Dear Yuko Nishikawa Sensei,
I had the pleasure of attending two of your performances last year. The first was Manzai, a Jiuta piece performed at “Yuu no Kai”, held at OHASHI CHARYO, a venue that stands quietly as if left behind amid skyscrapers. The second was “Yuko no Kai” at the National Noh Theatre, where I saw both Renjishi and Kagehime—the latter a collaboration between cello and Joruri.
While the pieces varied in content, what left a lasting impression was the contrast in performance environments—from the intimate setting of a tatami room with around thirty people to the grandeur of a Noh theatre with several hundred seats. I viewed each stage with that contrast in mind.
With the future of the National Theatre’s reconstruction still uncertain, and the Nihonbashi Theatre also undergoing renovations, the coming years are likely to present continuing challenges for those involved in the world of Nihon Buyo.The National Theatre has offered two halls seating approximately 1,600 and just under 600, while the Nihonbashi Theatre accommodates over 400.
What kind of space is best suited to Nihon Buyo? There is no single answer. Many classical works of Nihon Buyo were born in the Edo period and performed in modest playhouses such as the Nakamura-za, whose stage width measured just under 11 meters—comparable to the present-day Nihonbashi Theatre. Recitals by amateur performers and traditional dances by geisha have long been—and still are—performed in even smaller spaces. Over time, Nihon Buyo has evolved to fill larger venues such as the Kabuki-za and the National Theatre, with stage widths exceeding 20 meters and seating for well over a thousand. Like any performing art, it has benefited from star performers and grand productions that captivate broad audiences.
However, after attending “Yuu no Kai,” I came to believe that for Nihon Buyo to endure into the future as a “performing art,” it may not suffice to rely solely on performances held in large, well-equipped theatres. Equally—if not more—important are performances in smaller, more intimate venues, where the connection between performer and audience is close and direct. It is precisely through performances in such settings—where each movement, every shift of the eyes, and even the patterns on a costume are clearly visible—that Nihon Buyo can assert itself as a legitimate “performing art” alongside other genres of dance and theatre.
I believe that the questions of where such spaces can be found today, and how performances of that scale can be sustained, are challenges not only for the dancers themselves, but also for those around them and for the audiences.
Takayuki Hioki
（Theatre Researcher）
Dear Mr. Takayuki Hioki,
Thank you very much for your letter. I am also sincerely grateful for the many occasions on which you have attended my performances.
As you rightly pointed out, the closure of key theatres—places that, by their very presence, declared themselves to be spaces for dance—has imposed a considerable constraint. This challenge is especially acute during the peak performance seasons of spring and autumn, when securing an appropriate venue becomes a constant struggle. While I would like to echo the familiar phrase from business and sports—“turning a crisis into an opportunity”—in truth, I find myself still fumbling in the dark. I can only hope that this ongoing process of grappling with uncertainty will help to loosen what has grown rigid within my own practice.
Looking back, I have had opportunities to step outside of familiar performance environments. About thirty years ago, I performed an untitled street piece in San Francisco. Surrounded by curious onlookers, I nonetheless received warm applause at the end. I felt, in that moment, that the minimal elements of Nihon Buyo—the kimono, tabi, and fan—had fully fulfilled their role.
At the garden of the Tokyo Metropolitan Teien Art Museum, a sudden change in weather brought flashes of lightning, which became, quite unexpectedly, the perfect stage lighting. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience—not only for me but surely for the audience as well.
Performing in the marble hall of Vienna’s City Hall, accompanied by cellist Mr. Kentaro Yoshii, was a major challenge. The towering ceilings and acoustics clearly designed for Western instruments made the venue feel overwhelming in scale for a lone dancer in Japanese attire. I tried to respond with expansive movements that would fill the space with resonance while still conveying the quiet beauty of Nihon Buyo. The hard reverberation of the marble reminded me once again that our theatres and stages have long been rooted in spaces gently embraced by wood.
More recently, I performed at a Buddhist temple, using the theme of Dōjō-ji, in front of a Buddhist statue—an image representing a presence that transcends time and space. Had it been staged in a theatre, the scene would likely have featured painted backdrops and other large-scale props, evoking the atmosphere—at once familiar and extraordinary—that is characteristic of theatres of that sort. Yet when placed in a real setting, I found myself consciously striving not to be overwhelmed by the gravity of the space. I imagine the audience needed to shift their perspective as well. It was, once again, a valuable experience.
As these memories came to mind, I found myself jotting them down one after another. Each of these performances may have been unusual in style, but similar experiments have long been part of our tradition. Perhaps it isn’t too far-fetched to say that the move toward larger venues began with choreographers and dancers who, back when intimate tatami rooms were the norm, envisioned turning Nihon Buyo into a kind of pageant that would draw in audiences. In any case, the effort to provide engaging performance spaces must continue.
Your comment about the importance of performing in settings where the performer can be seen in every detail felt to me like a quiet affirmation that Nihon Buyo can truly stand its ground in such spaces. I found it deeply encouraging. I am more determined than ever to continue thoughtfully developing performances in smaller venues, to grow a dedicated audience, and to offer opportunities for sustained and meaningful engagement with Nihon Buyo.
February 2025
Yuko Nishikawa