Evening Glory

This is the second year for us to grow evening glory as part of the green shade for the house in summer. The seeds were collected from last year's glory. They made a beautiful start in April but have been since coping with the strange weather this year.

It survived two strong typhoons and my week-long absence in August and waited long enough to bloom finally on comfortable autumnal nights. 

The blossoms are gorgeous as ever, but I wonder if anyone in the neighbourhood has ever noticed their quiet presence. In contrast with morning glory which blooms at the first beam of sunlight, these white flowers are certainly shy of daylight and attention. Probably this reticence makes them a real philosopher in the world of flowers, a word that denotes a show-off of efforts and demand on gaze. 

Perilla (or Shiso)

I did not learn to appreciate the taste of perilla, or shiso, until I came to Japan. In my childhood, my grandmother would add shiso to homemade pickled plums, I remember, and those wrinkled leaves having soaked up plum juice were merely amazing. However, it was probably more to do with my passion for the thick sugary liquid rather than the herb itself, and embarrassingly I had remained quite ignorant about its usage in cooking.  

In Japan, shiso can be tempura-ed (deep-fried), consumed raw with raw fish or rice balls. Fresh shiso is not cheap. 5 shiso leaves would cost roughly about 100 yen, 30 NTD, 79 pence, or 1 USD. 

Given my fascination with its fresh and minty taste, the herb was invited to live in my garden. This summer, we had a nice shrub of shiso, despite that almost half of the harvest was nibbled away by gourmet caterpillars. 

In addition to other experiments I did with the harvest, I also made shiso paste, which is simply a fine blend with extra virgin olive oil and some sea salt. Sometime, depending on what I found interesting in the herbs corner of the garden on the day, pepper mint or basil would be added to create different flavors.

It served well as an alternative to salad dressing: neutral taste, fresh fragrance and zero artificial additives. I also shallow fried it with squid and celery to make pasta. Shiso is a wonderful herbal companion to seafood, and it also manages to balance the intense veggie taste of celery.

On a very hot summer day in Tokyo, it was a good treat for lunch.

Movie: A Gental Rain Falls for Fukushima

Source of Image

Japanese Title: トテチータ・チキチータ

Director: Atsushi Kokatsu

Information about the movie in English at Asian Wiki.

I watched this film, A Gentle Rain Falls for Fukushima, on my outbound flight to Taiwan. 

Fukushima, a keyword to me these days, immediately caught my attention and triggered my curiosity. Before the play button was pressed, I knew well that it would be about the post-quake nuclear disaster as the production date suggested. There has been a lot going on to protest against the nuclear power plant issue, while no much progress has been made with regard to the problem. Apart from some documentaries that I had watched, it was the first time for me to see a dramatic reflection on the disaster. 

The flow of the narrative and the art of narration remind me much of Ishiguro's novels. Much is implied, or suppressed, in a rather undramatic and slow story; sometimes tensions are washed away with comic reliefs. 

I was struck by the association that the film builds between the post-disaster traumas of WWII and 311 earthquake, although coincidentally I have also made similar interpretations about other art works I saw last year (Art scope 1; Art scope 2). People who suffer from loss of families and in/voluntary displacement then and now are brought together in a different space and time through a semi-supernatural experience. The ghost story is gently confused into the story to initiate an improbable relationship between several main characters in their previous lives. The spiritual element in the film means not to scare or to teach, as most ghost stories might appear to, but to enable viewers to envision an impossible experience of human connections. It serves to give a broader view about human society as an integrated whole: everyone is related to one another to various degrees in different times and spaces. An anchoring idea to rely on in order to survive, and recover from, a disaster. 

When a gentle rain falls for Fukushima, are they the tears for the catastrophe? Or, could it be tear of consolation? Tears for a possibility that human bond remains to keep every lonely being company. 

Poppies and Sweet Peas: My English Nostalgia

I remember having a conversation with 2 young friends about nostalgia years ago. We wondered what we felt nostalgic about. 

All of us felt attached to our birthplaces to a certain extent, but interestingly it was somewhere else that we missed. 

I think, one would miss a place, or a period of time, in which he grows into himself or starts to understand himself, and this place or time is not necessarily associated with one's childhood. Honestly, for instance, I have always had an ambiguous feeling about myself during the years as a child and a teenager, and hardly can I say that it would be the time of my life to which I want to return. 

During the conversation, I told my friends that I really missed York where I did my final degree, spent 4 years living alone, tried to figure out how human relationship works, and met my husband. There, with the assistance of my family far away in Taiwan, I lived a life free from many obligations and responsibility. The memory is fully colored by the beauty of the country in many aspects; inevitably however, I have to admit, some bits of it are also heavily shaded. 

Corn poppy is one of the bright memories that I treasured about York. I remember seeing an ocean of them waving in the wind in an open field. It emblems the sacrifice of English veterans during WWII. Badges of poppy flowers are worn on days of commemoration. 

After a trip to London last March, I created a patch of corn poppies in my front yard to anchor my imagination. Since spring, they had grown amazingly fast and magnificent, and it did not take a couple of months' time for them to attain full bloom. 

Another plant I associated with York is sweet peas. My first encounter with this sweet-scented flowers was in my supervisor's backyard. It was on a midsummer's day, and all of us five to six supervisees sat in her garden discussing something serious in the rare and lovely English sunshine. The lovely summery afternoon was full of the sweet fragrance of the sweet peas in the garden, and ever since then I have fallen in love with this romantic aroma.

Before last winter, I sowed several sweet peas in the garden wondering what they would become. Except for some basic information from books, I did not know what they would look like and how they would smell in the end. They made very little progress in winter, but before I was aware, in the lovely printemps air they had climbed to the top of the supporting rack and started blooming. Their scent was rather scant and could barely be noticed unless within a very close proximity. However, the short-lived flowers looked like colorful butterflies clustering around in the garden.

I had wished that they would be able to adorn the garden for much a longer time, but unfortunately a typhoon, much earlier than it was expected, brought it down on a windy night.

Thyme: My Herbs Experiment

Thyme has had a constant presence in the garden and around the house since it was first planted a year ago. Its contribution to everyday life is not necessarily substantial but certainly non-negligible. I have used it in cooking and for tea. And this time, I wonder if they could make any good deodoriser.

I wouldn't say thyme smells good or sweet, but it has a particular scent that could wake up a dull brain. After this year's blossoms, a bounteous harvest of intertwined thyme twigs was well dried in the sun for a couple of days and then rolled into balls. Every balls were loosely secured by iron wires and embellished with recycled ribbons of sundry colours.

These herbal balls embodied a unique message of earthiness, straight from seeds and directly from the garden. It encompassed a year's time from its birth to death, a year's time in the house, and a year of wait. A true evidence of my own existence and labor.

I allotted them to some neglected corners in the house. As summer wind breezed through windows, a herbal fragrance of steadiness and gentility formed an integral aromatic part to my summer memory about home.

Tuna, Meals During Spring Break

Thyme tea

K is infected with a cold. Before he changes his mind to go to see a doctor, some herbal tea might help to reduce symptoms, I have decided.

Thyme has a medicinal effect on coughs and sore throat as I heard. Therefore, I picked some thyme in the garden and brewed it with black tea. Thyme is characterized with a strong and unique aroma itself, but it does not really change the taste of the tea. Herbal therapies of this sort are becoming more and more interesting to me, probably because I am getting more and more secluded in my life and becoming a witch, or because there is a very practical need to consume the herbal produce in the garden.

It is a romantic idea to me anyway though to make use of what is available in the garden in order to maintain a regular pace of life. Perhaps while I am growing taller and older, I also learn better the benefit of reaching down to harvest the wisdom of the earth.

Garden in April

Finally it is feeling like spring now, although the chill in the air still catches one off guard at times.  Tulips are in full bloom at the moment, and fortunately cloudy weather happens to extend their flowering period. 

One of the beautiful members in the garden is forget-me-not. The tiny flowers have a voluminous presence that one can never ignore. The beauty and color that they lent to the garden last year were so impressive that I could never forget about them. In fact, they are one of those that I have anticipated most this year. They did not demand any particular attention or cultivation but sprouted everywhere around the blossoms last year. Skirting along the cement edge of the garden, these small baby-blue flowers soften the barren landscape in early spring. The delight and joy that they produce are certainly beyond their weedy origin and their humble name.

Egg rolls

One of my recent favorites: Japanese egg rolls.

This is a variation of traditional egg rolls in Japanese cuisine: stuff boiled asparagus into chikuwa (竹輪 made of fish), and cook it as one does in traditional style.

Anti-Nuclear Demo on 11/March/2011

On March 11 2012, the first anniversary of the triple disasters - earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear power plant meltdown - last year in Japan, we joined a demonstration in Tokyo in support of anti-nuclear campaign. 

There were several events going on at the same time in commemoration of the earthquake in Hibiya park and across Japan. We marched on with other protestants, foreign and national alike, for a generally defined purpose of anti-nuclear policy in the country. Inevitably, in a big and crowded occasion like this, people came with a range of more specifically tuned sub-agendas. Some were more political than others, and some personal. It was impossible to agree with everyone on every single argument, but hopefully the general message for peace and a safe environment was carried through to the public. 

There were other protests at the same time around the world, for instance, Taiwan, my home country, where people demanded a referendum on the on-going construction of the fourth nuclear power plant. 

I have to admit that I do not know professionally about nuclear energy, but the close call after the quake last year has brought me to consider social injustice that the whole accident has caused. 

If it is too complicated to understand nuclear energy in scientific terms, is it not enough just to remember how we all feared for the lives of our beloved around the world last year? Yes, around the world, even though the accident itself was narrowly located inside Japan. The danger and risk that a mishap in a nuclear power plant can produce are still beyond human means of control and can simply spread across time and space to anyone. Even if it is claimed to be managed as the case in Japan, it is operated at the price of the lives of others, others whom we do not know, others who owe nothing to us, other who are economically disadvantaged and therefore are forced to disregard their own safety. 

Colm Toibin, The Empty Family

source

Colm Toibin

I started reading this book because of its title, The Empty Family, a topic in which an interest has been nourished and developed in me since my PhD days. And the title, as the combination of the words denotes, promises a heart-rending reading as I always like it, and so did it not fail my expectation. The short stories all develop around the theme of family, homecoming, home-leaving, home-abandoning, home-binding, home-seeking, etc., exploring every possible dimension of one's ambiguous feeling of attachment and detachment to the idea of and the place called 'home'. 

I remember I was on the verge of tears several times on the train when I was reading it through. 

It is the first time for me to read about same-sex love, too. I was ignorant about the fact that it is one of the featured themes in Toibin's stories, but the innocence has me  overwhelmed by the powerful emotion and unbearable afflictions contained in the author's masterful narratives. 

Regards to Professor Lee at the English Dept. of NCCU

I felt quite at loss about the death of Professor Lee Wen-Bing (李文彬老師), my first professor of English literature in the department of English at NCCU, Taiwan. The news came a couple of weeks ago, the first piece of information about him that I got decades after graduation. I was never close to him as a disciple, but I truly enjoyed the first contact with literature that he initiated. He was never showy in his class, never explicitly zealous; however, his approach has been fundamental to my appreciation of literature.

There will be a funeral service for him this Saturday. Unfortunately I will not be able to attend it, and I have also failed to send a message in time to express my condolences, just like that I was never quick enough to be in touch over these past years. Deeply regretful. Here is the short message that I intend to tell him.

Dear Professor Lee, 

I have always been grateful that you are my first literature teacher. Twice a week throughout my first year in the English department of NCCU, you guided me from fiction, through drama to poetry. You have paved the first step to the realm of literature so beautifully that the subject became an instant charm. You were always kind, wise, instructive and never intimidating to us literature fledgelings - the style of a true scholar which I always look up to and always try to emulate. 

Thank you and please rest in peace. 

Alternative Energy

There was a protest against nuclear power policy in Yoyogi, Tokyo, on February 11. It was one of the numerous demonstrations against nuclear power plants since the catastrophe in Fukushima last year. 

After the earthquake in March, I wrote about some solar energy gadgets that we acquired during a period of power outage in response to the crisis in Fukushima Daiichi. In that blog entry, I also mentioned our purchase of solar panels and a turn to solar energy. I haven't had time to write about it since, but it has been working effectively well. 

After the instalment in March 2011, the house has benefited from the solar panels tremendously. Except on rainy days, the house was always fully self-supplied in summer. 

It is the first winter that we have after the solar panels were introduced. I was a bit concerned in the beginning about possible high expense of electricity that we would face if the winter was too harsh. 

This winter has been cold, the coldest over the past few decades. We have been using heaters of different sorts so that at least we would be able to work at home. The number on electricity bills in winter has increased as expected; however, we still manage to sell a considerable amount of electricity to electricity company. The  margin between our purchase and sales still leaves us some tiny amount to pay for gas. 

Today is very sunny. The following picture is an animated image on the monitor for the solar system of the house. It shows, as the picture itself illustrates, that at noon when the picture was taken the panels were producing 2.2 kw, the house was consuming 0.3 kw, and that allowed the house to sell 1.9kw to be used in the neighbourhood. 

As daytime is shorter in winter, it is quite rare that the panels can produce enough to support the entire house everyday. However, take yesterday for example, it was sunny and the production of electricity started since the sunrise and ceased around 4 pm at sunset. We still managed to reach 76.1% of self-sufficiency. Of course, much of the consumption of electricity took place at night when there was no solar power to use.

The picture below explains the extent to which the house is self-sufficient over the past week from February 5. It rained from last Monday to Wednesday and was cloudy on Thursday. Despite all that, the solar panels still achieved to produce 52 % of the energy that we used. 

Undeniably, we have tried to be more economical and efficient in power consumption since the instalment of the panels. It is probably because every watt of power that the solar system produces is now considered and imagined in terms of its monetary value, and we do want to save as much as we want to sell. This simple formula of energy and monetary gain may sound materialistic; however, I am very surprised at the ways in which this practical equation has helped boost the awareness of energy saving in our house. We do try every means to save while the solar paddies are working hard. 

The solar company with which we made contract provides monthly check up on the system. According to the technician 2 months ago, we sill manage to sell more than other households in the same neighbourhood. 

Before the system, we did not know how much energy we had wasted. Given that alternative energies are still expensive, saving is the best way to produce. 

Letter Writing

Communication: Visualizing the Human Connection in the Age of Vermeer

Bunkamura, Shubuya, Tokyo 

23/12/2011 - 14/03/2012

K and I went to an exhibition on 'communication' in Bunkamura last month. Honestly, to an audience like me who is not particularly interested in genre painting, the exhibition is not extremely exciting as a whole. Additionally, the level of painters in this collection varies too much that one cannot avoid feeling frustrated at times. 

Yet, the theme of the exhibition -- communication -- really intrigues me. What engages me the most is the section on communication through writing. In the 17th-century Netherlands, letters, in addition to its communicative role in commerce and public affairs, became a popular form for private interaction. 

Receiving, writing, and sending letters, cards, and postcards have been my long-term addiction. Even though I have been a heavy user of the Internet, a hopeless addict even, what this electronic invention cannot replace for me in my life is a genuine interest in real letters. 

As K rightly points out, the theme of communication is too broadly defined to provide insight, and too general to create coherence within this collection. Here I focus solely on the section which highlights Vermeer's 3 artwork: 'Girl Reading a Letter', 'A Lady Writing' and 'A Lady Writing with Her Maid'.  

Undoubtedly, Vermeer's three paintings stand out in the exhibition. His approach and colours create an immediate resonance to the memory that I have about writing, posting off, awaiting, and reading letters.  It was my first time to see these three pieces of work in reality. One of them, 'Girl Reading a Letter' (the first below), is on public display for the first time in the world after its recent restoration. An enchanting colour of lapis lazuli is recovered on the canvas. The shade is powerfully embodied and mysterious, but it is also cold in tone. It asserts a sense of centrality that anchors not only the light flowing from the left, but also an ongoing communication and an unceasing exchange of emotions thereof between the sender and receiver through the letter. 

Johannes Vermeer, 

Girl Reading a Letter, (c. 1663-64)

The lady in the painting below shines in her yellow coat in the mood for writing. She suspends her task and looks into the direction of the beholder, perhaps the painter or the addressee of the letter. Although some critics suggest that she is the wife of the painter himself, I am not particularly interested in that biographical interpretation. Instead, if the letter in preparation is a message of love, the painting presents a powerful portrayal of a woman in love, no matter it is family love or romantic love. While penning down her affection, she illuminates the room with the emotion contained in her body and the expression of which on the paper. The natural light cleverly brightens the writing space in which a feather pen occupies the centre. How important the pen is here! It channels invisible thoughts and emotion unto the paper, transforming the invisible into the visible. The lady's gaze is tender and touching fully embodying every single trace of her loving thoughts. She is probably temporarily lost in writing, recalling a moment in the past, pondering over how to put it into words, imagining probable reactions of her reader. 

 Johannes Vermeer, 

A Lady Writing, (c. 1665)

The one below is the the third work by Vermeer in this exhibition. The presence of a maid renders the occasion semi-public. The lady who is in the middle of writing seems to be concentrating on her task. Compared with the other two paintings here, this one presents a better-lit space, the source of light is identified through the window, the writing table and the interior are clear to viewers. It is commonly argued that the painting about the Holy Family on the back wall suggests what is being written about in the letter. With the presence of the maid, a bright room like this, and the lady's focused attention to her work, it is very suggestive that she is probably reporting a family business to her husband away from home. Such a letter between family members is probably written with concision but not without affection. 

Johannes Vermeer, 

A Lady Writing a Letter with her Maid, (c. 1670) 

I remember a letter that I once read. During a visit to our previous landlady, at her eighties she was talking about her family history. Her grandfather was once a prime minister during WW II in Japan. A man of high position like him also wrote to his family. The landlady showed me a letter written in English from the grandfather to his son, her father. One of the details that I couldn't forget is in relation to an amount of money enclosed in the letter. As he, the grandfather, wrote, the money was meant for the use of building an addition to the existing house for some purposes. I was very touched by this small detail buried among other reports on his work and his parental advices to the son. His concern and answer to this domestic decision, though expressed in monetary terms, connected him to the family and made him intimately close as a father. 

**************

The two paintings below by different artists are also in display in the same section. 

 Jacob Ochtervelt, 

The Love Letter, (c. 1670)

Frans van Mieris the Elder, 

Woman Writing a Letter, (1680)

At the end of the visit to the show, I was also drawn to this trompe-l'oeil painting of a letter rack. I understand that this work probably does not show any creative talent of the artist. However, the way the rack is represented here seems to tell viewers that letter writing shouldn't be thought light of. Emotion is surely the main constituent to a good message, but a good letter cannot be completed without the assistance of professional stationary including envelop-sealing wax, letter opener, feather pen, ink, and stamp. The owner of this rack must be very serious about everything s/he writes and about how s/he writes it, and that seriousness matters much both to the writer and reader.  

Edwaert Collier, 

A Letter Rack, (1703)

Other Links

Essential Vermeer

Seaweed, Meals during Spring Vacation

A couple of weeks ago in an agricultural fair in Takashimaya department store in Shinjuku, we found a gem for Japanese cuisine - seaweed. I cannot quite recall whether I ever tried this type of seaweed before, but it definitely was never an ingredient on my shopping list for grocery. However, at the moment when the stall clerk opened a pack, I knew I would not want to miss it anymore. It has the most mesmerising aroma that I have ever encountered; the taste is amazingly distinct with its bitterness subdued. 

At that moment I had an illusion that I suddenly became a gourmet capable of tasting good food! 

We sprinkled it on meatballs made of of burdock roots and pork last night. It effectively reduced the greasy taste of pork . 

For lunch today, I mixed two kinds of seaweed: sushi seaweed (commonly available every where) and this green hairy seaweed, on top of finely chopped bluefin tuna. The dish was only simply seasoned with soy sauce and spicy sauce, but the virtue of such simplicity in turn helped to enhance the humble flavor of the seaweed: elementary and real.

Art Scope 2009 - 2011: Invisible Memories (II)

Exhibition in Hara Museum of Contemporary Art (原美術館), Tokyo

10/Sep -11/Dec/2011

This is the second half of my reflection on the exhibition on Invisible Memory.

Koizumi's second video in the exhibition is 'Portrait of a Young Samurai' (2009). The artist's metafictional approach continues to characterize this work: in the video the director coaches a young actor to enact a kamikaze fighter at the moment before he departs for a suicidal mission. After several takes, the young actor's mild-manneredness still falls short of the expectation of the director who insists on seeing a more powerful outburst of emotion and a more compelling expression of physical response. The video documents how the young actor matures in his role as a kamikaze samurai and manages to cry out his valediction speech with tears and mucus all over his face.

To foreigners, kamikaze samurai is probably one of the most distinguished forms of nationalism in Japanese history. They were thought to have braved the destiny of suicidal task, and the courage and the spirit that they demonstrated were more or less the extreme display of loyalty. 'Portrait of a Young Samurai', however, is concerned with the fear and emotion hidden beneath such a daring act.

Is this patriotic form of courage innate to every human beings? Or, is it a behaviour that one is taught to do? I think through the metaphor of 'coaching and acting', 'Portrait' deconstructs this image of bravery in order to explore this issue of patriotic love.

On one level, the young actor is 'coached' to perform that particular moment, but the emotion that the director envisions is not quite the love for a nation but an immense fear of a foreseen destiny -- death. In the valediction speech, the kamikaze samurai's fear overshadows and undermines every statement that seeks to justify his unbidden farewell. Here the patriotic love is discoloured in contrast with the samurai's overwhelming anxiety over abandoning his beloved family for a planned death.

One might be nurtured to love a country, but fear is human, natural and instinctual.

The director's metafictional approach by getting himself involved in the narrative and getting himself in the shot suggests a vantage point from which viewers are able to see how such passion and courage can be as simple, and as complicated, as acting. It is simple because such emotional reaction can be achieved through performance; it is complex because the ideals of such passion run against one's real wishes.

Patriotism can be performed when it is needed, when it is wanted, and when it is useful. Being patriotic is probably not so much an instinct as a shared cultural memory. The memory may root deep, but it has to be recalled repeatedly in order to keep it alive in all those who share the same culture.

*******************

Last December, I came across a German news program about technicians working in Fukushima nuclear power plant after its meltdown in 311 earthquake in 2011. The report uncovers the anger, fear, desolation, and discontent of those Fukushima fighters -- modern samurais in this context -- an aspect of their life that sharply contradicts their silence and determination that Japanese media used to portray.

German TV-channel ZDF talks with workers at Fukushima Dai-ichi 

(german, english subs) 

(For English subtitles, watch the video on 

Youtube and press cc button on the control bar.)

I was remembering 'Portrait' and comparing the artwork and the reality. I was thinking about how this forced love for one's country was mixed with fear and anxiety, how this notion of patriotism has driven us to tolerate injustice and blinded us to all wrongs, and how we will repeat same mistakes in the future in the name of patriotic love.