Kyomai – Dance of Ages

Haiku by the 17th century samurai Mizuta Matsuhide

Established during the Edo Period (1603-1867) by Inoue Sato (1767-1854), Kyomai Inoue-Ryu has ever since been carried on by a succession of master women dancers. Combining the kanjis for 京(Kyo), which alludes to its place of origin – Kyoto’s Imperial Court – and 舞(mai), a restrained form of artistically choreographed dance, Kyomai refers to a dance genre performed exclusively by women. Each successive head of Kyomai Inoue-Ryu has been bestowed with the title Inoue Yachiyo. Though they all bear the clan name Inoue, they have not all been related by blood. Inoue Yachiyo V (1956-), the current incarnation and grand-daughter of Inoue Yachiyo IV (1905-2004), is the fourth successor in this multi-century-spanning dynasty of dance masters. She assumed stewardship of the Inoue School upon Yachiyo IV’s retirement in 2000, thus becoming the living repository of the school’s traditions and entrusted with ensuring its survival.

Despite the recent pandemic casting serious doubt on the survival of the Inoue School of Dance, Inoue Yachiyo V’s leadership was nothing short of exemplary, and thanks to her determination and fighting spirit it has pulled through unscathed. Perhaps a secret of the school’s endurance in these challenging times is Inoue Yachiyo V’s sense of mission, one she has pursued single-mindedly since taking up the reins, availing of her talents and unflagging energy to serve the art that has nourished her family tradition for centuries.

Fittingly, the Inoue School of Dance has selected the camellia flower as its insignia, for this plant is reputedly imbued with enough vitality to survive eight thousand years. Hence, upon graduation, those dancers who attain a professional level and become a natori (accredited teacher) in the Inoue style are presented with a fan decorated with a white camellia flower set against a red background. Hailed for their vigour, each of the four preceding Yachiyos could lay claim to being a nonagenarian, and for performing masterfully into the winters of their lives.

Inoue Yachiyo III (1838-1938) famously graced the stage well into her late nineties. (Photo link Yachiyo III). She was fond of spaghetti – quite a rarity in those days– and referred to beer as “medication”, even sipping it before giving instruction. An unfailing source of strength, her vital force and dynamic quasi sumo-like stage presence hugely contributed to ensuring Kyomai’s survival throughout the turbulent Pacific war years and beyond. Age, as far as these venerable practitioners are concerned, has never been treated as an impediment, but rather yet another facet of human existence equally suffused with beauty, joys, heartbreaks, not to speak of ample opportunities for creative expression. Anyone entertaining doubts about the verve of Japan’s legion of octogenarian and nonagenarian performers need only view Daniel Schmid’s poetic meditation in his 1995 docufiction The Written Face, featuring the legendary Jiutamai dancer Han Takehara and the exuberant Buto-ka, Ohno Kazuo, to appreciate just how these ageing figures remained so vibrant and continued to bloom.

Accolades

Down through the generations, the Inoue School of Kyomai has been intrinsically linked with other indigenous artforms, notably Noh and Kyogen, a traditional genre of comedy depicting the travails of everyday life. Both Yachiyo III and Yachiyo IV were married to masters of the Kanze school of Noh, while Yachiyo V’s husband is the Noh player Tetsunojou Kanze IX.

Such is the high regard with which they have been held in cultural circles that the Japanese government designated both Yachiyo V and her grandmother, Yachiyo IV as National Living Treasures in acknowledgement of their outstanding contributions to the nation’s cultural repository, thereby joining an eminent coterie of traditional performing artists officially recognized as guardians of important intangible cultural properties. As of 2023, some 1400 individuals have been awarded with this life-long title. Honorees receive a one-time stipend from the Japanese government in an attempt to help them focus on their art. By accolading these individual practitioners, the government aspires to preserve and transmit indigenous artforms to future generations; not only are they honoured as talented personalities per se but equally as repositories of cultural knowledge and a savoir-faire that might otherwise die out.

Restraint

Kyomai has constantly been embedded in Kyoto’s communal fabric and notably linked with the Gion quarter, the epicentre of the city’s bustling nightlife. Ever since the Edo period, Gion has been a colourful entertainment quarter where Kyotoites gather to partake of local delicacies and alcoholic beverages and enjoy being entertained by geiko, the term for geisha in the Kyoto dialect. Like the denizens of Japan’s erstwhile capital, Kyomai practitioners don’t gravitate toward explicit expression. Rather, they tend to quietly convey their feelings, at once embodying womanly tenacity and feminine tenderness. With simple, unpretentious movements, their dance is subtly suggestive. Fundamentally, it involves the dancer properly applying strength to her abdomen, thereby anchoring the body’s centre of gravity and enabling the upper part of her body to eloquently trace lines and sculpt the air. While a Kyomai dancer must harmoniously synchronise the movements of her arms, hands, feet and neck, the dance’s essence lies in her portraying her most profound thoughts and emotions with a minimum of means and without resorting to clichéd facial expressions or stereotypical gestures or poses.

Urban Myth

The enduring urban myth that Geisha are linked with the sex industry has been fuelled by the widespread use of the term “geesha girl” which came into vogue during the immediate post-war years as Allied sailors and military personnel first came into contact with Japanese life. Bandied about ever since, it morphed into a sweeping generalisation about female workers in Japan’s nightlife sector, ultimately becoming a byword for a prostitute or a cabaret hostess.

Written with the kanjis for art 芸 (gei) and person者,(sha) the compound term Geisha literally means a person endowed with artistic skills. As the term is currently understood and used in Japan, it denotes a highly skilled professional female entertainer trained in a broad spectrum of Japanese traditional arts, as well as the art of convivial repartee. Interestingly, some of the earliest known records of Geishas – from the early 17th century – refer to taiko-mochi (literally, drum bearers) who were actually men. Essentially, they were court jesters, musicians, and raconteurs who entertained the nobility. Some twenty-years later, the first female geisha appeared on the scene, and before the end of the century they were to dominate the profession. Whilst it is well beyond the scope of this article to navigate the intricate history of geishas and courtesans over the ensuing centuries, suffice to say that the notion that geisha are synonymous with bar hostesses is a misconception; her primary task is to delight her clients, or audience as the case may be, through her art and her wit.

Onerous Apprenticeship

By all accounts, the number of young Japanese women currently interested in becoming a geisha has been dwindling for some time. Notwithstanding their tremendous cultural significance, the future of this highly respected profession remains an open question. Little wonder, for becoming a full-fledged geisha today involves long years of arduous training, following a strict disciplinary regime. Any young woman aspiring to become a geisha must initially undertake an apprenticeship which takes about five years to complete, during which time she will acquire all the necessary skills for the role, inter alia, song, dance, musical accompaniment, the art of conversation as well as the requisite hosting finesse expected in a social setting. The aspiring maiko [literally, a dancing child] must first apply to an okiya [lodging house/drinking establishment] run by a matriarchal figure referred to as an oka-san [mother] – often themselves retired geishas – who will take the fledgling under her wings, and tutor her in the wide range of skills required to entertain her future guests as well as in all the intricacies of proper etiquette. The maiko has to live in the okiya with which she is affiliated, and it is the oka-san who will handle all her apprentice’s engagements and cover any expenses pertaining to her accommodation and daily needs, as well as supplying her with kimonos and the various sartorial accoutrements. With the exception of a small monthly allowance, any earnings the maiko might make will go directly to the owner of the okiya. The maiko is unable to earn an income until such time as all her debts to the okiya have been cleared. The oka-san, for her part, will fund the maiko’s training in the traditional arts during her apprenticeship.

In the past, a geisha’s fee was calculated according to the time it took an incense stick to burn. They have kept up with the times, however, and now it is simply calculated by the hour. A geisha’s earnings are contingent upon her popularity and how frequently she works entertaining guests at the ochaya [tea-house] with which she is affiliated. On occasion, they also perform on stage for the general public or at Kyoto’s seasonal festivals. Once a geisha has established herself, she may decide to move out of the okiya and live on her own. Geisha can and actually do perform well into their eighties or nineties, though there is an expectation that they continue to train regularly.

Kindling the Flame

The Yasaka Nyokoba Gakuen (Gion’s Girls Art School), the institute where Inoue Yachiyo V and her daughter Inoue Yasuko give instruction in Kyomai to the maiko, was founded in Kyoto’s Gion quarter during the Meiji era (1868-1912) for the purpose of educating girls. Over the intervening years, it has undergone several transformations, continuing uninterrupted until the present day. Not only does it school aspiring maiko but also enables geiko to further enhance their studies of the traditional arts. After refining their skills and navigating the demanding process of acquiring an array of performative skills, which draw from the deep pool of the Japanese scenic arts such as the Noh theatre and Japanese classical theatre, the maiko graduates and becomes a geiko. At present there are approximately eighty maiko in the Gion quarter. It is estimated that some 180 geiko are currently working as professional entertainers in Kyoto.

In addition to receiving mandatory instruction in Kyomai Inoue-Ryu at the Yasaka Nyokoba Gakuen, maiko are also introduced to various genres of traditional Japanese music including nagauta and jiuta. As well as various dance techniques used in Noh theatre, they also learn chado (tea ceremony) and ikebana (flower arrangement). Those with a flair for the visual arts can study traditional Japanese painting and shodo (calligraphy).

Conversations

The following features excerpts from a lengthy interview with Inoue Yachiyo V and her daughter Inoue Yasuko which took place one late afternoon in mid-February 2023 at the rehearsal space of the Katayama Noh and Kyomai Preservation Foundation in Kyoto’s Gion Kobu district. Arriving early, I took shelter until the appointed hour in the inner courtyard behind the wooden doorway tucked away on a quiet residential street in the city’s traditional geisha quarter, where I could relish the rumble of distant traffic and watch the impending nightfall creep over a patch of sky framed by low-set undulating rooftops.

It had been a long day, punctuated by multiple transfers and flashes of blurred landscapes viewed from inside an encapsulated bullet train carriage coming from Hiroshima.

Behind sliding doors, the flurried commotion that erupts in the aftermath of a rehearsal was to be heard, animated voices, footsteps dashing up and down wooden corridors, furniture being shuffled about.

At the agreed time, Inoue Yasuko emerged to welcome me and beckon me indoors. After removing my shoes at the genkan, the raised entryway to the wooden building, and placing them in the geta-bako (literally, the clog-box), she ushered me into a spacious tatami room adjoining a secluded rehearsal space whose cypress floorboards had been worn smooth thanks to decades of dancing footwork polishing their surface, leaving in their wake the timeworn patina of the grit, sweat and tears that accompanies rigorous training. As I gathered my bearings and started setting up the recording equipment on a short-legged table under the somewhat steely gaze of a gallery of black and white photographic portraits whose identities I was to learn over the course of the next ninety minutes, a fusama sliding door suddenly opened and in glided a kimono-clad sure-footed presence.

Smiling, Inoue Yachiyo V greeted me with a deep bow. Following a friendly exchange of pleasantries, both mother and daughter insisted that I sit myself in the rattan armchair they had expressly installed for my comfort. Doing so, however, would have placed me in the rather thorny position of sitting above my hosts’ eye-level. What ensued was a micro-cultural jousting match in matters of decorum. I ultimately persuaded them – under the face-saving pretext of needing to sit close to the microphone – that I should join them sitting around the low table on the tatami mat. They were seated in the seiza position – sitting with a correct posture: legs neatly folded, spine erect, both feet tidily tucked underneath the body. Either option risked a degree of torment, but, given the circumstances, pain was somehow more palatable than shame. Once an elderly lady had finished discreetly serving us tea, Inoue Yachiyo V launched forth with a disarming combination of charm and forthrightness, thus enabling the conversation to follow its own trajectory and for me to jettison the questions I had prepared in advance.

In Conversation with Inoue Yachiyo V and Inoue Yasuko.

Personally, I like holding a fan in my hand and manipulating it. It can communicate my emotions to the audience or depict a certain mood. It can signal that something is about to unfold or help generate a shift of atmosphere. More so than any other prop, I tend to prefer expressing myself with a fan.

Grandmothers and Mothers

How was your experience of being taught by your grandmother Yachiyo IV?

Yachiyo V: Initially, I started to practice dance just for fun. When my grandmother started giving me lessons between the ages of three and ten, she did so all while coddling me with a mixture of carrot and stick. But once I entered the upper grades at elementary school at around twelve, there was a marked shift in tone and she became really strict. And, I became terrified of her. She was some task-master when it came to concentration and discipline. She would get terribly angry whenever my mind started to wander during lessons. It was at that point that it struck home how the world of dance was going to be a tough one. Still, she was just as demanding with the other students as she was with me. And not only was she tough on everyone else, she was also strict with herself. Whenever I recall just how demanding she was on herself, I feel as though I’m wanting in this respect. Given I’m a woman, I need to be vigilant of my emotions. Even yesterday, my younger brother pointed out that I needed to be on my guard and not get so obsessed and allow my emotions get the better of me when practicing. In one sense, one can’t teach unless one acquires a certain degree of composure. While being passionate, I also need to carefully bear in mind that others are involved. I’m reflecting on how to mend my ways. (Yachiyo V laughs). Still, a measure of strictness is called for. Unlike the current trend in Japanese education to praise children in class, back then the educational system was so draconian. Nowadays, such an approach would almost be deemed as power harassment.

The Outlook

Somehow, Sundays are Sundays Everywhere

Longing to stretch my legs, I decided to step off the Yamanoto circular line at Tokyo’s bustling Shimbashi station and walk to the Kokuritsu Gekijo, the National Theatre of Japan some three kilometres distant as the crow flies. This Sunday afternoon stroll as far as that bastion of the traditional performing arts would take me through the sleepy govermental quarter, skirting the Imperial Palace safely set at a distance from the humdrum of the nation’s capital by a series of moats and guarded, curiously, at regular intervals by a wooden-pole-wielding policeman.

Notwithstanding the persistent drizzle, hordes of weekend joggers of all ages and strengths and three-membered families in quest of family-time thronged the footpaths flanking this historic moat. By the time the Supreme Court of Japan had come into sight, the streets were donning their vacant Sunday look, deserted save for the occasional taxi flashing past and silence-shredding crow caws. Abruptly, the fading bleak-grey afternoon cheered up immensely thanks to long rows of glowing red lanterns afloat in the dusky sky and the welcoming allure of colourful kimonos gathering at the entrance to the theatre complex.

After a three-year pandemic related hiatus, the 64th annual gala performance of the Nihon Buyo Kyokai (the Japanese Classical Dance Association) was finally back on the city’s cultural programme. Founded in 1955, the Nihon Buyo Kyokai currently includes approximately 3,700 dancers affiliated with 107 schools and 26 branches active throughout the length and breadth of Japan. Aptly titled in translation “Moments to Move the Heart”, the two-day omnibus performance series was to unleash a palpable sense of relief as old friends and acquaintances alike revelled in their long-anticipated reunion and the general festive atmosphere.

Home to the traditional performing arts since its inception in 1966, the sprawling theatre complex houses two halls, the larger one primarily hosting Kabuki and Nihon Buyo, performances, while the smaller one is devoted to staging Bunraku (puppet theatre), Gagaku (imperial court music) and an array of folk theatre performances. The afternoon’s marathon programme was showcasing seven presentations, ranging from repertoire classics to contemporary masterpieces, featuring a stellar cast of performers illustrating Nihon Buyo’s diverse appeal: from young vaudevillians to the masters from its various schools. With a pretty near full house, the viewing public was predominantly female, of a certain age and social stature, the majority attired in traditional kimono, some holding colourful furoshiki, a wrapping cloth containing presents or the customary bento lunch box for the half-hour intermission.

On being asked about her upcoming presentation for this annual gala performance, Inoue Yachiyo V described it as a simple jiuta-mai piece which she had premiered about ten years ago and hadn’t staged since. Typically, jiuta-mai refers to a form of refined dance presented in a confined space, sometimes even as small as on a single tatami mat, usually with sparse musical accompaniment and few if any props, aside from the indispensable mai-ogi (fan used for dance). Often performed at memorial ceremonies, Zangetsu – the particular piece of music Yachiyo V had chosen to use for her choreography– is in essence a lament composed by the reputedly blind musician Minezaki Koto who was active in the Osaka region at the end of the eighteenth century. It was conceived for a ceremony to be performed on the first anniversary of the death of one of his favourite pupils, a young woman from an aristocratic bloodline. Considered one of the most profoundly eloquent pieces in the entire Japanese classical repertoire, it was originally composed for a trio ensemble of musicians; with singular feeling it combines the strikingly contrasting timbres of the shakuhachi (end-blown bamboo flute), the koto, (thirteen-stringed zither) and the sangen – a shamisen used in accompanying a form of ballad known as nagauta. Set against the shukuhachi’s eerily beautiful tone, the lament’s plaintive lyrics, sung in turn by the string players, evoke the wistful atmosphere of the moon at dawn on the seashore, with fond memories of the deceased young girl surging wavelike as time runs its ineluctable course, triggering a feeling of unrestrainable longing and loneliness for the departed. Two tonally distinct string instruments, the koto with its crystal-clear harplike resonance and the sangen’s metallic clang, play off each other majestically, as though one’s piercing heartbreak was echoing the other’s bitter sorrow.

Despite initially feeling that Minezaki’s Zangetsu was perhaps better suited as a listening experience than for dancing, Yachiyo Inoue V set about choreographing this instrumental piece, shortening it somewhat so as to match her dance. In her youth, she had read the renowned author Tanizaki Junichro’s account of this lament and was herself immediately struck by its haunting beauty on first hearing it. Zangetsu had never before been performed using this configuration of dance accompanied by a trio of musicians. Injecting a profoundly reflective moment into an otherwise spectacular gala evening overflowing with lively and humorous dances, Inoue Yachiyo V gave a performance which underpinned her standing as a contemporary treasure trove.

Tanizaki Junichiro, In Praise of Shadows

A reverential silence spellbinds the audience as soon as the tapestried curtain depicting the quintessential Japanese seasonal symbols is pulled aside to reveal a vast emptiness, occupied by a trio of musicians seated on a dais stage left, while upstage right a solitary kimono-clad dancer draped in muted late-autumnal hues stands stock-still, barely discernible in the shadows. Against a backdrop of sliding partition doors, the stage is lit by a lone pair of candles flickering like two far-flung stars in the depths of the night sky, the unfolding space seems to stretch into infinity, containing only the detritus of our imaginations.

As with any beginning, this evening’s performance holds promise beyond the immediate, hinting as it were a complex living reality lurking beyond it. The less to be seen onstage, the greater its potential. And, indeed, Yachiyo V’s dance imperceptibly comes to life; before we know it, it is all around us, vibrantly bathed in moonlight. With each step forward, Yachiyo’s initial forlorn presence dissipates, steering us gradually away from a remote choreography of moody cloudscapes drawing itself across the vast empty stage toward a full-blooded presence surging right before our very eyes. Throughout this exquisite marriage of dance and song, so finely interpreted by Reibo Aoki on shakuhachi, Tomiyama Kiyohito on koto and Tomiyama Seikin on sangen, we listen as the night-river hums its inherited song, weaving mournful silences into its own melodic bridges, merging truth and innovation, past and present, timeless gestures and ancient song.

Yachiyo V’s movements make time disappear; it stands still as her dance reverberates through a succession of female bodies over years, over decades, over centuries, living that human yearning to articulate a want and a love. The haunting shakuhachi, the crystalline koto and the clanging sangen miraculously add layer upon layer of contrasting tempi, the singers’ resonant voices rippling across the stage and beyond.

As a performer, Yachiyo V’s body can hold so much beyond the visible. Some alchemy transforms this intimate moment public, turning stillness into expression. Yachiyo V’s utter concentration unites her with her deepest self – a metaphysical reality identical for all things. Rather than aggressively seeking to communicate meaning, she exudes a spirit of sovereignty inducing those watching to participate imaginatively in their quest for sense, solace and pleasure. With an absolute minimum of facial expression, her movements’ slow pace enable us to acquire that necessary aesthetic distance from those personal and social aspects of our lives, thus allowing us to partake in her depiction of life, love, and loss.

Here, a title is never merely a title; it refers to Zangetsu Shinnyo, the departed girl’s posthumous Buddhist name. From its opening phrase, “As the moon dips into the depths of the wide-open sea”, we are seduced, co-witnesses to that shiver-bright sky, subliminally etching grief, waxing and waning, moonlike. In what at times is an unforgettably transcendental experience, such grace and tenderness flows from Yachiyo V’s body as she gradually transforms from a forlorn shadow fed on embers to a powerful, breathing being, aglow.
As with songs, dances are embedded in their time and place; they can’t renounce their spiritus loci, their creative origins. Still, with luck, they may well transcend them. And, so it is with Yachiyo V’s rendition of this lament, whose performance spirits us away from the plush comfort of our theatre seats to the very depths of our hearts and further afield into the heartlands of memory. Embodying a degree of integrity which allows her to profoundly portray the quest for psychic wholeness, her performance style represents that ultimate stage of freedom and mastery, whereby technique has become second nature, and a lived experience of life we can all tap into seems to brims over. Underpinned by an uncanny level of assuredness, Yachiyo V is possessed of an ability to give seemingly spontaneous yet utterly authentic expression to old matters in a distinctly fresh way.

Coda

Haiku by 17th-century samurai Mizuta Matsuhide

Stepping back out into that mizzled Sunday night, the ricochet of feeling that swoops from the performer’s body into the audience is still palpable. Overcome with gratitude for that warm pulsing heart and those throats so filled with song, I make my way to the nearest train station, thankful for the phoenix-like atmosphere they can generate, where timelessness reigns, interlinking those who have passed through before us, those breathing at our side, and those yet unborn.

Such a performance by Inoue Yachiyo V affords us the opportunity to viscerally understand life’s immutable truths. Some magic has taken place that leaves us all transformed, making us feel all the more alive. And while utterly futile to lament the detrimental changes our world endures, there’s no harm, however, in grasping the true scale of our impending loss or in keenly feeling it. No, no harm whatsoever.

Acknowledgements:

We at tanz would like to extend our bottomless gratitude to Inoue Yachiyo V and her daughter Inoue Yasuko for their generosity in allowing us to use some of their family heirloom photos, and for having given so generously of their time. We would also like to thank the Katayama Noh and Kyomai Preservation Foundation in Kyoto for their co-operation.

Special thanks to Jogo Ichiro of the Nihon Buyo Kyokai who kindly allowed us the use of a photograph of Inoue Yachiyo V performing Zangetsu.
More photos from the Nihon Buyo Kyokai photo gallery can be viewed by clicking on the following link.

https://nihonbuyou.or.jp/photogalleries?lang=en

Thanks are also due to Tsuchiya Shizuko for her help in transcribing the interview with Inoue Yachiyo V and Inoue Yasuko, to Itoh Masaki and Murai Keitetsu for their assistance with research, and to Nakajima Nanako for having introduced us to the world of Kyomai. And a special thanks to Hanasaki Tokijyo for her enlightening insights into Jiutamai during an interview with her at her student’s Hanasaki Jiutamai rehearsal space in Hiroshima.

And a word of thanks to the staff at the Japan Foundation Library in Tokyo, who despite the Covid restrictions, were immensely helpful in my research, and also the staff at the audio-visual archives of the Kokuritsu Gekijyo who allowed me access to the archives to view footage of Yachiyo III and Yachiyo IV.

About the author:

John Barrett lived in Japan in the 1980s, served as an interpreter at the bi-weekly workshops of Butoh dancer Kazuo Ohno, and translated some of the earliest available texts on Butoh into English, such as Shades of Darkness (Shufunomoto, 1988). In 2004, Wesleyan University Press published his groundbreaking English translation of Kazuo Ohno’s World: From Within and Without, which introduced Ohno’s philosophical reflections to a worldwide audience. He later collaborated with Mina and Toshio Mizohata at the Ohno Dance Studio on English translations of Ohno’s archival materials. Based in Ireland, he continues to work as a freelance translator and interpreter, notably in the museal and audio-visual spheres.