A Memory of Japan

From March 2nd to March 31, 2012, I volunteered for Peace Boat in Ishinomaki, Miyagi, Japan to help with the relief effort after the 3/11 earthquake and tsunami. One of Peace Boat's projects is in Funakoshi, a small seaside village in the Ogatsu peninsula, north of Ishinomaki.There, volunteers support and help the "Funakoshi ladies" make pendant necklaces and paint pictures on the Ogatsu stones while sitting on the third floor within a partially destroyed school building. These stones hold special meaning as they used to be part of roof tiles of houses that were washed away by the March 11th tsunami. This is a piece of writing from my dream book. It tells of my renewed love for art and painting as a result of the volunteer experiences I encountered in Funakoshi. Additionally, it offers a small window into understanding the human condition, in particular, the Japanese effort to rebuild their lives after the earthquake/tsunami natural disaster.

~~~~~ 

Frozen in Time

            Painted tiny pictures on tiny stones. Shells and hell's coral reefs. Ocean blue-green fishes. Fire red lizards. Sweet pink love birds. And playful moss-orange monkeys. I zoned out, concentrating on the colors, the tip of the paintbrush, the combination of red-orange-yellow-black-brown-green mix. The right combination to get the right feel. The right feel to paint that one tiny feature, that one small detail. Holding the brush at the very edge for full control. Swerving the tip to get the right shape, to get the right angle, to get the right line. Slightly turning the stone--left, right, round and around--to get the right effect. Most of the all, letting my eyes wander amongst the colors. Finally, letting my mind drift to whichever colors seem right together. I was no longer thinking; I was in trance. The time passed as though it was mere seconds. The old classical Japanese songs played from the radio in the background, sometimes accompanied by cheerful humming voices from the ladies in the small room. The room was warm. It had been raining in the early morning but now the sunlight shone brightly through the window walls.  Exhilarating yet oddly calming and I couldn't help but notice: a stranger amongst strangers yet we worked together as though we have known eachother for years. The room was of bright, translucent orange-yellow. It is the glow of the sun. The dim glow of nostalgia--a long lost memory, a long lost feeling. And I promised to myself, I'll never lose this feeling again.

           Just below the sun room were traces of man's fragility. この道はいつか来た道。Old record disks lay on the still wet floor of a broken classroom. The tables and chair turned lopsided, upside down. Shards of broken glasses shattered, scattered across the room. Computers had crashed down to the floor; their insides spilled out for all to see. The dirt from the sea remained etched into every crevice of every corner of the broken room. Power plugs hanged from the ceiling. The clock tells of the hour when the world ended--a scenery frozen in time. When entering the room, you wouldn't have guessed that it was in the same building as the warm sun room--the place where the ladies hum and sang to the old classic Japanese songs playing on the radio, the same place where they carved the stones and made the necklaces, where they painted small, colorful pictures of fishes and flowers and wrote messages of hope on tiny stones. 

           I walked through the empty cleaned-out hallways and eerily cold rooms; my boots splashing in tiny puddles of water scattered throughout the floor. Outside, I could hear the sound of waves in the distance. And through the broken glass windows, I could see the deep green ocean, the small white ships floating about, the wide bright, clear blue skies, and the surrounding lush moss-brown forests and mountains. The ocean breeze softly brushed against my cheeks. I closed my eyes and imagined that day. I could feel the building shiver in fear. I could hear the sound of water and of life--the roar of angry waves thrashing against the window and the rushing, running footsteps of existence. I could see the clock freeze in time as the world comes to a halt. An overwhelming, dull sense of sadness overcame me as I stood in the empty, broken room on the second floor of the broken building, staring at man's fragility. 

          Yet, what was most heart wrenching was the realization that within this destroyed space, this partly destroyed, abandoned building was a room where man has gathered the traces of what was left of his fragility and rebuilt it, sculpting it into a new life, a new way of living. That on top of what was destroyed, of what was abandoned is a hope, an effort to create something new out of what was lost. I can never forget that warm, tiny room with the soft-spoken Japanese ladies, the cheerful, lively old man, as well as the laughing voices and faces of the volunteers that had gathered together that day. It is a scenery that will forever be etched within my memory, like a timeless piece of painting, like the hanging clock on the wall, frozen in time.  

~~~~~

If you are curious, for more information about the Ogatsu stones and Peace Boat's volunteer activities, visit Peace Boat's page or the Funakoshi ladies' blog. The latter link is in Japanese, but you can always Google translate it. (Lol)
_________________

Funakoshi Art!!! :D

Some of my creations.

Random sketches related to Peace Boat from my memory book.