SACHIYO ITO’S MEMOIR: CHAPTER 9
This year renowned dancer, dance educator, and choreographer Sachiyo Ito has been serializing her memoir on JapanCulture•NYC with monthly installments, each chapter revealing a different aspect of her early life in Tokyo and career in New York City.
Ito offers of a profound exploration of the experience of dedicating herself to traditional Japanese dance at an early age, arriving in New York City during the tumultuous ‘70s, and making a successful career in the arts. Each chapter offers a glimpse into the complexities that shaped her journey. It is a literary examination of not only Ito Sensei’s life, but of how New York City’s culture evolved over the decades and what sacrifices one must make to achieve a thriving career in the arts.
The memoir is an invitation to delve into the layers of a creative life and career that has spanned more than 50 years. As a work in progress, it is also an invitation for you to offer your feedback. Your insights will contribute to the evolution of this extraordinary work.
To read all the chapters, please click here. For more information about Sachiyo Ito, please visit her website, dancejapan.com.
Rocky’s Kabuki to Montevideo
During my career, I was privileged to perform extensively beyond New York and the United States to other parts of the globe.
For the month of September, as we embrace autumn transitions to new opportunities, exciting times at school, and new friendships, I would like to share with you in Chapter 9 these treasured experiences and encounters that have touched my heart and strengthened my mission.
Kabuki in the American West
“Rocky’s Kabuki” was the eye-catching title of the article in the Billings Gazette announcing my performance at Rocky Mountain College in Montana in 1985. It illustrated how rarely Kabuki and Kabuki dances were seen in the West. Of course, even in New York City during the 1970s when I began performing, Kabuki and Kabuki dances were still a little-known theater and dance form.
My tour of the American West, covering the states of Montana, Idaho, and Arizona, was sponsored by The Institute for Studies in the Humanities in Ogden, Utah, and supported by the Asia Society and Japan-US Friendship Commission. The Director of the Institute, Dr. Carol Browning, accompanied me throughout the tour. The colleges I visited were Rocky Mountain College in Billings, College of Great Falls in Great Falls, Carroll College in Helena, the College of Idaho in Caldwell, Northwest Nazarene College in Nampa, and Grand Canyon College in Phoenix. In all of these places, the staff did their best to accommodate my requests to make the performance possible: things such as having an assistant in the dressing room and cleaning the stage. Even with their enthusiastic help, I wound up performing what I called the “Mop Dance” – the school auditoriums were so dirty that the hems of my kimono, as they trailed along the stage floor, became as soiled as a mop! I remember that at one of the colleges, a staff member was cleaning the floor with an old mop while wearing his outside shoes. He beamed a huge smile at me as he cleaned and said, “You can see I’ve cleaned it nicely for you!” I could only smile in return and thank him while I wondered to myself if I could afford to have the Wisteria Maiden costume remade for me by the Shochiku Kabuki Costume Shop in Tokyo. It was very worrying, for Kabuki costumes are dreadfully expensive, and I thought that the hem would wind up ruined.
It is well known that the Japanese take their shoes off upon entering a house, as a sense of cleanliness is an important element in Japanese culture. It is less known that in the traditional theater, the stage is considered to be sacred; for our dance, music, and drama began as offerings to divinity, and so the stage must be especially clean, pure, and pristine. Experiencing the cavalier way Americans treat their stages was something of a shock.
Before the tour, I had thought my performances were meant only for the students and professors on campus, but it turned out that the entire community in the areas of these states was invited. It was so wonderful to exchange conversations with so many people from so many different walks of life! It was very nice to talk to those who had visited Japan and would love to go there again.
Although the art form was unfamiliar to them, I must say that those who attended my performances in the West, both students and from the community, were all very patient as they waited through the several costume changes during the performance. I hope that they at least found the narration about Japanese dance and culture in between each dance informative enough to make up for the waits!
Genius and Genesis in Kabuki Show
“To see Ito dance is to be transported across time and distance, and to become a witness to centuries of precision in drama and movement.”
— Peter Fox, Billings Gazette Regional Editor (Review at College of Great Falls), 1985
Introduction to Germans: Bonn International Tanz Workshop
“Sachiyo Ito proved herself to be a master of the Noh and Kabuki dance forms and the illusive beauty and poetry of these over-400-hundred-year-old art forms…Miss Ito garnered warm applause for this guided glimpse into Fairyland.”
In 1983 my travels took me to Germany to host a workshop for two weeks. The workshop, directed by Fred Traguth, was kicked off with a performance, which was the most challenging aspect of the entire trip, since I had not slept for over twenty-four hours as I flew to the city of Bonn. The two-week workshop turned out to be a great experience for me, though. One of the things that impressed me was the students’ attentiveness to details: They followed all instructions very carefully. They paid very close attention as I taught them how to fold kimono, and they all learned it perfectly after only one demonstration! The Germans I met were immaculate, precise, and orderly, but they loved to have fun, too. My new friends all loved wine, which surprised me, because most Japanese people think that beer is the German drink of choice.
Alaska and Touring with AllNations Dance Company
Sachiyo Ito told a story of Urashima in dance... For many it was the first opportunity to see Japanese dances and understood why less is more . . . Hiroshige print come to life!”
— Judith Boothby, Dance Magazine, April 1975
From 1973 through the mid-80s, I toured with AllNations Dance Company. AllNations was directed by Herman Rottenberg, a lifelong board member of the International House at Columbia University. Herman, or “HR” as we lovingly called him, and Chuck, our beloved stage manager, were the backbones of the company. Dancers, director, and stage manager worked together seamlessly, and we made a great team. There are so many memories that I cherish from my days touring with them.
I have already shared a couple of stories from the AllNations tours, but there are many others. In Alaska, we performed in Anchorage, the state’s most populous city. We also performed in small towns such as Kodiak and Sitka, where we were treated to a special dinner of moose burgers! The fact that the burgers were made of moose meat was not the only thing we found surprising – the sheer amount of them was amazing. We were served a huge pile of burgers, nearly four feet high. It looked to me to be a Christmas tree made out of burgers! Our hosts thought that dancers were big eaters, since dance is so physically challenging, and we received the meal with deep gratitude.
The AllNations tour was not the only time I visited Alaska. I had given a solo performance at the University of Alaska at Anchorage, and a board member of the Anchorage School District invited me to give workshops in several schools as a resident artist for three weeks. I was given a small house during the residency, which was the smallest I have ever seen, but it came equipped with a garage. Everyone in Alaska told me to come during the summer, when the weather was so nice, but the way the timing worked out, the residency took place in January, in the depths of winter. I had never experienced before such cold temperatures and such dark days. While I was there, the temperature got as low as minus 30 degrees Fahrenheit. Every morning at 8:00 a.m. I was picked up to go to school, and I arrived home by 4:00 p.m. It was dark when I left the house, and it was dark when I returned. It was easy for me to understand the high rate of depression in the state, but seeing the bright smiles of my students every morning brought back the feeling of sunshine and made me very happy! I was impressed by how well Alaskans handled the cold and the dark, but I was also impressed by how well they handled the snow. Making a trip to the grocery store was an almost unimaginable experience. There was so much snow, and I had to shovel it all to keep the garage and driveway clear. It was the first time I had had to shovel snow in my life – you see, I am a city girl from Tokyo. Not knowing how to shovel snow, I wound up with my first-ever backache. Upon my return to New York, I had to see a chiropractor and spent everything I earned on medical treatment.
While touring with AllNations, I never had to shovel snow, and for that I was very thankful! However, that didn’t mean that there were not any problems. In one chaotic incident, some of our luggage was lost as we flew between cities. Unfortunately, this luggage contained the costumes for our performances. Thinking fast, we changed the program and improvised a few things to ensure that the performance would be on time and smooth. With only a few minutes to go before the curtain rose, we were feeling proud of ourselves for our grace and composure under pressure. Suddenly, the luggage arrived, and we switched back to our original performance plan! Even though the performance was saved by the timely arrival of our costumes, we learned a valuable lesson about adapting quickly to unexpected circumstances.
Speaking of unexpected circumstances: One year, our tour stopped in Maine in the middle of spring. It was late enough in the year that our hotel didn’t have heat. This wasn’t a problem except that during our visit, it became unusually cold. When we went to sleep at night, we had to put our costumes over ourselves to keep warm. Costumes to the rescue once more.
After Alaska, the cold couldn’t dampen my spirits, but being spotted by an immigration officer in Portland did. I was buying stamps at the local post office when the officer started to question me. He escorted me back to our hotel to check my ID and the performance permit, which was held by our stage manager. Everything was fine, but it was quite scary to be questioned by a government official. In the end, though, our trip to Maine was a very positive one. The incident with the immigration officer can never spoil my memories of Maine’s incredible natural beauty, especially one of a lovely rainbow over the rocks and waves at Bar Harbor.
In Urashima, the dance mentioned in the review above, you need to toss and catch fans; it’s a very tricky move. There is a film of the Kabuki dance Momiji-gari (Maple Leaf Hunting), performed by Ichikawa Danjuro the 9th, the legendary Kabuki actor. During the filming he dropped the fans but didn’t want to reshoot the footage. He expressed that the successful tossing and catching of the fans is not as critical to a performance as one might think, since there is much more to the art of dance than performing a successful maneuver. In all my performances of Urashima, I had never dropped the fans. Not in Maine, not at Japan Society, and not during my Salon Series performances – until this past January, when I missed catching them during my performance at the annual New Year’s Dance Party which I host for my students. Although we know that showing off is not good, we still want to succeed in our endeavors, particularly as we are not the great Danjuro.
We were so young and fearless back in those days. I am grateful for the time we shared together.
South American Tour
In 2006, I visited four countries in South America on a tour sponsored by the Japan Foundation of Japanese Foreign Ministry. This once-in-a-lifetime experience took me to Chile, Argentina, Paraguay, and Uruguay. On this tour I was accompanied by my two best students, Jamie and Minako, and our performance program was a unique mix of Japanese dance and Okinawan court dance.
We had been warned about the tight security measures we could expect before we departed the United States, and we experienced them as soon as we disembarked the airplane in Chile. It took more than an hour for us to get through customs as they carefully checked our luggage. Border security agents opened each bag of costumes and props. I was incredibly nervous, not because we were carrying anything that would land us in trouble, but because each piece had been meticulously packed to avoid damage – many of the stage props were very fragile.
Our first performance was at the University of Chile, and there I was impressed by the staff sent by the Japanese Embassy to help us, as they were so considerate, taking their shoes off to clean the stage just as if we were in Japan. More specifically, the embassy staff, my dancers, and I worked together to do Zokingake (a way of cleaning the floor with a wet cloth while on your knees). Later, we gave a performance at the Ambassador’s residence, which was a perfect setting for Japanese classical dance, including the lovely gold screens.
We did not have the time to do any actual sightseeing, but in between the three performances we gave, we were able to walk around the city of Santiago a little bit. The sky and the mountains were so beautiful and striking, with streets dotted with sculptures. I would love to revisit and see more of the lovely city someday.
After Chile, the next stop on our tour was Argentina. While Brazil has the largest number of Okinawan immigrants in South American, Argentina is home to the second largest Okinawan population on the continent. Although Okinawa lies far across the Pacific Ocean, I learned how strong the Okinawan identity is and how tight the unity of the community is, held together greatly by their traditional arts of music and dance.
In Buenos Aires, we performed at the Okinawa Kenjin-kai Kaikan, or the Okinawan Association Building. The size of the building was impressive: it was three stories tall and included a concert hall, lecture hall, classrooms for Okinawan Karate, and a restaurant. During our stay, we were treated to wonderful food, but the best dish of all – the best Okinawan dish I have had in my life – was at that very restaurant!
I gave my first lecture and demonstration over the course of almost three hours, as the interpreter translated my words from English to Spanish, and then translated back and forth during the Q&A portion. This was a huge challenge as I had had barely any sleep before the presentation due to flight changes and airport delays, but I was very pleased by the eagerness of the audience and the warm welcome they afforded me. The attendance at our performance the next day exceeded expectations, attracting not only Okinawan immigrants and those in second and third Okinawan immigrant generations, but those with other ethnic backgrounds as well. Afterward, we joined the audience at a lovely reception with an array of Okinawan food. I must add that the ladies of the Association were a tremendous help. Even though we did not ask them to, they came to our assistance with hairstyling and costume changes. Without them, the success of our performance would not have been possible.
We finally got to do a little bit of sightseeing in Argentina. A very big treat was to see a performance of tango in San Telmo, the neighborhood where tango was born.
Over the entire tour, we had only one upset. Jamie, one of my dancers, was initially not allowed to cross the border from Argentina into Paraguay, as she was required to present a visa to enter Paraguay. Minako and I were allowed, as holders of Japanese passports, to enter without a visa; Jaime, a holder of an American passport, was not. We had to leave without her while she waited for extra documentation which was quickly arranged by the Japanese consulate. She caught up to us the next day, and it was such a relief! I was glad she was safe and back with our group. The quick thinking on the part of the Japanese consulate had also allowed us to keep to original performance schedule, as she was able to arrive before performances started. I was also very happy to hear that she had spent a wonderful day sightseeing in Buenos Aires.
The TV studio in Asuncion, Paraguay, where I had an interview and showed a short dance, had set up for a coffee commercial shoot. I picked up a cup and posed with a smile; I hope it helped the Café commercial!
Paraguay was a delightful country. While there, we enjoyed meeting with students at the Nihongo Gakko (Japanese Language School). What a surprise it was to see so many youngsters studying Japanese!
Our performances here were held to suit the Paraguayan lifestyle, with the show starting late as 9:00 p.m. We would finish the performance close to 11:00 p.m., and after tidying up, we would get back to the hotel around 1:00 a.m. I found these late nights to be brutal. On our last night, after only one hour of sleep (but really, no sleep) we left for the airport; after the next flight, another long lecture and demonstration was waiting. All I could think of were the words uttered by my neighbor, a French mom: “You do what you got to do!”
The last meal of our tour was at the Ambassador’s residence in Uruguay. The resident cook was Thai and had studied Japanese cooking. The presentation was so beautiful and authentically Japanese – better than we had seen in Japanese restaurants – that Minako, who acted as a photo-recorder of our tour, took many pictures of the dishes. The Ambassador’s wife treated us with a special Japanese sweet, highly prized even in Japan itself: Toraya’s Yokan. For her to share such a rare delicacy with us, sent from halfway across the globe, showed her amazing kindness, and we enjoyed it with profound gratitude. Oh, it was so sweet and delicious!
Congreso Mundial
In 2009, I performed in Spain at an event sponsored by the International Dance Council of Spain/UNESCO, a conference of dance history and dance culture. I performed during an evening program with several other dancers from around the globe. It was wonderful to see dances from other ethnicities while I waited for my turn. It was there that I met the Russian gypsy dancer Julia Kulakova, who would later dance in three of my Salon Series programs as a guest artist. I never imagined such a chance meeting would lead to our delightful collaborations.
During the all-night dance performances, I found myself drawn to Flamenco dance. The most striking dance I saw was performed by a solo Spanish dancer. Her beautiful features were set off by the white pantalone she wore, and rather than the commonly used castanets, she used a cane to create the rhythm of her dance. It had a masculine quality to it, which fascinated me, as it was a stark contrast to Japanese classical dance. Her white shawl against the dark blue of the night sky was so picturesque and is vivid in my memory. To me, the color of the dance evoked by Flamenco is red. But in this case, white, with its neutral quality, evoked a controlled passion rather than the exuberance we usually see. The contrasting expressions of Japanese and Flamenco dance lingered in my mind for the rest of the night, together with that of the beautiful image of the moon against the clear sky.
In all of these places, I was blessed with the opportunity to introduce my art form, sharing its beauty all the while discovering new ways to look at the art through the lenses of different cultures.
At the Airport
While we waited in the Florida airport for our connecting flight to New York after the South American tour, the words Kawara Kojiki (Riverbank Beggar), which I wrote about in Chapter 1, came to my mind. Even though I was called a Kawara Kojiki in a derogatory way, I didn’t mind because it only meant a traveling artist, and I knew the history: It was the term used for the very founder of Kabuki, Okuni, and for the dancers who came after her. Also, the importance of the role of itinerant performers, who placed the cornerstones in the foundation of Japanese performing arts, was inarguable to me. I would be happy to be one of them.
Furthermore, great poets and monks, from Saigyo to Basho, and many more were lifelong travelers. They found not only the truth of life but a home in the natural places they visited on their travels. Traveling was the quest of life.
But it is sad and lonely not to have a home, to be a rootless traveler. The loneliness of the traveler inspired myriad poems and literature, and it seems almost to be a central theme in the Japanese poetry and essays and travelogues.
My friend Jun Maruyama was not a poet, but he sent lines almost like a poem on a postcard from Cape Tappi. He poignantly wrote:
“Cape Tappi is crying with wind,
I cannot keep standing straight.
Despite the harsh, howling wind,
beach flowers bloom here and there,
so naïvely.
The clouds are low, hanging over the Tsugaru Strait.
I am trying to keep collars of my leather jacket high up.”
This coast of Aomori, where you feel like the northernmost edge of the world and the bitter wind blowing on Cape Tappi, has often been used as a metaphor for loneliness.
I have made so many visits to perform at colleges, museums, festivals, and other cultural institutions over my life – almost a hundred in the past 52 years. The most touring I ever did was from the mid-1970s through the 1990s. Then, I used to say to myself, “I spend half of my life in packing and unpacking.” It made me feel as if I was a lifelong traveler, departing from and returning to New York, yet always unsure of whether New York was a permanent or temporary abode of mine.
After all, we are all travelers forever seeking home, peace, stability, and comfort. It seems to me that the cosmos provides us with everything we seek, just as it did for our predecessors, even if in unexpected ways. Our own individual universes surround us with the things that make our homes: dancing, teachers, students, audiences, people’s smiles, sunshine, flowers. I am blessed that my little universe has been able to expand through the encounters I have had in my travels through America, Europe, South America, Greece, China, Singapore, and so many other places.
Dance has been the language I have used to make so many new friends; Russian dancers, Flamenco dancers, the orphaned children with whom I danced in Kathmandu. Dancers who have taught me, and those I have taught. I am a part of them, and they are a part of me.
I can still picture the scene at the airport after the South American tour: We three dancers, while waiting for the plane to New York, sitting on the floor with our luggage around us, tired by the whirlwind of touring four countries. Quiet but content, looking at the empty space: We were happy Kawara Kojiki.
The posting of this chapter to JapanCulture-NYC.com was paid for by Sachiyo Ito and reprinted here with her permission. Susan Miyagi McCormac of JapanCultureNYC, LLC edited this chapter for grammatical purposes only and did not write or fact-check any information. For more information about Sachiyo Ito and Company, please visit dancejapan.com. ©Sachiyo Ito. All rights reserved.
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