Yellow Roses

I remember when I first came to Japan how struck I was by traditional paintings and poetry. I was intrigued when I observed an art piece and saw more space than images; or when I read haiku with its sprinkling of words to convey profound and hidden meanings. I felt the sensitivity to be very fragile, so I was fearful of crushing it with my powerful, intense Western energies.

Over the years I have, in my haltering way, developed a deeper understanding of the Japanese mind. I now am accustomed to delicate, subdued colors and minimal, harmonious designs. There are bright colors here, too, of course. Kabuki is a famous example. But in today's modern life excessive and abundantly bright colors are found most glaringly in advertising and young people's fashion. They shock precisely because they are in vivid contrast to the subtlety that by tradition is innate and revered.

Because I love it so, I have tried to develop a similar ability to convey volumes in as few subtle images or words as possible. But I have found that my Western psyche and sensitivity are too much a fundamental fiber of my being. So all I can really muster is a more extensive appreciation for the "otherness" of the Japanese heart and mind and myself in relationship to them.

I acutely experience this each time I attend a monthly art therapy workshop. Usually I am the only non-Japanese there. And sure enough, cultural differences reveal themselves loudly and clearly every time.

Invariably the Japanese paintings are soothing, dreamy, and easy to look at. The colors are usually soft pinks, creamy beiges, tender greens, subdued violets, and whispering yellows. The designs swirl, cradle, rock, and hold. They reflect the Japanese training to establish harmony at all costs. And of course, the teacher is always filled with abundant praise.

My works, however, tend to be bold and powerful. The colors bark and scream. Lines race across the page and fly outward into the room .The designs are greedy and demanding. They hungrily devour every offering of space and are never satisfied.

During the evaluation session, no one knows how to respond to my frantic, dynamic pieces. In fact, they tend to shy away from them. That is until I step in and point out that these works reflect a very different cultural sensitivity. I offer the idea that they might provide an opportunity to better understand differing psychic structures. That usually opens a door for the teacher to say, "Well, at least yours express a lot of energy and feeling." Her comments help to relieve the awkward silence.

However, at other times I realize that maybe a bit of this culture has indeed penetrated my Western heart. One day as I was on my way to work, for example, I came upon a teeny older woman trying to trim her rose bush. Actually, the branches had bolted up so high that it was more like a tree. The little lady was having an impossible time reaching the top of this prickly monster. Seeing her dilemma, I stopped and offered to help. We had never laid eyes on one another before. In most incidents like that an older Japanese person would refuse the offer and shyly duck into the house. But this lady let me clip the top stems of her unruly roses and even bowed a smile.

Later that day as I was searching through the chaos in my overly large shoulder bag, I happened upon a flutter of soft yellow rose petals. Instinctively I stilled myself enough to sense their silent presence. And I was pleased that right there amid the upheavals of my Western mind was the almost unseen yet pervasive touch of gentle Japan.