Tokyo Reverie

A travel memoir that defies and blurs boundaries of attempts to categorize the trajectory of an artistic pursuit in a foreign culture. Following a series of random, serendipitous events, the author studies Sogetsu Ikebana (a Japanese sculptural art with flowers) in Tokyo, only to discover that the kado (way of flowers) has much more to teach her than she expected. Told with insight, candour, the book contains moments of profundity, but is also laugh-out-loud-funny at times. And while she captures the energizing experience and ambience of Tokyo in vivid detail, she does not sugar-coat her struggles. Her voice remains refreshing, raw and real.

From Chapter7: The Logs, page 36 Bit by bit my confidence grows as does my discernment. From the start, my choices of materials, seasonal elements, colours and containers are harmonious and on point. My arrangements regularly draw comments for their elegance and beauty from other students and sometimes the Master Instructors. One of them mentions my very Japanese sensitivity is exceptional; nonetheless, I remain acutely mindful of the technical fundamentals I’ve missed. As I often don’t have a clear sense of what the target is, I don’t know how to fully assess how close or how far I am from the mark. Eventually, I’ll be told. That’s a certainty; however, I must learn how to gauge that for myself. One day, when my turn for evaluation arrives, Sensei, who is unaware of my self-grading system, turns to me before giving her feedback and asks: What do you think? That’s a first. Does that mean what I think matters? Of course, it does. As a teacher I know how a flawed point of view often stands in the way of a student’s success. Now I’m being asked to reveal mine. I tell her I can’t pinpoint why I feel as I do, but I am uncertain as to its success. Then I add: But I do know that some things about it—which I then articulate—are very good. I give it a B minus. At that, Sensei throws back her head and laughs. Then she reaches into the arrangement, nudges a bit of foliage covering the kenzan to a new position, clips a few bits from two branches and meets my gaze. Her eyes twinkle: There. Now it’s an A. And it is. These minor adjustments, so simple yet so difficult for the beginner to perceive, make it immediately obvious. The discernment which is at the heart of ikebana practice.