Hey, I’m in Koganecho! Hey there, Koganecho! Hey?! Koganecho?!

Welcome to issue 01 of Hey, Koganecho!, series 02 of The Shrubbery, a topical time delimited series of newsletters, on the ground tales about living one's life like a work of art, published by yours truly Steve Frost.

I'm currently Yokohama, Japan, participating in the Koganecho Artist In Residence program, thus the title and topic for this series.

I arrived March 1st. Now, 28 days later, I’m thinking about orbits, specifically elliptical orbits that swoop really close to something, and then swing way out far away before swooping back and really close again. Like planets and moons, except I'm thinking about how I orbit around people, or places, or ideas, and how, even when an orbit is in the way-far-away phase, I remain in relationship with the thing I am orbiting around. In fact, being in relationship with the thing being orbited is the definition of an orbit, and the difference between being in orbit and just floating in space. In particular I'm thinking about my elliptical orbits around different notions of home—home as a city, home as a building, or home as an interior sense of oneself—and my ongoing relationship to these different versions of home, as I am close to some, and far away from others.

Orbit One: home as a city: far from the familiar

If my three month artist residency is an orbit, getting all the way to the outer edge of this orbit 7575.1km from home, thanks to the miracle of modern flight, only took 10 hours. Now that I've arrived, I imagine myself rapidly decelerating, slowing way down so as to spend 3 whole months curving around the outer edge before eventually having to swoop back toward home.

I won’t say too much about the exceptionally far and impossibly brief trip to the outer edge, except to say, what a world we live in! It’s been 3 years since I travelled internationally. With rested eyes, I saw it for the near miracle it was. Seriously, it’s amazing. Airports, airplanes, de-icing, and wifi at 30,000 feet. I discovered I could use loyalty points I didn’t know I had to pay for a few hours of wifi, while in flight! I texted my son, "Happy Birthday" while he was in Tofino, as I flew over Tofino! Again, seriously, it’s amazing. I have been a rabid critic of the culture-less-ness and place-less-ness of airports in general, and security theatre specifically. I’m still a critic, but this time around I was able to tuck my jaded critic hat away and just be amazed by everything that’s worth being amazed by.

My point of entry was Narita Airport. From there I travelled by bus to the Yokohama Train Station. Even though I had prepared myself for the discombobulating experience of navigating a massive, labyrinthine and crowed train station, it was still predictably discombobulating. All the more so when navigated with too little sleep and too much luggage. (To be fair, just enough luggage for a 3 month stay in another country, albeit too much luggage for a sleep deprived train station waltz.)

From Yokohama Station it was a quick 2 stops to Hinodecho Station where I was met by Theo, a representative of Koganecho Area Management Center (heretofore known as KAMC). Theo and I walked from Hinodecho Station to my accommodations, Chap Studio Art Planet, on Cho-Fuku Street, in the Chosha-machi neighbourhood. (Remember when I wondered what Art Planet was? Well, it’s my current lodgings!) The apartment is a little more than half a kilometre from the main Koganecho AIR facilities.

My apartment is humble and cozy. I love it and I love the neighbourhood. Bed? Check. Bathroom? Check. Everything else is bonus points. There’s a hot plate, the AC works. There is a little desk, and a separate little table I have set up just for art making.

As previously mentioned, the Koganecho neighbourhood was formerly a red light district. My neighbourhood is, shall we say, in the same general industry, but half a step this side of the law. It is rife with night clubs and bars. It is...lively at night. It has character. It’s rare and downright difficult to feel unsafe in Japan, which means there’s an over arching amusement-park-like, thrilling-but-not-fatal, sense of safety that accompanies everything, including a walk through my “gritty” neighbourhood. And honestly, if you aren’t otherwise unnecessarily engaged with shadier elements—like the large black sedans with scary looking drivers patiently idling outside some of the shinier (and one would assume pricier) establishments waiting for a well dressed older gentleman to stumble out several hostesses in tow bowing and waving goodbye the driver hustling to open the back door and the Old Boy slumping into the back seat kind of elements—well, simply walking through is a kiddies ride. If I start feeling like I’m being brave, I make note of the fact that children who can’t be more than 10 amble through regularly, along with Moms and kids on bikes, etc.

Because I’m a bit of a distance from where most of the other artists are staying, and because Japan is still COVID-cautious and gathering averse, I’ve spent most of my first three weeks alone. The default to solitude has been good. I’ve experienced a lot of personal change over the last several months, and solitude provides a stillness that allows the jostled pieces of one’s soul to find their place and settle.

Ten days into my stay was the fist Artist In Residence meeting, a casual BYOB potluck affair. After some initial mingling and chit chat Yamano-san, the director, suggested we all introduce ourselves. Heart warmingly, he also suggested everyone try introducing themselves in English first. And everyone did, as best they could, followed by applause at the attempt. I said a little bit in Japanese, starting with "I arrived from Canada last week." But instead of saying last week, I said next week. Yes, I arrived from the future. Hilarity ensued. Discomfort at speaking in public in a second language is a great leveller. It made for a convivial atmosphere.

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of camaraderie that develops almost immediately when a group of artists gather, particularly when they come from different countries and cultures. Maybe it’s something that happens for engineers, or nurses, or firefighters when given the opportunity to gather with their global tribe. I dearly hope so. To think about being part of the human family is as abstract and difficult to grasp as the number 7 billion. To be in a comfortably full room of compatriots, with libations and food is an experiential taste of what it means to be part of the human family. I hope for everyone to have the opportunity to gather around the table with likeminded folks from all over the globe, and feel that sense of camaraderie.

I leave you with a few photos of KAMC and a few about town. More to come.