Dear Yuko Nishikawa Sensei,
I find the subtle shifts of seasonal change more appealing than their peak times. The wind-swept clarity of the night sky, hinting gently at the onset of spring, makes my heart dance. It has been a year since I had the privilege of overseeing the video production for “Kiyo-hime Confidential.” I would like to take this moment to renew my gratitude for this inspiring journey and extend my thanks to all involved.
The memories of what I witnessed on stage blend seamlessly with the scenes I revisited countless times during editing. I still deeply feel the intense light that emerged from the dynamic interplay between you, Ms. Nishikawa, and Mr. Dai Matsuoka, transcending the boundaries of Nihon Buyo and Butoh. In the temple, with a mix of Eastern and Western music in the background, I vividly recall the moment when the light seemed to descend. As a videographer, where precision and objectivity are required, even during pre-production visits, it’s a bit embarrassing to admit that I felt I saw this light. However, to be honest, there remains a sensation deep within me, subtly stirring. This light has gradually become a warmth that infuses my body.
Switching subjects, in my pre-college art school days, my mentor introduced me to a video of the late Kazuo Ohno performing a dance beside a river in Hokkaido. It was my first exposure to physical art as a teenager. While I didn’t fully grasp my mentor’s explanations at the time, the image of a body floating in the interplay of light and shadows beside the river remains vivid in my memory. Exploring physical expression through archives offers unique insights. Each approach—whether witnessing firsthand, interpreting from documents, or sensing from footage—has its own advantages and disadvantages.
Traditionally, knowledge is passed from person to person and should also be physically experienced. Building on that idea, perhaps we could call this the physicality of knowledge. As you both stand on the foundations of tradition and look upwards and beyond, I believe I may have actually seen the flash of light.
“Is a live performance better than a recording?” A video, fundamentally a recording of light, lacks tangible substance and material presence despite our best efforts. Essentially, a video is data that resembles an illusion. Perhaps, like a child yearning for something out of reach, I strive to grasp the physical expression that is contained within it.
The relationship between the body and video still has much unexplored space. With that in mind, I hope for opportunities to venture further into this area as I close this letter.
Keisuke Sagiyama
Filmmaker/Lecturer at Teikyo Heisei University, Media Culture Course
Dear Mr. Keisuke Sagiyama,
Thank you for creating the high-quality streaming video of “Kiyo-hime Confidential” last year, which catered to those who could not attend in person. Thanks to your efforts, the stream received great reviews from viewers. I believe this success speaks volumes about how well you captured the director’s vision and the vibrant expressions of the performers and musicians.
On the day of the performance, it seems you were able to experience a mix of subjective and objective sensations as you “witnessed” and filmed the stage. It is human nature to react emotionally to occurrences. As you wrote in your letter, for a professional videographer, it is crucial to be aware of these emotions while striving to maintain accuracy and objectivity in their work. I was pleased to read that our expressive performance on that day reached and deeply resonated with you, a professional in the field.
Certainly, dancers grapple with issues of subjectivity and objectivity. In Zeami’s era, there were no means to visually record performances, leading this esteemed master to develop the concept of “seeing from a detached perspective,” known as “riken no ken.” Those of us living today are fortunate; as long as archives exist, we can objectively study the performances of our predecessors. And we can also reflect on our initial approaches and efforts, embodying Zeami’s principle of “never forget the beginner’s humility.”
Video, seen as mere data capturing light, may seem illusory and inorganic. Yet, once it awakens the sensibilities of the viewer, it becomes as alive as any flesh-and-blood performance. Of course, this depends on the videographer’s skill in setting the scene, shooting, and editing. Your letter suggests that this production process delicately bridges documentation and creation. As a performer, my role is to shape the performance before it reaches this stage.
“How do we build a performance with our fellow artists and effectively engage the audience?” I have passionately dedicated myself to live performances, which, due to the inherent vulnerabilities of the human body, are prone to malfunctions and mistakes, and depend on audiences coming to a specific location at a designated time.
After reading your letter, I started contemplating the essence of live performances. Across all cultures, the roots of performing arts are deeply intertwined with faith. It’s not about showcasing our talents or hard work but about elevating our spirit and body until our egos fade away, leading up to the day of the performance. This process might be akin to a kind of faith, driven by a love for what we do, which sustains our rehearsals and live shows. This is how it feels from the stage. But what does a live performance mean to our audience? Next time, I would like for you, Mr. Sagiyama, to experience a performance as an audience member and share your thoughts with me.
By the way, the cherry blossoms are indeed late this year, as you mentioned!
Yuko Nishikawa