the neighborhood hung out at the public bathhouse. They spent time catching up with each other, discussing what their families were up to, exchanging personal news.

In the U.S., bathing is almost never communal, and the act of regularly sitting in a bath itself is somewhat unusual. I used to joke with my friends, “Well, I never took a shower in my life, until I came to America.” Then they would look at me and say: “Oh, really? That doesn’t sound clean…”

Another shock was the manner in which college teachers were addressed. In America, students called teachers by their first names. In our culture, this would be considered a sign of disrespect.

This manner of addressing others led me to an enlightening book, Tate Shakai no Kozo (Personal Relationship in the Vertical Society) by the cultural anthropologist Chie Nakane. According to her, Japanese society is a hierarchical society, and an individual is nothing but an attribute. Therefore, an individual’s first name is less important, while the last or family name, which often indicates rank and/or title, is sufficient and indicates where we are in the hierarchy of our community. Thus, Japanese people will give their family names before their given names.[i]

Conversely, calling my friend Mary Page “Mrs. Alford” (mentioned in Chapter 2) made her upset. Since we were close friends, she felt we should address each other by our first names. Once she remarked on this, out of respect and love, I began addressing her as Mary Page. I recognized that addressing someone by their first name reflected friendliness, though in the beginning it seemed to me to be disrespectful.

Yet another shock occurred once I began my master’s degree at NYU, when I saw my classmates sitting on the floor of the dance studio during discussions and lectures. Many sat with their legs open and even did leg and body stretches during the teacher’s talks. I thought to myself, how rude their manner is! In Japan, we must sit properly on the floor with knees bent, and women should have knees tightly closed. This is how I discovered ‘stretching’ at the beginning of dance class!

Undeniably, being Japanese in American society has created a perplexing situation where a balance is difficult to strike. I am “too American” when I am in Japan and express “yes” or “no,” or “white” or “black” clearly, something I had to learn to do once I lived in America. On the other hand, when I am in America, I am “too Japanese” – too understated and ambiguous in my way of speaking. This manner of expression and communication is also reflected in our dance form as “subtlety,” which I talk about when I teach my workshop “Japanese Culture Through Dance” in schools.

I want to share an insight from the ideas I discovered in another informative book. My experiences, particularly in the ‘70s and ‘80s, were a good example of amae, as explained by the psychoanalyst Takeo Doi. It means "to depend upon and presume another's benevolence." Amae is, in essence, a request for indulgence of one's perceived needs. Doi cites the example of being offered tea in an American home. In Japan, if tea is offered upon visiting a friend’s home, a Japanese person is likely to say “No, thank you,” as a show of politeness, but the tea would be prepared anyway. Whereas in America, “No” is “No,” so alas, the tea would not be prepared![ii] This situation must be familiar to other Japanese here in the USA, and conversely the other way around, to Americans visiting or living in Japan.

Speaking of my culture shock in my early days in America, here is an episode. In today’s New York, there are hundreds of Japanese restaurants, but in the early 1970s, that number could be counted on two hands. In 1974, to promote my concert at Japan House, I was visiting Japanese restaurants asking if they would allow me to leave flyers for my performance for their patrons to take. (One restaurant, Edo, located in Union Square, seems to be the same establishment that I visited back then, though I’m uncertain if it is even possible for a restaurant to stay in business that long.) As I swung open the door with a cheerful greeting prepared in my mind, all of the customers, who were all men (really!), looked up at me. Meanwhile I was frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, looking at their chopsticks and the dish called Donburi which many of them were eating. I stood spellbound for a few seconds. Nowadays, such a scene would not be at all unusual, but back then, seeing about a dozen Japanese businessmen in suits with chopsticks made me utter, “Oh, Japanese food!” I should add that I had not had a chance to dine at a Japanese restaurant since my arrival, for eating at such an establishment was unaffordable for me. I suppose the surprise was not so much about the food, but rather about seeing only Japanese men, all in suits, as is commonly seen in Japan. The population of Japanese people in New York City then was mostly businessmen working for Japanese firms, whereas now there is a wider Japanese demographic, including people in independent professions and the arts, and of course, more women. Back then, the predominant population of men reminded me of Tokyo, where 80% of the population was male at the beginning of the Edo Era (1603-1868). I felt as if this scene at the Edo restaurant was a “time tunnel” in New York!

Dangerous City in the 1970s

I experienced three different robberies in those early days, one of which was particularly frightening. I used to live in the West Village, which was close to NYU, where I studied, and in later years, where I taught. While crime was rampant in the city at that time, the West Village was not the worst neighborhood. However, that didn’t mean that I was safe. In the first incident, during which the robber found me in my apartment and tried to strangle me, the policemen who were sent by the 911 dispatcher looked at me up and down and then said: “Good! You are alive!” and then left, without even taking notes on the attack or the attacker’s description. Obviously, as I soon learned, robberies were nothing but small incidents for this city. For a few weeks after the robbery, with my neck and shoulders still bruised, I felt as if I saw the man who had robbed me whenever I saw anyone who even slightly resembled him. I was robbed two more times during my stay in the Village, but they only rummaged through the things in my apartment as I did not own anything valuable enough to steal.

I was also mugged four or five times. One mugging occurred on a rainy day in Central Park, just off 5th Avenue near 72nd Street, in the afternoon. Even then I knew that it was a dangerous area to walk through in the rain, and I should not have been walking there, even though it was light rain. But I was distressed and not in a frame of mind to think of my surroundings — I simply wanted to walk across the park to Central Park West to my friend Miriam’s home, where I was staying briefly. The mugger tore my coat and took my purse, which contained an important letter that was also the cause of my distress. The policeman who came to take my statement on the mugging only added to the trauma of the situation, as he paid less attention to the report he was writing than to flirting and touching me in a suggestive manner. I must say I was shaken by both experiences. Miriam came home that evening, but I did not mention what the policeman did to either her or to my other friend who came to comfort me; I told them only about the mugging, not about the sexual harassment. The important letter in my purse had come from the Immigration and Naturalization Office, denying the appeal by me and by NYU to extend my H-1 visa. What an irony it was, come to think of it now, that I wanted to stay in a country where I could easily be mugged in broad daylight, and harassed by the very people meant to protect me.

“Homelessness Time”

The 1970s were hard years for New York; they were difficult for me personally, as well.

I had a brief period which I used to call my “homelessness time.” Although I was not living on the streets, I did not have a permanent address; perhaps it may be better to call it a “base-less time.” During this period, I had to move almost every week. I tasted the harshness of staying at the YMCA on 34th Street, at the Martha Washington Hotel, and at other hotels for transient residents. One of the sad scenes I witnessed was a woman who screamed at a certain time every evening in the bathroom, hitting the tub, which you could never imagine stepping into due to its filthiness. I felt only pity for her, wondering what put her in that extreme state. I felt a little sorry for myself as well, sighing as I watched the few pedestrians walking through the blistery northern wind through the YMCA window. The iron bars on the window made me feel as though I were trapped in a prison. I had no words while I gazed outside.

It was a complicated situation that had landed me in such a place.

Before leaving the States to begin my doctoral research in Japan, I gave up my rental apartment in Long Island City, and purchased an apartment in Woodside, Queens. The real estate agent assured me it was a good building, one of the buildings owned by Frank Trump. I never asked why it was good, but I suppose the broker wanted me to know that the premises were run by a well-known real estate magnate. Upon returning, I found out that the deal was a scam. I had no place to live. Losing my down payment was but a small part of the ordeal; far more devastating was not having a place from which to operate my life.

To add insult to injury, several of my planned performances were then cancelled. I had taken a train to my friend’s home in Pennsylvania where most of my things were kept, in order to pack costumes and props for these performances, which was no small undertaking. Upon returning to New York, with everything ready, the cancellation notice arrived.

My sojourns in the transient hotels were the opposite of glamorous. I worked hard to keep my space tidy, but sometimes fate would work against me. After moving into one of these hotels, I opened the medicine cabinet and about two dozen cockroaches came pouring out. The toilet area was so filthy that I tried not to look at it until I finished cleaning it. One day, I was trying my best to get rid of the carpet’s bad smell by vacuuming, and the phone rang. It was my friend, Jun Maruyama, a photographer. He specialized in documenting folk festivals, which were a passionate pursuit of mine in the 1970s. Whenever I was back home, I made trips to visit folk festivals – to learn the dance forms, or to conduct interviews and take photos for documentation. He said he had come to New York to photograph the New York City Marathon. It did not sound like his kind of work, but perhaps the travelogue magazine he worked for as a freelancer might have sent him to write an article about New York. He said he would like to meet for dinner. What a big surprise it was to receive a call from Jun out of nowhere in this worst of situations!! “What shall I wear?” was the first thing I asked myself, for none of my kimonos were with me. Nonetheless, I put myself together and we met at a restaurant on the Upper East Side. I was shocked to see how sick he looked, having lost nearly 20 pounds. Between my dismay and his lack of talkativeness we didn’t have a very engaging conversation; I decided not to tell him about my housing situation.

It was raining, just like the night when I first met him in Akita, in the north of Japan. The raindrops on the window and on the pavement were very beautiful, glistening in the lights from the restaurant and streetlamps. I had the feeling that he must be suffering from cancer or AIDS, and that he had come to see me before he died.

A year or two after this meeting, I was back home in Tokyo. I visited the building where his office had been to try to find him, but in vain – his office did not exist anymore. At the travelogue publisher’s, I was told they did not know where he was. From time to time, whenever I had a chance to visit Hibiya Library, I would look in Who’s Who in Photography to see if maybe I could find his name there and find out whether he had passed away or not, while silently hoping that he had just dropped contact with me and was continuing his work.

So many years have passed since then, but the manner of his greeting, by raising the brim of his hat with a smile, is still as vivid in my memory as if it were yesterday. And it was raining… Sometime, sooner or later, I know I will meet him, up in the sky, and call out to him, “Hi, Maruyama-san! What’s up? When is your next trip to photograph a festival? I want to go and take photos with you!”

Nishimonai dancers. Photo by Jun Maruyama

Why have I stayed in New York despite these difficult situations? For one thing, my life’s philosophy is that difficulties occur wherever you are, so it is up to you to cope and to decide to go forward and carry on your life’s mission. Another thing that has held me here are the supporters and friends I’ve met since my arrival, the artists with whom I have had the good fortune to collaborate, and the performance opportunities I have received which allowed me to realize my dream.

All of the unfortunate circumstances I have discussed above make the good times shine much brighter by contrast. My life in the 1970s wasn’t all bad; far from it! I had some very fortunate experiences as well, which led me to realize my mission and dreams.

Pacific Overtures: Broadway Show

In 1976 I gave a workshop for the cast of Stephen Sondheim’s Pacific Overtures. The workshop was an unofficial one, given at the request of the directors, and I don’t quite recall how it came about, but I do remember I was facing the chorus, actors, and dancers in a big studio. Two dancers from the cast became my students. One of them, Leslie Watanabe, later joined the Pearl Lang Dance Company and now is the assistant director of the dance department at the University of Oregon. I remember his performances in my productions, as well as those with the Theater of the Open Eye and at Japan House, quite well. He danced Oni Kenbai with the traditional devil mask as well as a lock of my hair, which he said would be a talisman of spiritual support and would bring him good luck while performing. Pacific Overtures stayed in my thoughts long after I gave that workshop. Inspired by the song “Chrysanthemum Tea” from the musical, which so fittingly reflected my experience of seeing an incredible sunset on the West Coast, I choreographed a dance entitled The Sunset. I never dreamed of actually working with Mr. Sondheim himself, but a decade later, I was requested to work on the 1984 off-Broadway revival of Pacific Overtures as a Kabuki consultant.

St. Croix, USVI

In 1977, I gave a concert and workshop on St. Croix, sponsored by the Virgin Islands Council on the Arts and Theatre Dance. It was my first time in the Caribbean; I had never seen such beautiful turquoise water until I visited the island. The humidity was so high that I grew nervous about the state of my costumes, worrying that they would be damaged even in the short week that I stayed there. The director of Theater and Dance, Atti Bermudez, welcomed me with her sunshiny smiles and warm hospitality. I was invited again the following year to give another workshop. It was a unique opportunity to introduce Japanese classical dance to the islanders who had never seen it. I also met a Japanese man there, and my performance was the first time he had ever seen Japanese dance in his life!

He was the manager of the Citizen Watch Factory. We were introduced by friends at a party and had dinner together once after that first meeting. What a big surprise for me when he later wrote a letter to me with a marriage proposal! After I left St. Croix, he came to see me one night in New York on very short notice. It was snowing that night. I was wearing a shawl covering my head and kimono collar. The sky was pitch black; against it, pure white snowflakes were falling on us. He needed my reply right away, on the spot. All I could say was, “I’m so sorry, it’s just too sudden…,” although it would have been nice to live in that paradise. The next day, he flew to Tokyo to meet the woman whom his parents had arranged for him to marry through the practice of Omiai, which is similar to arranged marriage. I believe my reply worked out well for him, for when I visited the island again to teach, I met him, his wife, and child at a dinner party thrown by our mutual friend. And there another baby was on the way! I was very happy for him.

Looking at the photo of Wisteria Maiden that I danced at the theater on St. Croix, it’s hard to believe I wore three layers of kimono in the island’s hot weather!

University of Hawaii at Manoa

In 1978 there was a Pan-Pacific conference of dance scholars held at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. It was such an honor for me to give a demonstration for one of the great Japanese scholars, Masakatsu Gunji, a prolific writer on the Japanese performing arts, especially Kabuki and Kabuki dance. Some years later, I was invited to his home in Tokyo, and I had a chance to show him videos of my performances in New York. I remember his comment, “You are the Japanese dancer in New York.” This sent my thoughts into a whirl: My dance is not good enough to express the beauty of this art; it is not enough to study the art (of course, I need to learn feverishly to continue my mission!). My ability to dance, both my interpretation of the classical dances and my own choreography, had evolved by living outside of Japan. I had to consider: Am I good enough to allow myself to introduce the art of Japanese dance to foreign audiences? Furthermore, there is the matter of the way an art form is changed by being performed by a human who is constantly changing with their environment, a question that goes beyond technique and authenticity of presentation of tradition. I asked myself: What can I do? The answer was to do the best I can, to seek the teaching and advice of mentors and authorities like Dr. Gunji seemed to be the only way going forward.

Philadelphia Museum of Art: Isamu Noguchi Retrospective

An invitation to perform from the Philadelphia Museum in 1979 was a great honor for me because it was a performance for the Isamu Noguchi Retrospective. Mr. Noguchi was pleased with my performance at his retrospective opening, particularly my choreography for the dance Haru no Umi, and he invited me to his studio in Long Island City. When I visited him, I took my friend, writer Ernestine Stodelle, who was writing a book on Martha Graham, for whom Mr. Noguchi had created many backdrops and artworks. Ernestine was so happy to be able to meet Mr. Noguchi, although she asked only one or two questions, as we had agreed beforehand not to bother him too much. There was an enormous number of sculptures in his studio and garden, and it felt to us as if we were walking through an endless trunnel of sculptures. I still don’t know how an artist of his stature had time to spare for us, me a humble Japanese dancer, and my friend who tagged along.

Dublin Theatre Festival

Also in 1978, I was invited to Ireland by the playwright Ulick O’Connor to create choreography for the production of his three Irish Noh plays. Titled Homage to Zeami,[iii] the trio of plays were presented as a part of the Dublin Theater Festival. William Butler Yeats had created Noh-influenced plays, including At the Hawk’s Well, in 1916, and I was pleased that the centuries-old Japanese tradition of the Noh Theater that inspired Yeats was carried through to this modern Irish playwright.

Ulick was the third playwright to write and produce plays inspired by Noh theater after Yeats and Padraic Colum. Ulick showed a spirit of challenge when I met him at the Chelsea Hotel – a famous haunt of many artists. Already considered a controversial figure in the theater world, Ulrick was eager to subject his audiences to a theatrical experience unlike anything they had seen before. We both knew that the pendulum of the public’s opinion could swing hard in either direction, both positive and negative. It is not easy to incorporate the subtlety and grace of Noh’s acting style into western theater, in which the execution of gestures and delivery of speech may be large and bold. Noh’s acting also requires movements accompanied by chorus and music, which is unusual in Western theater. A provocative performance was expected, as the Sunday Times noted and asked: Would the audiences accept the plays, would they say yes – or no – to Noh. I was happy to accept the challenge and the experience. Having never really worked with actors particularly, a fascinating discovery for me was their delivery of speech. The cadence of their speaking was amazingly beautiful, almost like music. On the other hand, guiding them to move in rehearsals was an uphill battle. They were trained in delivering speeches eloquently, but many had only minimal body discipline. Worse yet, with masks on, they lost the ability to use the facial expressions they normally relied on as a tool to bring their characters to life; hence, body and hand gestures, all very subtle, had to come into play. All in all, it was very fulfilling to instruct them on incorporating stylized movements into their acting.

At the beginning of the project, I was worried that out of O’Connor’s three plays, two would give me trouble. I was not sure if I could work with Submarine, about a ghost, or The Grand Inquisitor, about an archbishop. But as I worked on staging and coaching the actors, I found that all three plays were tied into the theme of “haunting” and that Noh’s compressed, suggestive, and understated approach to dramaturgy turned out to be quite fitting. The mask maker, Gay Dowling, did a tremendous job, creating mysterious effects very well, which pleased everyone in the production. The third play, Diedre, based on the Irish fairy tale of Deirdre of the Sorrows, tells of the romance of Deirdre and her lover and ends on the note of pine trees. After the lovers were buried across a lake from each other, pine trees grew on either shore, and decades later their branches were united. The idea of connecting pine branches as a symbol of the eternal love of two people was inspired by the shape of branches commonly seen in Japan. While visiting scenic areas on the outskirts of Dublin, I found that there, the pine trees stood straight up to the sky, unlike those in Japan. I had to smile at the twist to the ending in the fairy tale; the different kind of Irish pines that was Ulick’s invention.

All in all, the experiences I had during the 1970s, both good and bad, negative and positive, taught me valuable lessons. They helped me to learn about life and gave me the tools to find my way forward on the path that I would walk for the next four decades. They have also served as a source of inspiration for the creation of my dances. Our experiences make us who we are, and I am grateful for every single one of mine.

[i] Tate Shakai no Kozo (Personal Relationship in the Vertical Society), Chie Nakane, 1972.

[ii] Amae no Kōzō (The Anatomy of Dependence), Takeo Doi, 1971, Kodansha International Tokyo.

[iii] Zeami is the actor/playwright/author who established Noh theater with his father Kann’ami in the14th century. He is the father of Mugen Noh (the Fantastic Noh).

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

SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: Chapter 4

To read all the chapters, please click here. For more information about Sachiyo Ito, please visit her website, dancejapan.com.

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

SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: CHAPTER 16

Salon Series: Vertical and Horizontal Threads II

Cultural Introduction beyond Dance in the Salon Series

Beyond Barriers

Dance and Prayer

The Meaning of Dance

Closure of Salon Series

Salon Series No. 65 Review

60th Salon Series Welcomes Shogo Fujima

Sachiyo Ito’s Memoir: Chapter 15

Salon Series: Vertical and Horizontal Threads

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade: The Story Behind the Salon Series

How It Began: A Gallery in SoHo

Comparison with Various Dance Cultures

Influence and Comparison of Japanese Classical Theater Forms with Contemporary Theatre and Dance Forms

Collaboration with Guest Artists

Walking

Sachiyo Ito’s Memoir: Chapter 14

Japanese Culture Through Dance II

Free Children’s Workshop

Flushing Queens Library

Nightingale-Bamford School

Cultural Institutions

Japan Society

Lincoln Center Institute for the Arts in Education

Geriatric Centers

New York University

Teaching is a Blessing

SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: Chapter 5

AFTER 50 YEARS: JAPAN PARADE AND MY 1970s

Culture Shock

Dangerous City in the 1970s

“Homelessness Time”

Pacific Overtures: Broadway Show

St. Croix, USVI

University of Hawaii at Manoa

Philadelphia Museum of Art: Isamu Noguchi Retrospective

Dublin Theatre Festival

SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: Chapter 4

SAKURA (CHERRY BLOSSOM)

Sakura Matsuri, Rite of Spring

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