Mr. Tanaka and the Statues - Part One
In the side gallery, a man was putting together pieces of driftwood. The organic, unusual shapes amidst a room full of square canvases and crisply framed photographs stood out. People began to gather around, wondering what the pieces would become, like watching a magic show. A few more upright pieces and a face emerged. Then arms, fingers. Somehow the way a blackened edge ran down the side of a slab gave the appearance of a harness. The figure became human, but larger, with holes for eyes that gazed off in the distance. The figure carried a gun, but also a sutra.
The man putting this together, sometimes dropping bits here and there when they didn't quite fit right, was short with fuzzy white hair around his head. I imagined a genius inside of him that knew where each piece of this mysterious driftwood puzzle went. I imagined him working in his yard on this, handling each piece of wood until it became familiar to him. I asked him, then, how he knew which pieces went where. He said, "Actually, I don't really know. I hope I'm doing it right."
Well there went that image.
(Later, he even asked me to film him taking it apart, so he might re-watch the video in reverse order so that he could put it back together again in the future.)
At the driftwood man's feet was a blue and yellow sign that read, "Save Ukraine." A stack of sutras, prayers, printed on blue and yellow paper was laid out. Some people picked them up to take home. The writing was in such beautiful calligraphy that I couldn't understand it at all. Even regular calligraphy is hard, I can only pick out a few basic words. But this was written with the finer tip of the brush, and each word blended seamlessly into the next one.
After the set-up day, I asked the man what this writing was. He said it's written in the original style of the original sutra as first translated in Japan, over a thousand years ago. Wow! I asked how he got a copy of that on the blue and yellow papers. He said, "I copied it myself by hand."
. . .
Just.
Overwhelming amazement.
"That is art," I said. I was more impressed with the handwriting than the driftwood sculpture.
"Do you do art for a living?" I asked him.
"Actually, I'm retired. But I do volunteer guided tours at a temple in Okazaki."
"I love temples!" I exclaimed.
"Then, do you know Unkei?"
It sounded familiar and I really wanted to do that thing I often do in Japan where I just say "yes" and assume as the conversation goes along, the topic will become more apparent. This habit comes from being a non-native speaker. Sometimes I'll say "no" just because a word doesn't come to mind in that particular moment and my companion will stop talking to me in fear of the language barrier becoming too awkward to get across. But choked back my habitual "yes" and said "no" this time.
"Well then, do you know Bonten?"
That one I do know. It's Brahma, the heavenly king of Buddhism.
He produced, then, a postcard sized ink brush sketch. "This is a picture I did of a statue of Bonten at my temple in Okazaki."
The sketch was amazing. Each brush stroke had been deliberately placed on the paper, representing each specific feature of the god. The delicate hand was clearly the same which had transcribed the ancient Japanese text on the yellow and blue sheets. I was in awe. I yearned to find more common ground between us. Artists, Buddhists, that wasn't enough. I thought I'd show him my own sketches of Jizo or Fudo, but they paled in comparison. As I oogled over the sketch, the little man brought out more of them and told me each god he'd drawn.
Then I remembered I had Buddhist bandaids in my bag! I bought them because I thought they were hilarious. I brought them out. "How about this god? What's his name? Do you have his picture?"
He told me the name, which I promptly forgot, and started talking to me about ancient Buddhist hierarchy. I was pleased that I knew enough from my spiritual travels to understand what he was talking about. He didn't seem so interested in bandaids, but I was glad he found me someone he could bestow knowledge on, despite our different cultures. Then some other people came over to see the sketches he as showing me. I got pushed to the back. More people crowded around to ask about the driftwood statue. The little man happily began explaining, handing out sutras, and showing people his sketches. I left him, pleased that other people could be inspired by his handiwork.
Day two of the art show I was busy meeting people, running out to have lunch, tea, and dinner with various old friends, and I watched out of the corner of my eye the little man getting more and more popular at the gallery. At some point, the prize winners were announced. Of course, he'd won a prize! He was so humble about it when it was mentioned by a Japanese person, but when a foreigner approached him to congratulate him, he would raise his arms up above his bowed head and say, "Yatta!"
A newly wedded friend from Nepal had brought her husband to Japan recently. He came into the gallery a bit disoriented. The language barrier was something he'd never encountered before. He was having trouble fitting in. I greeted him and he asked me, almost desperately, what music I liked in college and what video games I played as a kid. It's like he was looking for someone like himself. I had an idea. I took him up to the driftwood artist and asked him if he could write this man's name in Japanese.
The gentleman was all too happy to do so. Not only did he write his name, but he gave him a wood block print of Buddha. I asked him where the print was from. He said he'd carved the wood block himself. Wow.
His name is Mr. Tanaka. Sculptor, Painter, Calligrapher, Volunteer, there are so many titles I could give him. He seemed to know everything about the Buddhist pantheon. I asked him, "Are you sure you aren't a monk?" He said no. "Do you belong to some organization to promote peace? Or some anit-war group?" He said no, he just promotes peace and anti-war by just being himself. "You know a lot about temples and gods. I'm coming back here on Sunday. Could you recommend a temple nearby for me to see?"
He said, "You absolutely must visit the temple I am a guide at."
I took that as he wanted to be my guide.
And that's how I got his phone number and email.
By the time I got home it was almost midnight. I didn't want to seem desperate and write an email so soon. But I was thinking something. If I spent the night on the last day of the show, I'd have my day off on Monday to sightsee in town. Getting all the way there in back is pretty expensive, though. I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay in a hotel. Actually, I'm quite sick of staying at hotels because of all my business trips. The temple he wanted me to visit was in Okazaki City, though, quite a distance from the gallery. And not near any train station or anything. Maybe it wasn't worth going. Maybe I should wait for next year.
As I was on the last leg of my train journey home, I thumbed through the business cards I'd picked up over the last two days. One of them stuck out at me. "Yoshiko Nagayama - Photographer and Hotel Owner"
No way.
I remember her photograph in the art show. It's the sun rising over snowy rice fields with deep mountains in the background and a small town with a hotel and a little red train in the foreground.
I gave her a call. She was so happy that I remembered her photo, she said I could stay at her hotel for free.
I sent Mr. Tanaka and email. He said he'd drive me to the temple. He also sent a bunch of pictures of us at the gallery in an attachment.
Well, I had my weekend all planned out for me!
Stay tuned for part two.
Jennifer