An Absolute Shit Show

Behold - I am about to tell you a tale about a night at a museum.  Herein may be the Japaneeziest of all the experiences I've had while leaving in Japan.  Because tonight, I am not just writing about any old museum.  Oh, no.  Tonight I am regaling you with stories (and lots of really shitty jokes) from Yokohama's new Unko Museum.  That is to say, the Poop Museum.

Before my life as an expat, I can honestly say I never gave much thought to pooping.  It was something everyone does, but it wasn't exactly a common discussion topic for me.  Maybe that has to do with my upbringing, I'm not sure.  Suffice it to say that this changed when I moved to Korea in 2004.  At first I thought it was because one of my partner teachers was kind of a fecalphiliac.  Or hell, if not that, she at least found a much wider range of things acceptable to chat about, and had fewer filters.

What I gradually came to realize, though, is that back home, there's really no need to discuss the deuces you're dropping.  You kind of know what to expect when building a log cabin.  Once you break out of that safe zone, crazy shit starts to happen.  Literally.  For example, the grape juice we used to give our kids at snack time would turn your poop green.  This, of course, must be described and discussed at length, in order to truly appreciate the experience.  My point - long-winded as it may be - is that the days when I'd hesitate to go to a museum about poop are long gone.

Although, if I'm being honest, it was pretty shitty as far as museums go.  There was really nothing educational about it.  Sometime in the last couple of years these things started popping up - Instagrammable experiences marketed as museums.  That shit is pretty much for the birds, but since I didn't make it to Tokyo in time for the thing I was hoping to be writing about right now, I guess it worked out okay.  It cost a shit ton of money, but my good friend Sensei treated myself and the Director, in celebration of the fact that one of the biggest shits we work with was on his way out.  We joked about bringing him a poop souvenir - Sensei taught us that "un" can mean luck in Japanese, to which I chimed in that "ko" means little, and as we headed over to Asobiru we snickered at the idea of wishing him "little luck."

But enough about that - you want to know about the so-called museum.  After standing in line for a good 15 minutes, we gathered into a small space with our new "unko friends" to watch animated poop on a tv screen and cheer, "Unko!"  We were then ushered into a second room, full of colorful, numbered thrones, upon which we were instructed to sit and try our best to squeeze one out.  A magical sound filled the space, and when we looked in the pot, behold, there was a mystical turd.  I was somewhat jealous the Director's golden poo, and pointed out that it made her a Lannister.*

After that, it was kind of a magical mystery tour of photo ops, all featuring that swirly shape, although none of them seemed to be brown or stinky.  There was one small section with games and gag gifts from all over the world, which - as Sensei pointed out - showed that no matter where you’re from, we all recognize that shape as being poop.  Although I have to point out, as an art teacher, that most animals don’t create turds of delightful stacked swirls.

The Poo Princess tea party was just a little too reminiscent of the strawberry dolly buffet we went to back in March.  Also, the soft, pastel colors used throughout the unko museum had the unnerving effect of making me want dessert.  Probably not the reaction you should have, but as I already pointed out, poop generally isn’t really that shape.  Ice cream, on the other hand...

My favorite of the photo ops was the lantern room, a clear knock-off of the one at TeamLab Borderless, except that it was smaller, had turd-shaped lanterns, and you didn't have to wait 20 minutes to go through.  No, the bigger wait was to play one of the video games starring poop.  The lines were filled with little shitheads and since I’m not that kind of nerd, I gave it a pass.  We finally made our way out via the gift shop, where we brainstormed a lot of MUCH better merch they should be selling - turd-shaped chocolates, for example.  One thing that was slightly tempting was the pink poop hat that some of the staff were wearing (“Guess he’s got a pretty shitty job,” quipped the Director).  I had visions of taking it to Mongolia with me and making the kids wear it when they act up, but I have a feeling it would cause more problems than it would solve, because they would ALL want to wear it.

So why do I say that this is the most Japanese of all experiences I've had here?  Well, although I’ve definitely opened up when it comes to talking about poop since my innocent college days, I still don’t think we are as comfortable talking or joking about “dropping the kids off at the pool” back home as people are in Asia generally.  Japan, though, takes it to a whole new level.  Whether it’s the vast ass-ortment of poop toys available at Daiso or a dating sim where the cute boys you are trying to charm are based on kinds of poop, Japan has more toilet humor than anywhere else in the world I’ve been.  Although this kind of experience/museum can be found anywhere in the world, I feel like only in Japan would you find one dedicated to crap.  On the off chance that another place did make one, it could never be as kawaii, because that’s di-stink-tly Japanese as well.  So while sumo and kabuki, festivals and even robot restaurants are all well and good, I’d still argue that the Unko Museum captures the spirit of modern Japan more truly than any other  experience I’ve had.

*If you've never watched or read Game of Thones - there are a few of you out there - the joke is that this family is so rich that they shit gold. 

In the Pink

Saturday night I caught a pre-emptive case of the Sunday night blues.  Strangely enough, two weeks of doing almost nothing - hell, even with the two days’ work unpacking - didn’t prepare me to come back to school today.  Commuting is mendoksai and even though the new building is nice, I can't help thinking that moving sometimes don't solve old problems, and may actually create new ones.  It's probably too early in the game for me to be so cynical, but there it is.

I had a couple more chances to art it up before I surrendered to despair, though.  I've especially been trying to catch nihonga shows before the clock runs out.  Last Saturday I went to the Suntory Museum of Art to see their Kawanabe Kyosai exhibition.  I was a little irritated that it was so hard to look closely at the works, and for the most part it didn't knock my socks off, although the notable exception was a scroll depicting a fart battle.  Apparently this is a thing in Japanese art, dating back to the Heian period, and if you want to see what it looks like, Dr. Yokai has written a post about this unique genre over on his blog.

I wasn't done with nihonga yet, though.  I took leave of my sanity long enough to decide that the height of hanami season was the time to go to Ueno to see the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art's exhibition about the "lineage of eccentricities" in Edo-era painting,  There were some really knock out paintings in the show, but there were so many people AT the museum that I was so triggered that I didn't really enjoy it.  After two years, I still haven't figured out how art students are supposed to do serious museum studies in this country.

After leaving the Met going to another art museum, particularly one that promised to be even more crowded, was the last thing I wanted to do...and yet, that is exactly what I did.  Sensei, the Director, and I had been talking about going to the teamLab installation at the Mori Building Museum in Odaiba for months, and finally we'd settled on a date and gotten tickets - a last hurrah before returning to the trenches for the last term.  We met up and walked over, where we were met by a long line of people, which turned out to be the line for pre-purchased tickets. 

So far, I was not impressed.

We waited outside for a while, then we waited INSIDE for a while, and finally, we made it to the real entrance.  We were ushered through a curtain into - I shit you not - a different world.

Let me back up here for a moment.  Last year the three of us and Horn Blower saw a performance of Drum Tao's Mangekyo.  Although the staging was relatively simple, the multimedia effects really added to the performance.  teamLab was the company that created those effects.  As a musical performance, it was sublime, but imagine, if you can, using the same ideas in - essentially - an infinite blackbox theater that loops in and around itself.  Words become butterflies, lights create waterfalls, and in a bamboo forest it's perpetually firefly season.  That's kind of what Borderless was like.  

In one room paths led through crystal ropes of light.  The colors changed, as did the patterns.  After we'd wandered in, the lights dimmed and started trickling downward.  A little while later the "rain" slowed down, and on the outskirts of the room parts of the installation changed colors, creating a rainbow effect.

All of my favorite rooms included that sort of 3D element.  One you entered to be greeted by poles holding up transparent plastic disks, across which flowed patterns of light.  The floor angled upwards and suddenly it was like you were standing in a pond surrounded by lily pads.  When the light tracked across the disks, it becomes apparent that those patterns are actually fish swimming.

The crazy thing was, once you were in the museum, it actually didn't feel that crowded.  The lines set me up to feel like there were going to be a ridiculous amount of people annoying me, but the inside of the museum was so big, and the installations made such good use of the space that for the most part, you could actually enjoy it.  There were parts that you had to wait for - the mirrored room with all the lanterns, for one, but I felt like it was totally worth it, and because they regulated how many people were in it at the same time, you really didn't feel like you were packed in; it was just you, your friends, and a few others.  Although I wasn't impressed when I got in line, by the time I walked out, I was definitely a fan.

Sadly, I can't say that about every part of my life in Japan.  Even though I'm glad to be out of the old school, where the air was toxic and my classroom was constantly occupied by other teachers, I miss my walks to and from work next to the stream that runs through my neighborhood.  I miss seeing the ojiisans who'd be exercising together along the way and telling them ohayogozaimasu!  I miss being able to hit the snooze button until 6:55.  But I'll soldier on somehow.

Going Dotty

At the time I graduated from college I couldn't imagine traveling somewhere without going to their art museum.  One of my first trips into Seoul during my first Korean sojourn was to see an exhibition of Marc Chagall at Seoul Museum of Art.  This hasn't been a constant, though...in spite of a lot of recent art posts, I think I only went to one art show when I lived in Shanghai, and none as far as I can recall in the Middle East.  Strangely enough, it wasn't until I started teaching high schoolers again that I started to prioritize getting to art galleries again.  But I'm back now, more or less, and have been halfway considering starting a second blog, which would focus on my art and the art I see here.  Since it hasn't happened yet, here we art.

My first day out, I came across Kanazawa's art museum.  I toyed with the idea of seeing it, and made it as far as the entrance hall, but there was a crazy long line.  I'm too lazy at the moment to look back and see if I've told you this before, but I definitely have some lingering culture shock about going to museums here.  There were times in the Zanabazar or UB's Modern Art Gallery that I was the only patron.  I feel like that would never happen here.  The times I've been to a major exhibition I've felt kind of like it's a contact sport.  When I looked at the long line at the museum in Kanazawa, I decided I would live to see another day, and walked away.

I mean, c'mon.  I live in Yokohama, and Tokyo's a short ride away.  What am I supposed to see out in the styx that I can't see here?

The answer to that is, of course, Kusama Yayoi.  Even if you don't know her name, there's a pretty good chance you've seen one of her iconic pumpkins (especially if you were reading my blog six months ago).  Kusama actually has a museum here, but I lack the patience, perseverance, and timing to get tickets.  So when I was looking for what else to see in Matsumoto besides the black castle, and I found out their Museum of Art was in the middle of a huge exhibition, I decided I had to go.

I have to admit in the last few years I've dialed down my phallic tourism (mostly because I've run out of places to go).  One of the reasons I was so keen to see an exhibition of Kusama's was because I knew she had created at least one of her "infinity room" installations filled with phallic soft sculptures, and given my weird niche in the travel blog market, I sort of had to see one, and this time luck was with me!

Another thing that I really admire about Kusama is that her work stands as a testimony of the power of art.  I'm not going to go too deep into her origin story, but she suffered abuse as a child as well as battling mental illness most of her life.  Art was the thing that gave her the power to be strong.

And what amazing art!  Usually I don't really dig abstract art, but there is something really playful and energetic about her paintings that just draws you in.  Like the Kanazawa museum, there was a line up for tickets, but rather than turning away I just wondered if the other patrons in line with me knew, if they understood what she'd been through, and how fantastic it was she has been able to
turn her suffering into such joyful artworks...or if they just wanted to see the show because she was famous.

The crowds were one of two things that marred the experience for me.  The other was that I would have liked to sit down and work in my sketchbook.  When I was a student teacher, I remember complaining to my mentor, Lulu, that the Nelson-Atkins only allowed you to use a soft-leaded, graphite pencil in the museum.  We both found this absurd - after all, the Louvre will go so far as to let you set up your easel and oil paint on the premises.  I found myself thinking about this after both of the art museums told me all I could use was a pencil.  I thought it was particularly ridiculous at the Glass Museum in Toyama, since the works technically couldn't be damaged by the pens or watercolors that I carry around when I'm out adventuring.

As it turns out, though, sometimes inspiration strikes you when you least expect it.  Lots of places had koinobori up in the weeks leading to Children's Day, but it wasn't until I saw them flying in rows over a stream in Matsumoto that I was able to see how cool a subject they could make as one of my gou-ashi collage paintings. 

And once I got back to Tokyo, that meant that I was going to have to visit the National Art Center.  On the train I'd seen the poster for Koinobori Now, their show that featured, I dunno, hundreds, maybe, of stylized windsocks, each made of a different fabric.  They were hanging from the ceiling of a huge room, and although they asked you not to touch them, you could walk between them, and even sit down on the bean bags clustered throughout the room.  After walking through the stream of carp to the back where they had a paper craft set up, I came back and sat down on one.  I looked up at the ceiling, where a sheer fabric was attached, rippling in the breeze from a fan, illuminated by lights that gave the impression of light dancing off the surface of the water.  As I watched I felt the most relaxed I'd been all week - a great way to finish my Golden Week.

Otaku Report, Vol. 2

What they say is true: there's nothing like new love to make you see your world in a different light.

Okay, possibly I just made that line up.  And possibly, by "new love" I'm talking about my new anime obsession, Bungou Stray Dogs.  However, the sentiment remains true:  I've been seeing Yokohama through rose colored glasses, and if that color is the tinge of blood shed by the Port Mafia, so what?  I'm not sure what finally made me decide to watch Bungou Stray Dogs.  I believe I first read about an anime set in Yokohama last fall, and even saw some sort of promotion for the movie which is currently out, Dead Apple, a couple of months ago, but I have a certain amount of reluctance to get too caught up in an anime with that many pretty men in it, because traps.

I was not planning to write the second (long overdue) Otaku Report this weekend, but rather about the Koganecho Bazaar.  I only found out that there was a stamp rally going on in Yokohama last night, and let me tell you, it was a feat of Google Maps engineering, figuring out how to get there as well as around all the sites that were participating, but that was my plan.  I would be a good art teacher, and check out the artist residencies, leaving the second half of the rally for another day.  To that end, I spent at least twenty minutes taking possibly the only bus in Japan - nay, possibly the world! - that simultaneously smells of old people and unwashed private parts, just to get to the neighborhood from the Kanagawa Museum of Modern Literature.  But when I got to Koganecho it was kind of a bust - there only seemed to be about one gallery open - so here we are, dancing around the fact that I spent my morning collecting stamps like a giddy eight-year old.

That is, essentially, what a stamp rally is.  You go around a museum, or a city or whatnot, collecting stamps, turning them in for a small prize at the end.  Since Bungou Stray Dogs is set in Yokohama, it's kind of a perfect way to get people excited about seeing the sights.  Admittedly, I've been through these sights previously, but not since I started watching the anime, and far be it from me to miss an opportunity to fan girl out.

Stamp rallies can be hard on the feet, and some of them offer special one-day passes that let you use public transportation (in this case, certain lines of it) as many times as you like.  Next time I'll definitely buy one.  I didn't really think about how many buses and trains I'd be using, and they are expensive enough here that they really add up.  Since I didn't end up spending long in Koganecho, I ended up finishing about four hours after I started, at the Animate by Yokohama station, with just enough time to get to my Nihonga lesson.

You may be tempted to infer, based on the length of time it took me to put together another Otaku Report, that the tide of my devotion had ebbed.  You would be correct, at least partially. I still keep up
with several shows and manga, but grad school and art have done a pretty good job of keeping me in the real world since Christmas.  Add to that the fact that winter just plain sucks - cold without too much going on - and it turns out to be difficult scraping one of these posts together.  I do have a couple of things for you, though...

The National Art Center of Tokyo had its first show about an animator last fall, for Shinkai Makoto.  I don't want to compare him to Miyazaki, because it's apples and oranges, so let's just say that I've seen a lot of anime during the last few years, but I can only remember the names of two animators, and let you draw your own conclusions.  Unfortunately you couldn't take pictures in the exhibition, but I did buy a gorgeous catalog from the shop.

Hozuki has still had a few things going on, but most of them are in Japanese, so I didn't see a lot of point...my study of the language has been more or less stymied by the fact that it's ridiculously difficult.  The most exciting thing for me was that, in celebration of the DVD release of the first half of the second season - deep breath - Animate hosted a "Museum of Hell" at 4 locations, which included a drawing contest.  Entries were artwork of the cat - often referred to as looking like a curse - drawn by one of the show's antagonists, Hakutaku.  If I understand Google's awkward translation right, the winners will receive a drawing, or possibly just an autograph, from Natsumi Eguchi.  (I've got my fingers crossed that it's the first - I really want some legit manga art).  I spent some time sketching ideas out before deciding on my entry, ganbatte'd my heart out, and brought it in to Yokohama's Animate, the exhibition's second stop.  There's still a couple of weeks left before the promotion wraps up in Osaka, which means I'm stuck waiting til then to learn my fate.

My final bit for this edition of the Otaku Report comes to you courtesy of Sensei.  She got the coveted tickets for a couple of us to the Ghibli Museum.  This is a big deal since the museum is so popular that you have to book tickets in advance, sometimes months.

When I visited Tokyo in 2014 this was the one thing I hoped to do that I missed out on, for that exact reason.  It was a great experience, although I didn't get to watch Mei and the Kittenbus.  Instead I learned how endearing the struggles of pond life could be...a subject I have no doubt would be far less interesting in anyone else's hands.  You couldn't take photos in here, either...these two I snapped while waiting to get in, before I was told the restriction on photography extended to the entrance as well.  I'm not totally sure what I was expecting, but seeing the process Miyazaki uses as well as memorabilia from his works was pretty cool.  There was also an exhibition about the way food is used in so many of the films.

Well, that about wraps up this edition of the Otaku Report.  I'd tell you to stay tuned for the next, but since this one took so long, that might not be wise.  Next week I'll be back in the wilds on Mongolia, but if I don't do anything new or exciting there, I still have that back post on my interior decor to finish, and maybe I'll teach you something about painting.  So stay tuned anyways.

The Otaku Report, Vol. 1

As you already know, among all the things I was looking forward to about living in Japan, one of the highest on my list was access to that good otaku life.  In other parts of the world, you have to wait around for the local anime convention (ie, AnimeIowa) or else instigate your own (for example, the nerd nights I planned at ASU with my favorite weebs.  Here in Japan, there needs be no special occasion - it's happening all around you.  You could, just for example, be sitting at the Shinjuku Express Bus Terminal and see a tall person of indeterminate gender walk past wearing high-heeled, studded boots and a kick ass outfit with those Sailor Moon-style twin buns in their hair (which may, in fact, have just happened.  Cosplay in Yoyogi Park is a regularly occurring thing, and if you find yourself walking on the streets (literally - they close it to traffic) of Akihabara on a Sunday, who knows what you will come across...last time it was some sort of gaming thing, which - not really being a gamer - I knew nothing about but still found interesting.

Before I got here I learned about Sora News through a friend who'd been living up in Sendai.  It often lures me in with a story, and on the side I'll see something exciting that I want to check out, only to find out that it's long since passed.  The good news is that most of the new stuff I've caught, and it's been fun.

For starters, I got to see Mikazuki Munechika in the...well, steel.  I mentioned the anime about boys turned into swords at least once before, and while Touken Ranbu isn't my favorite - it just seems like such a waste of cute boys to not have any hint of romance - but I have a healthy appreciation for both swords and cute boys, so, you know, it works.  Mikazuki Munechika is one of the five great swords of Japan, and considered to be the most beautiful because of a crescent pattern in the steel thanks to the way it was forged.  He's owned by the Tokyo National Museum, and they had him out on display this summer, so one weekend I went up to Ueno Park to check him out.  I got there a little after the museum opened, and went straight for the sword room - apparently all the fujoshis have been lined up taking shit tons of pictures, and I hate lines, but there were just a few women ahead of me when I got there, so all was well.  I couldn't really see the crescent pattern - it's supposed to be subtle enough that it really doesn't come out in photographs - but it was a pretty cool sword.  Not sure that it was any more beautiful than any of the other swords in the room, but maybe I'm not very discerning.

Along with that, I found out that there was a Touken Ranbu musical coming up in November.  Flower Boy posted that he'd purchased tickets for the Sailor Moon musical right before I came to Japan, and I had all sorts of feelings about that.  First jealousy, because I love musicals and plays and all of that.  Second, I was a little miffed because it was Sailor Moon, and although I watched about 10 episodes - it's a shoujo classic - I couldn't really get into it.  Maybe I'm too old.  At any rate, I wasn't going to shell out for Usagi-chan.  And finally, I was a little wary, because if live action movies are bad, would a musical be worse?  When I found out that there was a Touken Ranbu musical, I decided I'd find out for myself.  I diligently marked the day that tickets went on sale and went online to buy my tickets at the appointed hour.

And then my bank decided this was a great time to decide it was suspicious that I was ordering tickets in Japan, and blocked the purchase.  By the time I had called them and set them straight, tickets were all sold out.  Again the mix of emotions...I was PISSED that they chose that time to block my card.  On the other hand, while I was scrolling through the ticket order pages I found out that there was also an Ao No Exorcist stage show, and if Touken Ranbu is specially formulated to appeal to women who like beautiful men who aren't interested in women, Ao No Exorcist is not.  It is pretty much straight up shounen...and it wasn't sold out.

So last night saw me hoofing it after work up to Roppongi, where the theater was located (this also worked out well - the musical was at the Tokyo Dome, and I would've hated to try to make it up there and back after a long day of work.  It wasn't exactly a walk in the park, though, because I'd realized when I was looking at the email during school that you're not supposed to use the English, foreigner's site if you're living in Japan - there was something in the email about having to bring your passport, so I wasn't super happy to have to run home for it.  Fortunately they didn't look through it to see whether or not I was here on a visa - the picture page was enough bonafides for them (phew!)  I got my ticket, went past whatever swag they were selling - DVD's, postcards of the cast, t-shirts, whatever - and found my seat.  And then looked around.  With the exception of the stinky foreign guy on my right, it seemed like the entire audience was female.  Like, you'd have to go to a women-only screening of Wonder Woman to find an audience with that ratio of ladies to men.  It was a little crazy.

The show was interesting.  It didn't seem to have any overlap with the first or second season of the anime, and I haven't read the manga so I'm not sure if the story was canon, but whatever.  Kamiki gets kidnapped, Shima is up to something twisted - I wasn't entirely sure why, because it was in Japanese.  Now, of course it was in Japanese, but for some reason this came as a bit of a shock to me.  No supertitles.  No helpful notes in the program.  But if you can follow an opera in a foreign language, a movie or a play aren't that much more of a challenge.  And the best parts - the action, and a lot of the comedy - you didn't need to understand the language for.  And I think that's what made this a success as a play - there's a lot of room to play with special effects when your main character is the son of Satan and he wields blue flames.  The actual staging of it was impressive, too - I couldn't believe what they were able to do with a projector, several stair pieces, and two platform things.  It kind of made me wish I was working on a musical this year.

A couple of weeks before, I was shopping at my favorite place, the Daiso store (have I mentioned this before?  I need to start a weekly, "Things I bought at Daiso," post).  And the muzak playing over the speakers, I suddenly realized, was familiar.  In fact, I heard it again last night at the play - the second opening song for Ao No Exorcist.  I hope there's a special hell for people who use good music like that for nefarious purposes.  Cause it sucked.

My final report comes from a gallery stationed at the aforementioned Tokyo Dome.  In fact, I teased the poster for this exhibition back when I was writing about rabbits...in a little more than a month the live action production of Fullmetal Alchemist is being released here, and Japan is great at promoting.  They have nendoroids coming out (Ed, Al, and Colonel Mustang), a new chapter of the manga is rumored to be a freebie when you watch the movie, and they had a big art exhibition featuring covers, pages, and at least a couple of interactive displays. 

It was legit.  I haven't really written about just how damn well Japan uses light and sound in art, but they've got it down.  My favorite was a room painted to look like Ed and Al's house, which had the alchemy circles projected onto the floor and Ed and Al's voices recorded - it really brought you into the moment. 

Much more creepy was the projection - hiding around a corner, so it catches you off guard - of Selim Bradley peeking out of blinking, watching shadows.  Unfortunately for most of the exhibition you weren't allowed to take photos, because I wanted to TAKE ALL THE PHOTOS.  I feel like there should be some sort of exception made for art teachers when it comes to that rule, because we are educating the world's future artists and we need to be able to show them examples of what we are talking about. 

Instead I bought the book - which I would have done anyway if any museum type people are reading this - which had all the gorgeous color paintings in it.  It was well-worth the 1500 yen admission price, and even worth the hour I stood in line waiting to get in, although I would have enjoyed it more if there hadn't been quite so many people.  FMA is one of those stories that kicks you in the teeth every time because it is just SO good.  I read the manga back in the fall of 2014, went back and watched the anime in the summer of 2016, and walking through the art of it made me want to do it all over again...I'll probably even break down and watch the live action movie, because even if that is the one thing about animation that America does better than Japan, it comes with a free, new chapter, so even if it sucks it's not a total loss.  Even if the movie isn't great, the characters - particularly the women - are top notch.  When the nieces get a little older I'm definitely showing them Fullmetal Alchemist, because whether they want to be mechanics, generals, snipers, or just housewives, there's a badass role model in there for them.  If you're in Tokyo and you want to check it out, you've got one more week to do it - aim for morning or late afternoon, the line was lethal when I got there at one.

So that concludes the first volume of the Otaku Report.  I meant to finish last night but after a long ride down to Okayama on the Willer Bus and a full day of slogging through the typhoon, when I got to my hostel I kind of passed out.  Which is a shame, because it has a gorgeous Japanese garden, and I'm currently wrapping this up sitting at my first kotatsu (a little because it's chilly, but mostly because I'm trying to dry out my hoodie some - I'd do the same with my shoes but I don't want to stink up the place).  There are castles, temples, creepy doll villages, and - of course - art in the near future as I head into Shikoku and eventually to Hiroshima over the next week.

Artful Adventures: Wa No Akari

In The Gospel According to the Evil One, my best friend explains that, "Going to museums is totally a worthy Sabbath day activity."  Apparently at BYU she had a professor who was a stake president or something who even told her so.  Although I'm not exactly the best Mormon ever, I am actually trying (because somebody named Me promised she would if God did her the favor of helping me get this job, and even if I'm not the best Mormon ever, I kind of do take that sort of thing seriously).  At the same time, I'm not quite ready to go full tilt, especially when the Evil One has given me a great justification for spending my Sundays in museums, so I've decided that after church gets out each week, I'm working my way through Tokyo's vast array of art institutions and exhibitions.

(For the record, no, The Gospel According to the Evil One is not an actual book, but if I ever find myself writing her memoirs, I'm totally calling it that.)

My first adventure was to the Wa No Akari.  For the past few years it's celebrated Japan's celebrations  (festivals) and crafts in the Hyakudan Kaidan, a registered tangible cultural property built in the 1930s as Tokyo's first dedicated wedding venue.  This year the focus was on Japan's colors and designs.  But after I learned about it, I promptly forgot exactly what it was about, just remembering that I wanted to go.

Words don't really do it justice, anyways.

Beyond "that looks cool," I'm not sure what I was expecting.  When they gave me a bag for my shoes, I kind of knew it was going to involve a proper Japanese building.  Then I got into the swankiest elevator I've been in my whole life (and also one of the biggest).  After taking off my shoes, I found myself at the bottom of 100 stairs, on each of which resided a kokeshi doll, and at intervals, led off into rooms.  And in the rooms...

Well, for starters, the rooms themselves were priceless works of art.  I would normally never say that covering every surface with decoration was tasteful, but somehow they pulled it off.  If I'd needed confirmation that I've actually arrived, that I'm in Japan, after all, this would be it.

Knowing now, after the fact, that they were representing festivals through Japan's crafts, the whole experience makes a lot more sense.  Walking through it, though, I found myself thinking that this wasn't an art exhibition in the truest sense - it was a series of installations.

My first experience with installations was at the Joslyn Art Museum - Babysis and I used to check out whatever they had displayed when I came home from college, and that trip it was Sandy Skoglund.  Walking up to the actual room she created for Revenge of the Goldfish actually made me laugh - it was that beautiful, and I felt like I was interacting with the art more fully than when you walk through a room full of paintings.

I got the same feeling walking through the Wa No Akari.  The paper cuts in the above picture were arranged in a room that had been carpeted in astroturf, creating the feeling that you were actually deep in a forest, surrounded by animals.  There were definite displays, but overall I felt immersed in the works of art, surrounded by them.

Nearing the top was a room that had ceramics in it.  I heard a flute playing, and realized it was the soundtrack to a video.  And then I realized that the video was an animation, made with images glazed in cobalt on porcelain, and I had to watch the thing several times.  It was actually that cool.  My favorite part, which you have to watch carefully to see, is that the flute player's facial expression changes.

The Wa No Akari is also meant to be an illumination.  This is another one of my favorite things about Japan - they light that shit up.  Last fall I got to see one of these at Kodai-Ji, the temple grounds lit up at night to show off the trees in all their glory (okay, so it wasn't that glorious yet...I felt like I was about a week too early).  They also do it for the sakura in spring, and in winter, too...but summer seems like it wouldn't be a great time, since it's light out so late.  This isn't a problem is you have a nice, dark room, though.  The festival lanterns were great, but the lit up leaves were actually my favorites.

The final room, at the very top, was full of windchimes, and I kind of thought my heart would stop.  I've been a sucker for windchimes ever since my childhood - my grandparents had one on the patio outside their house, and even now I can hear the sound of it, and feel the summer heat, and hear the cicadas singing in the trees.  These are a different kind of windchime, but their sound made me feel at home, especially when I returned to reality, stepping out of the hotel into the summer heat, to be greeted by the song of cicadas.

Art & Seoul

Living in Korea was a different time in my life.  Or at least, that's the best way to explain it that I can come up with at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, although it probably sounds pretty cliche.  I've been interested in art since I was very young, and up until that point it seems like I never passed up an opportunity to visit an art gallery.  In Korea, though, I was an expat for the first time, and an ESL teacher by trade. While it is true that my first solo excursion into Seoul was to see the Chagall exhibit at Seoul Museum of Art, and I often wandered into galleries when I was in Insadong, not to mention the fact that I loved getting off the metro at Gyeonbokgung for church because they often had displays of children's art, the fact remains that I didn't really art much in Korea.

That, of course, has changed.  Back when I went to Seoul for Tsagaan Sar I was looking for new things to do, and although I didn't actually do most of the things I came up with, I did visit Hyeri Art Village.  It is up by the DMZ in Paju, and the idea of an artists' community intrigued me, so after leaving Silloam Sauna bright and early on one of my last mornings there, I caught a bus heading north.

Did I mention not only the brightness but also the earliness of the morning?  I alighted at the Hyeri Village bus stop around 9:30 in the morning, possibly grumbling a little to myself because a Korean couple got off with me and were walking hand-in-hand all lovey-dovey down the street, and on an adventure such as this, I like to have the place to myself.  But as I walked on, away from the "crowd," past each closed cafe and gallery, I realized something.

It does you absolutely no bloody good to have the place to yourself if everything is closed.

I get a little fed up with tourists, it's true.  A month later, when Five and I were running around Osaka, I possibly lost my cool a couple of times because there were too damn many people, most of whom were not uber-polite natives.  I do understand (on some deep, shall-not-be-named level), that I'm one of those fat, stupid, loud tourists, and businesses exist to make money off us, but that doesn't change the fact that sometimes I just want to get away and be by myself.

If you ever have times like that, try Hyeri Art Village at 9:30 on a weekday morning.  Just make sure to pack a coke, or - better yet - a hot chocolate.

Anyways, from a shopping/cafe-sitting perspective, this jaunt was a bust.  However, it wasn't a total waste of time.  I wandered around the village for about an hour before I decided there were definitely more interesting things to get up to in Seoul, and got to see some interesting sculptures...this rhinoceros, for example, which made me think of the play I read in my AP Lit class as a senior in high school - I almost posted it to Drim's facebook page to ask for extra credit.

I'm honestly not much of a sculpture person and it took listening to Bill Lishman at the ACAMIS conference three years ago to help me appreciate the importance of public art.  Not that I'd explain the meaning of this one to you - I didn't really give it much thought because I was cold and caffeine-deprived - but, you know, I could talk to you about the use of the art elements and design principles, and the processes the artist might have used, and ask you some questions to help you construct your own meaning.  Because, hey!  Art teacher! ;-)  Although I won't, because I'm still caffeine-deprived, since I decided it was a good idea to drink my last coke at 10 last night and the shop's not open yet.

By far this was my choice for the most interesting work there.  When I was walking around and viewing it from a distance, it seemed to be just a bunch of mesh forms in a copse of trees.  When I got closer, though, I realized it was a colossal recumbent nude emerging from the earth.  (How's that for using some art jargon?)  There were holes in many of the pieces, allowing you to enter them - or at least, I'm pretty sure that was their purpose.  The thing about public art is, you're not going to be sitting there policing it, so if you don't want people interacting with it - climbing inside it, in this case - you can't put holes in it.

On the other end of the equation, though, is the fact that you may have a hard time getting people to interact with it in the way you want.  A few years back, when I attended the Summervision DC seminar, I took off my shoes and walked through a water feature in the courtyard of the National Portrait Gallery.  Then I looked up feeling childish and guilty, but the museum educator who was working with us that day encouraged me, saying that most visitors walk past it, ignoring the artist's invitation to play in favor of the sanctity of the art museum.

Working/Holiday

Since coming to Mongolia and moving back into a secondary art position, I've been constantly stepping up my game as an art teacher.  I've seen teachers do amazing things with elementary art, but (in spite of teaching elementary students for seven years) it is really not my cup of teach.  In the last four years (sometimes it's hard to believe I have been in Mongolia for four years!), not only have I worked harder IN the classroom, I've participated in professional development outside the classroom - actual, art related PD, by the way, not the typical sort of thing I've attended as part of life in a school that never really applies to me - and, as amazing as it is when you know how little effort I put into my general teacher ed courses at university, I LOVED IT.  So when this school year was in its early months, I asked my principal if I could have time off to go to the national art teacher convention sponsored by my professional association each year, this time in Chicago.

This is not my teaching blog (that's been on hiatus even longer than this one was), so I'm not going to tell you about the conference, other than to say, if you're an art teacher reading this, to try and go, if you ever have the chance.  It was awesome.  This IS, on the other hand, my travel blog, and seeing art is one of my raisons de voyage - it's kind of my thing (along with spirituality, culture, and one or two other things that I won't mention lest I scare off any new readers).  So I watched with interest, as people on the facebook Art Teachers group I subscribe to started posting about different works of art you could see during the conference.

Now, there is a LOT of art in Chicago.  One of the best art museums in the world is right there in the loop - the Art Institute.  Less than a block away is the very famous Cloud Gate (so famous that I didn't even realize it was there and go look at it, which is a shame, because my students keep asking about it...oops).  There are potholes filled in with mosaics and tons of other public art and art galleries and basically, a shit ton of art.  In fact, it's way too much to see if you're going to take your art conference seriously and do any shopping at all (which I for SURE was).  So I narrowed it down to 3 - the Art Institute, the Cultural Center, and the City Gallery.  I'm not going to tell you anything about the Art Institute, which I visited Tuesday after I dropped my stuff at the hostel (which was my first legit hostel stay, and if I trusted that they'd all be that great, I'd never stay in anything else).  It is big and amazing - there was a van Gogh exhibition that I got to see while I was at it - and although looking at its collection online is cheating and not the same thing as standing in front of its works of art in person, you can at least get an idea of what it was like without me attempting to wax poetic about it.  But the other two...they had some unique opportunities.

Wednesday after my preconference workshop for secondary teachers on the national standards and AP (which I'll be teaching next year), I moved to the Chinatown Hotel (actual name, which was weird since it smelled like corned beef and cabbage on St. Pat's), then took the L north of the river to the Water Tower.  I'm sure it is a historic piece of architecture, but I didn't read the plaque outside, because it was 6 by then and it closed at 6:30.  The City Gallery, inside, was hosting an exhibition about Cards Against Humanity, and yes, that was the reason it made my list.

Now, I don't know if you love Cards or not.  When I added my own post about this exhibit to the Art Teachers group, the first comment was that we should, "Boycott that racist, sexist game."  It is true that it is NOT politically correct - unless you can argue that by embracing all stereotypes and being prejudiced against every race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, etc, you are, in fact, supremely egalitarian.  I believe my Dark Lord and Master once made that argument, so that lends it some legitimacy.  That said, if you took it seriously, it could be incredibly offensive.  Fortunately, most people don't take it seriously.  However, it would be equally easy to dismiss an art exhibit about the game, since, if you've ever played it, you know that it has a very basic black-and-white design.  Surprisingly, though, it was a well-curated show - it had a lot of info about the typefaces and graphic design the makers used, and I took lots of photos to show my students the next time I talk to them about text as an element of art.

What really drew me in was the recent stir over their threat to cut up a Picasso print, Tete de Faune.  This year I've been trying to get my students reading more about art topics, and when I came across the story of their Eight Sensible Gifts, I knew this was one we'd read and discuss when we did printmaking.  Basically, for the past couple of years Cards Against Humanity has done a promotion where 150,000 people buy into it and they are given 8 Hanukkah gifts.  This year, one gift was the Picasso, which the participants had to choose to either donate to the Art Institute of Chicago or cut up into 150,000 equal-sized pieces.  After the votes were in, the decision was to donate it, but before that happens they displayed it as part of the show.

The following night was the big NAEA St. Pat's shindig, welcoming all.  I'd signed up for it, but figured I had enough time to hit the Cultural Center first - my last chance to do so without blowing off part of the workshop, and I wasn't going to do that.  But I did want to see Theo Jansen's Strandbeests, which have fascinated me ever since I first came across them scrolling through my facebook feed.

As he puts it, his creations are "new forms of life," the basic material being basic yellow tubes.  Using the power of the wind, they shamble along the beaches of the Netherlands (where I might have tried to find him, if I hadn't been able to see them in Chicago).  You actually can't understand how cool these things are, so I suggest going over to youtube and watching some of the videos.  Otherwise you won't get a proper idea of how plastic tubes and wind can make something that looks so organic (and possibly a little bit creepy, but you know what?  Who cares!)

The actual mechanisms he uses to make the Strandbeests are fairly simple.  Sails, joints, and wind stomachs are basically what it boils down to, and the exhibition was fantastic, with a few different hands-on displays that you could use to get a feel for the structures.  They also had daily demonstrations of actually walking the Strandbeests, but I was too late for that (so sad).  In fact, the simplicity of the structures makes it possible for other engineer/artists to create their own, something that Jansen encourages - he sells books and kits, and the exhibition included mini-beests by others.

This was actually my first time visiting Chicago since I was a kid.  The two times I went with Mrs. Andrew's Bright Ideas class, we visited the Shedd Aquarium and the Field Museum, both of which were absolutely incredible and left a lasting mark on my impressionable young mind.  Academically, I knew that Chicago was like that, but on an order of magnitude that you can't really understand unless you've been there for longer than 24 hours.  Besides the awesome conference and the fantastic art, this trip also showed me that I need to spend more time in Chicago.  At some point.  Probably not in the near future, though.