RuRu
Trembling Aspen | Series_03 Here, in Koganecho | Issue_03
I met RuRu on the very first day I moved to my current apartment. Her impossibly narrow little shop is right next door. In the window were tiny cute little shoes, too small for children even. Why would people buy them? Decoration? Pets? I still don’t know. The sign on her door read “RuRu,” as in LuLu, but r’s and l’s are interchangeable in Japanese, so LuLu or RuRu, take your pick. We chatted briefly, that first day, in Japanese. A second language for both of us. Two wildly different bundles of experience and imagination, both transplanted to this little plot 10 meters from the Keikyu Main Line.
We tried the best we could, to communicate what we could. I understood she was from Taiwan, that her grandson was coming in August, and he could speak English. She understood that I was an artist in residence. That was about it. Other than that, we exchanged friendly smiles and waves whenever we crossed paths. 「こんにちはお隣さん！」 Good afternoon, neighbour!
The project Ralph and I are working on is about uncovering unseen stories in this neighbourhood. Overlooked stories. Quiet stories. Hidden stories. Our intent was to interview a few folks from the neighbourhood. What wasn’t clear was, who would we interview? We were drawn to the immigrant experience, transplanted folks, like us, “visitors” or depending on you talked to, “outsiders.”
Originally, we were going to ask questions about trees. Asking for a childhood tree story seemed like a gentle way into a conversation. It might lead to memories of home, along with the how’s and why’s of immigrating to Japan. We were holding things loosely—interviewees, themes, approach—knowing we would make the path as we walked it. We talked things over with other artists. Mishio and Seiichi had taken Seiichi’s medium format camera out into the neighbourhood one day. They said it was a great way to meet people, and because it’s a big complicated camera to set up, there was built in time to chat with folks. But photography, Mishio—a photographer—pointed out, is just one way to get one one facet of a story. People interact with you in a particular way, and that can be limiting. Maybe there are other ways to connect. That conversation with Mishio and Seiichi, sitting outside KocoGarden, followed a free and natural flow, swirling around photography, food and table culture. Just a conversation. And part of the process.
Several days later, after Joar’s dinner it was becoming clear, food—the preparing and eating of—was naturally emerging as a way of connecting and hearing stories, and KocoGarden was just the kind of informal, non-precious space in which we could gather. When you eat food together, things just naturally happen. Like the photo I shared at the end of last issue. That's the photo, down below, about which I commented,
Something amazing is happening in this photo. Serendipity, once again, asking us to dance.
That’s Ralph and I talking to RuRu, in yellow. Her daughter in white, and her grandson in red. Over the pervious several days, Ralph and I had discussed RuRu being our first interviewee. We were never sure when she'd show up in her show, so we had loose plans to try and connect, ask her if we could interview her.
On the very night we gathered for Joar’s dinner, RuRu’s and her whole family happened to stop by the shop. Her husband, daugher, son-in-law and their three kids—including the ever famous English speaking grandson. The whole gang. I got introduced to everyone. I finally got to speak English with her grandson. He was understandably shy. Our conversation was limited, but had been had none the less. We offered them some of Joar’s food, we laughed, we spoke in multiple languages. Jia Jiun, a resident artist from Taiwan, came by. [He has his back to the camera in the photo above]. That's when the conversation really got cooking, RuRu speaking in her native Mandarin, punctuated by dramatic pauses, as she looked me dead in the eye, her expression saying “Would you believe it?!” as though I had understood a single word of what was just said.
After asking permission, Ralph started documenting the conversation. We could hardly believe our good fortune. Our first interviewee literally showed up at our doorstep. We asked if we could interview her some more, later. She wanted to know why. We explained, it was for a participatory art project that would be part of an exhibition in the fall. It didn’t make much sense to her, but okay. And she wanted to cook for us. Um, uh...okay?
Cai and I stopped by RuRu’s a few days later to confirm the date, time and details for the combo interview/dinner event. Cai works in the Koganecho office and speaks Mandarin. She explained, once again, the project Ralph and I were working on. It still didn’t make much sense to RuRu, but she was willing. As she and Cai chatted—most of the extended family providing background ambiance while jammed into that little space—RuRu started telling her story. Cai has a natural curiosity and ease that RuRu seemed to trust. I asked if it was okay to film, and pulled out my iPhone.
The best camera is the one you have with you.
~ Some Famous Photographer.
The Dinner
On the night of the dinner, Ralph and I interviewed RuRu for about an hour. Cai was called away to work, so we had no translator. RuRu’s daughter speaks Mandarin, but not Japanese. Ralph and I speak a bit of Japanese, but not well. The obvious solution, which I suggested a couple of times, would be for RuRu to speak in Mandarin, and her daughter could translate to English for Ralph and I. Instead, for reasons I’m still not sure of, RuRu wanted to be interviewed in Japanese. Maybe to honour her adopted country? “I’m in Japan, so it’s Japanese or nothing dammit!” Whatever the reason, we all did our awkward best to meet in the Japanese middle, a linguistic analogue to our physical reality. Little potted plants from Taiwan, the Philippines and Canada transplanted for short and long term stays in Japanese soil, all having a conversation in the aptly named KocoGarden.
I'll leave RuRu's story for another time. Maybe you can make it to the exhibition in the fall? Short version, she came to Japan when she was 27. She'd been here more than 30 years. Life was hard in the rural village she left behind, in Taiwan. Life wasn't much easier for many of her first years here in Japan. [She flitted over some gray-market sounding stories about "importing" goods to Taiwan that perhaps upset some distinctly yakuza-like personages. Maybe some day I'll get the details. For now, mostly question marks.] She met her husband. He was kind, helped her a lot. [Dealing with yakuza-types? Not sure. Maybe.] They fell in love. Moved from Tokyo to Yokohama. The main point, she emphasized with a wave of the hand, "Back there, hard." Then, a big smile crosses her face, a she looks down at her grandchildren, "Now, it's good." The main thing is, now it's good. Indeed. I can only guess at what that wave of the hand referred to.
After the interview, I gave RuRu one of my drawings as a gift. She gave me the gas burner she was cooking on. She has two. (!?) Strange gifts exchanged, other artists trickled in. At the appointed hour we explained a bit about what were doing, about meeting RuRu and her offer to cook, and here we are. Time to eat. I’ll let the pictures say the rest.
My participation in the Koganecho Artist in Residence program, the art work I create while here, and this very newsletter were all made possible by members of The Mycelium Council. If you enjoy Trembling Aspen, a newsletter about living your life like a work of art, from me, Steve Frost, please consider joining.