Sitting at the long covered tables in the heart of Japan House, I close my eyes. All 18 of us do. We are students in the Japan House class Ikebana: The Art of Japanese Flower Arrangement. Professor Kimiko Gunji is introducing our sixth ikebana arrangement, and this is our first step. My socked feet glide on the smooth hardwood floor as I sit in silence and think. What kokoro – emotion, essence, idea – do I want to convey?
Today, we are faced with creating a hanging ikebana arrangement. Over the course of the last six weeks, we have worked with square vases, dynamically shaped vases and miniatures, but now we have to create dimension on a flat plane. I open my eyes, ideas taking shape as I pull two sushi mats toward myself, tying them together with thin wires. The room rustles and crinkles as we each make the base for our structures. We may all have the same “canvas” in front of us, but by the end of our three hours together, our unique ideas will be decorating the walls around us.
As we pack into the kitchen where our materials for the day are laid out, I laugh with my classmates, a little overwhelmed at the scope of our challenge. Before us are not only plants but also pipe cleaners, burlap, rolls of flexible wooden strips, long wooden skewers, bamboo rods, metal netting, black mesh and staplers. Our next step is to build the supporting structure before we add the greenery. We closed our eyes to plan the idea first, the structure second and the plant materials come last but not least.
Just as we all grew comfortable with ceramic vases, now we have to build our own, which seems like it should come easily to a class with students from STEM backgrounds. Thinking hard, I grab some wooden strips, burlap and a stapler, and return to my seat.
Some of us are sitting, some standing, while others are walking around and searching for structural materials. My plan is to convey a sense of intimacy – think “round.” I start cutting circles and semicircles of burlap and tying them to my bamboo mats to support the core of my arrangement. The scissors fight me, the wires fight me. I look around and see my friends with furrowed brows or hair hanging over their faces as they focus intently on attaching netting or bamboo to their mats.
Slowly but surely, topography begins to form under our hands, and we turn to the folding screens behind us to hang our structures. The room is filled with an enterprising quiet, punctuated by Gunji-sensei advising others, contemplative murmurs and the occasional clatter of dropped materials.
As time runs short, I step back into the kitchen to gather plant materials. What plants am I going to use to convey a sense of intimacy? I know my classmates are using yellow to convey joy or curiosity, and vines to indicate connection or calm. In the end, I forage outdoors and find lengths of ivy. Perfect, I think, for creating a sense of shelter. Gunji-sensei helps me pare down the ivy until it forms a graceful arc. Then I add a deep, vibrant purple carnation to the center and step back to appreciate the full picture.
After only eight weeks, we have learned the basic tenets of ikebana, gained friends and enjoyed tea. As I look around, I know that I leave with the understanding that though my time as a student has come to an end, I will remain part of the Japan House family.
Original source can be found here.
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