A History Lesson, Told in Butoh

The 43rd season opener at the Dance Center of Columbia College Chicago, a one-night-only performance Sept. 17 of solo artist Tadashi Endo, ended with a heartfelt speech by the man, flowers strewn at his feet, describing in poetic English the experience of witnessing a catastophe unfold at home from an unreachably far distance.

 

Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself, but it seems like describing Endo’s work, Fukushima Mon Amour, is best done by starting at its end. The work begins with a single man in a suit, Endo, facing upstage with shoulders raised. Ocean sounds lull in the background as a projection of a sandy beach works its way up the bare back wall of the Dance Center. His shoulders finally slide back into their joints, and a slow pattern unfolds.

 

When we finally see his face, Endo is made-up with white face paint and eyeliner, per tradition in Butoh. But Endo, and this piece, aren’t entirely loyal to the form. Endo’s primary influence stems from his mentor Kazuo Ohno (who has long considered the patriarch of the form), though a melting pot of forms yields something that is apart from what one might call traditional Butoh. The Japanese national, born in Beijing and living in Germany includes Western contemporary dance among his influences, although Ohno’s imprint resonates most clearly in this work.

 

Fukushima Mon Amour eulogizes semi-recent events in the Japanese city of Fukushima, nearly 200 miles north of Tokyo. An earthquake in March, 2011 resulted in a perfect storm – literally and figuratively – triggering a tsunami that catalyzed the biggest nuclear accident since Chernoble. Endo’s work divides the events into three parts: the natural disaster, the unnatural disaster (an explosion at a nuclear power plant), and the people's mourning of Fukushima as well as their will to rebuild. 

 

As a blackout transitions the first section to the second, the lights come up on a nearly naked Endo, a lighted imprint of him left on the wall as he writhes in beautiful slow motion. In the third section, he dons a kimono as cherry blossom petals fall gently to the stage, bathing him in light, forming a puddle for Endo to wade through, perhaps symbolizing Spring, renewal, rebirth, or the fleeting nature of life.

 

Perhaps more important than Endo’s performance that night is the lasting impression the events at Fukushima left on me in the days that followed. I vaguely remember hearing about the explosion five years ago while scrolling the newsfeed – it was just one of yet another bad thing that happened that day. Watching this performance, I was admittedly distracted, unable to snap out of my internal dialogue as the slow, methodical dance unfolded. But as Endo bowed, with audience members throwing those flowers at his feet, it hit me how so many people were affected by that passing headline in my newsfeed, and so, for me, that was when the dance started. The spirit of resilience inherent to Japan, a place that has experienced so much tragedy in the last century, is evident in its people, Tadashi Endo included. Being acutely aware of their history is perhaps what propels Japanese citizens forward, giving them the motivation to create and advance technology, to innovate in art and science, to lead by example, remaining humble all the while.