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Art, urinals and junior high

I visited the new modern art museum (National Museum of Art) in Osaka this weekend. I went with 20 boys form my school. I had assumed that the teacher that leads the “field trip class” and who had invited me to come would come with us. I did not expect him to hand us a couple maps at the entrance to the school and yell “Have a good time” as he headed back in to the school. It was like going on an unexpected blind date and finding out you’ve been set-up with 20 13-year-old boys. I had a good time despite. Many of the boys were third years and therefore completely enraptured by me. My usual students are the second years. They know me well enough to know that I give out homework and don’t giggle or blush when they try out their newly acquired swear words. They are no longer impressed. The third years tried to talk my ears off the whole long way with questions about American music and what “type” of man I prefer. Somewhat amusing.

The museum itself was wonderful. I had so desperately wanted to come along as they inaugural exhibition was a collection by Marcel Duchamp. I had seen very few of his pieces outside art books in college. They even had his most famous - blurred “Nude descending a staircase.” They had a large portion of his “ready-made” works as well. This is fun stuff. For instance – he signed a urinal in rather ostentatious grand artist flair and call it “fountain.” Or, he’d write “In advance of a broken arm” on a shovel, then have it prominently displayed in a gallery. Many people hate his work because they think it was too easy, or it was just a joke. Yes, it is often a joke. That’s part of the reason it delights me so much. There is a higher meaning to many of his pieces – such as how he shifts the context of an ordinary item to give it a new meaning and relevancy – but to focus on the theory academics would be to loss the point completely. I like how he makes art accessible, into something even I can partake in. I have an overwhelming desire to write kooky little notes on every thing I see now. I won’t declare it art, but I do declare that it makes life more interesting and fun.

I lost my junior-high escorts and took my time wandering through the museum. They have a very good collection. The flyers informed me that a big Van Gogh exhibit is coming in May. I know I’ll be back for that. I managed to weave my way back through topside Osaka to the train station without the aid of my guides – this city is madness, finding my way back was no small task. I was starving and still had a couple train transfers ahead of me, so I stopped at a ramen stand to get some lunch. I was also dying of thirst, but was served tea so hot that there was no chance it would cool enough to drink before the 15min I was allotted to stand at the counter and slurp my noodles ran out. Satisfying nonetheless.

Today I have spent with Matt and Kiomye. We took the train to Kobe to get some Christmas shopping done at Tokyo Hands. Christmas shopping is a breeze this year as everyone just wants something “from Japan.” No problemo.

I got a response to my Kendo observations from my teaching partner. He was interested in seeing how I, someone from another culture, perceives his own culturally bound behaviors. He said that it is very difficult to recognize these things in yourself, and even then to verbalize your insights. I thought about that for a long minute.

It is also difficult for me to recognize my own culturally bound behaviors. There are so many aspects of my personality that I imagined to be uniquely mine, until I came here and I realized by comparison that much of my personality is shaped by being an American. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that yet. When I wrote that first quick draft about watching the transformation in the boys during Kendo, I made many comments about what I consider to be “common Japanese behavior.” Yet, another major learning I have had in coming here is how wrong many of my pre-conceived notions are. This is one of the best things about moving abroad.


Kiomye is jumping from the bed to my chair. It’s hard to type. I should sign off for the night.

posted by Scribbler @ Sunday, November 28, 2004