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The Sound of Freedom: Pianist Hitomi Nishiyama at SUB (Osaka, 4/18/24)
Photo © by Christopher PelhamMy encounter with the well-known — but new to me — pianist Hitomi Nishiyama 西山瞳 at SUB Jazz Cafe, a seminal jazz club in Osaka, took me to places I never expected. Although she was playing jazz standards with a makeshift band, her music and career, characterized by curious changes in direction and exquisite elaborations on connections previously unrecognized, set us free.
KYOTOGRAPHIE KG+ Select: Masahiro Usami’s (宇佐美雅浩) Community Manda-las (April 17, 2024)
Photo © by Masahiro UsamiMasahiro Usami creates art, photographic mandalas, by undertaking a journey, as much relational as through time and space, to understand and capture the essence of a community’s journey in collaboration with that community. In his words, “Each individual photograph [in his long-running mandala series] features a central figure, all of whom come from different regions and standpoints, and then distributed in their environs are the people and things that express the world of that particular figure, just like the form of a Buddhist mandala painting.” His latest depicts the confrontation between citizens and developers over a proposed radical redevelopment of a beloved and historic park in the heart of Tokyo.
Valentina Benigni — Dancing Vulnerability (Off Arles Festival 2024)
Photo © by Valentina BenigniOne of the exhibitions I most enjoyed visiting during my all-too-brief stay in beautiful Arles, France to take in the Les Rencontres D’Arles de la Photographie was not in the festival at all. Instead, Valentina Benigni’s solo exhibition “Dancing Vulnerability” was a part of the concurrent Festival Off Arles.
With 26 exhibitions, some quite large, scattered around Arles, Les Rencontres D’Arles did not leave me much time in my brief stay to check out other shows, many of which I hurriedly passed by. However, Valentina’s exhibition announcement posted on the street featuring a brilliant photograph of what looked like a flamenco dancer with skirt awhirl cried out to me.
Back to the Garden at Candy Live Jazz in Kyoto (April 17, 2024)
Photo © by Christopher PelhamOn my second night in Kyoto, I went to Candy Live Jazz in Gion to see the trio of Kotono Nishimura 西村琴乃 (alto and soprano sax), Yuka Yanagihara 柳原由佳 (piano), and Ayuko Ikeda 池田安友子(percussion). I was not familiar with any of them, but from the start, I found their set, inspired by the spring season, infectious, rhythmically adventurous, and uplifting.
At times, most notably during Kotono’s number “Milky Way” from her album “Favorable Move,” I felt as if I’d been transported to a landscape untarnished by humans, where dawn is breaking over mountains in a river-fed valley of verdant splendor where you can hear birds singing and take a breath, like in a Thomas Cole painting, a place where you can look up on a clear, moonless night and be awestruck by the majesty of the Milky Way, so far away and yet seemingly so close.
You Don’t Die: The Story of Yet Another Iranian Uprising at Kyotographie, Kyoto (April 16, 2024)
Photo © by anonymous photographerI was excited to explore Kyotographie, the sprawling annual international photography festival in Kyoto. Now in its 12th year, it has become one of Asia’s largest photography festivals. It features 13 curated main exhibitions and more than 100 KG+, KG Select, and Special exhibitions installed in venues large and small all over Kyoto. One of the exhibitions I was most keen to visit was “You Don’t Die — The Story of Yet Another Iranian Uprising,” an exhibition at Sfera culled from 1000s of mostly anonymous images of the “Woman, Life, Freedom” uprising inside Iran, collected and authenticated by Le Monde photo editor Marie Sumalla and Le Monde journalist Ghazal Golshiri. With the assistance of Iranian colleagues Payam Elhami and Farzad Seifikaran, they established the date and location of each photo. Photographs by several professional Iranian photographers inside Iran also appeared in the exhibition.
Facing Death, Finding Oneself at UrBANGUILD, Kyoto (April 16, 2024)
Photo © by Christopher PelhamOn my first night in Kyoto, I attended FOUR DANCERS vol281 at UrBANGUILD, a cafe/bar and multidisciplinary performance space in the heart of Kyoto. Like an old-school club on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, it’s dark, grungy, and covered in flyers. UrBANGUILD presents a wide variety of younger and older artists and draws an extremely diverse audience as well, making it a beloved oasis for contemporary and experimental performing artists in the otherwise more traditional and conservative-minded Kyoto. I came to see two artists in particular, Chizuko Kotani / 小谷ちず子 and Miwako Inagaki / 稲垣美輪子.
In Sendai, A MUSE for Everyone (April 13, 2024)
A visit to MUSE (Music Unites Special Education), a certified NPO founded in Sendai City by pianist Atsuko Nishina in 2001 to increase the opportunities for people with special needs to touch highly artistic music and art and express themselves freely through artistic creative activities, with composer Aya Nishina 仁科彩 and her partner, the visual artist Shimpei Takeda 武田慎平, afforded me the opportunity to understand their creative work more deeply and to recognize that their art and their teaching work, while different in form, have the same purpose, each informed by and expressing the same universal spiritual principles that, in fact, guide all true healing work.
Pianist Eunbi Kim: How to Love Through Deep Listening
Photo © by Eunbi Kim – collage of stills from the official music video for Eunbi Kim's "Saturn Years"This spring I had the pleasure of attending two uplifting events led by genre-fluid pianist Eunbi Kim at the National Arts Club, where she is one of 14 2023/2024 National Arts Club Artist Fellows. Rather than presenting formal concerts, Eunbi (she/her) created a series of gatherings. This approach suited the Club’s intimate spaces and allowed her to work interactively with the audience, sharing how music and mindfulness practice can work together to connect and heal us.
The two gatherings I attended, “How to Love” on March 6 and “Deep Listening” on May 19, each incorporated live music, talking, and visual elements. Eunbi cast the audience as improvisational partners, enabling them to explore the nexus of music and meditation along with her.
Ishinomaki Reborn (April 12, 2024)
Photo © by Christopher PelhamThis large sign, emblazoned with the words がんばろう！石巻 meaning Let's Go, Ishinomaki, was found placed in the ruins of downtown Ishinomaki just beyond the seashore shortly after the disaster to rally the community. It was preserved and is now displayed in the Kadonowaki Elementary School's restored gymnasium. I am so grateful that at the last minute I was able to arrange a visit with composer Aya Nishina (I'll have more on that visit with her in another article!) in her hometown of Sendai, the largest city in the north-eastern region of Tohoku. At her suggestion, I took a day to visit...
Nikko (April 11, 2024)
Photo © by Christopher PelhamThe dragon fountain in front of Rinnouji Temple Since the founding of Shihonryuji Temple (which later became Nikkosan Rinnoji Temple) by the Buddhist monk Shodo in 766, Nikko, a small town about 90 miles north of Tokyo in Tochigi Prefecture, became known as a sacred place where Buddhism was brought into harmony with the older Shinto worship of the mountain gods. Eight centuries later, Shōgun Tokugawa Ieyasu's mausoleum was constructed in Nikko, 208 steep stone steps up the mountainside above the other temple buildings. So great were his accomplishments — the dynasty he founded ruled Japan...
Moonlight Refugee
travel stories from Hai Yen Ho
An inveterate explorer, Vietnam-based writer Hai Yen Ho moves effortlessly between rural and urban, wealthy and poor, fearlessly following her intuition. Her journeys and resulting stories chart the conflict between traditional and modern ways of life, spotlighting marginalized voices and finding beauty in unexpected places.
Moonlight Refugee
Ever since I was a child, I have always known that the world around me was much larger, that it was not limited to a small market, a moldering temple with a desolate courtyard, a solid church that I had not entered, rows of houses, schools, and a highway. That poor and ragged landscape never limited my imagination. I did not know how I got there, but I always knew that one day I would leave it. I knew I would travel to other vast places, reach the tops of mountains, dive to the bottom of the sea, and talk to people in every corner of the world.
Singapore
I don’t know why I came here. Waking at four in the morning, inside this airtight dormitory room with no windows, I can only tell the time from the screen of my phone. Below my bed, the Afghan girl is snoring softly. I imagine her bed, surrounded by piles of stuff hung haphazardly like a rumpled bed curtain. She’s been here for two weeks; the items hanging around the bed are a way for her to assert her attachment, her sovereignty, and to establish herself more firmly than the others, which currently consist of me, a Cambodian girl, and an Indonesian girl.
Moscow: Snow will melt when the sun rises
The previous night, the snow fell heavily. The snowflakes fell gently yet fiercely, floating through the night like magical creatures. The cold crashed on me suddenly as soon as I stepped outside, aggressively occupying all the corners in my body, sneaking into every inch of carelessly exposed skin. The cold froze on the skin, piercing my brain, aching with every breath. On cold winter nights like this, the best thing to do is to stay in a cozy room, drink a cup of ginger tea, and talk about everything — except politics, of course. Politics in Russia these days is taboo. Russians avoided the subject like a terminal illness. “War in Ukraine? No, don’t worry, we are fine.” They changed the subject. Except Varf Labec.
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Listening to Stillness: Nguyen Tuan Cuong and the Art of Vietnamese Lacquer Painting
The first time I encountered one of Nguyễn Tuấn Cường's works, I found myself stunned before a canvas not characterized by richness, but by solidity. It was a painting of a bowl — an ordinary, creased enamel bowl — so realistically rendered it seemed to be living. Not polished, not idealized. It just was. Its rim chipped, its pale blue faded to something almost ghostly, the bowl rested ever so slightly askew on a darkened ground, emanating not surface light but a glow from deep within the layers of lacquer. It didn’t proclaim beauty; it remembered it — the kind of remembering carried in your bones, like a scent from childhood. Standing before it, I felt like I was the one seen rather than the one seeing. Something stirred inside me.
Photo © by Nguyễn Tuấn CườngMoscow: Snow will melt when the sun rises
The previous night, the snow fell heavily. The snowflakes fell gently yet fiercely, floating through the night like magical creatures. The cold crashed on me suddenly as soon as I stepped outside, aggressively occupying all the corners in my body, sneaking into every inch of carelessly exposed skin. The cold froze on the skin, piercing my brain, aching with every breath. On cold winter nights like this, the best thing to do is to stay in a cozy room, drink a cup of ginger tea, and talk about everything — except politics, of course. Politics in Russia these days is taboo. Russians avoided the subject like a terminal illness. “War in Ukraine? No, don’t worry, we are fine.” They changed the subject. Except Varf Labec.
Photo © by Hai Yen HoSingapore
I don’t know why I came here. Waking at four in the morning, inside this airtight dormitory room with no windows, I can only tell the time from the screen of my phone. Below my bed, the Afghan girl is snoring softly. I imagine her bed, surrounded by piles of stuff hung haphazardly like a rumpled bed curtain. She’s been here for two weeks; the items hanging around the bed are a way for her to assert her attachment, her sovereignty, and to establish herself more firmly than the others, which currently consist of me, a Cambodian girl, and an Indonesian girl.
Photo © by Hai Yen HoMoonlight Refugee
Ever since I was a child, I have always known that the world around me was much larger, that it was not limited to a small market, a moldering temple with a desolate courtyard, a solid church that I had not entered, rows of houses, schools, and a highway. That poor and ragged landscape never limited my imagination. I did not know how I got there, but I always knew that one day I would leave it. I knew I would travel to other vast places, reach the tops of mountains, dive to the bottom of the sea, and talk to people in every corner of the world.
Photo © by Hai Yen HoFor Every Work Has Several Faces: A Conversation with Yoko Tawada about Writing and Translation
I had the honor of introducing Yoko Tawada’s seminal lecture “Every Work Has Several Faces: A Conversation with Yoko Tawada about Writing and Translation,” delivered at the Lenfest Center for the Arts, Columbia University School of the Arts, on March 27, 2025. In this article, I expand on that introduction, exploring how Tawada, a borderless wordsmith, shatters linguistic confines through writing and translation: her language erases frontiers and reconfigures reality, existing not as the ruins of Babel, but as a thriving, pulsating, organic entity.
Born in Tokyo and now residing in Berlin, Tawada is a celebrated writer of fiction, poetry, and a deeply engaged thinker on the nature of language. Writing in both German and Japanese, she is recognized as one of the most distinctive multilingual voices in contemporary literature.
Photo © by Christopher PelhamTrà My “Emmy” Truong: The Constant Gardener
I initially knew Emmy only as one of the friendly baristas at Lê Phin, the lovely little Vietnamese cafe in the East Village that I stop by nearly every day to work, meet people, and enjoy their exquisite pandan matcha lattes and coffees. One moment, the person seated across from me at their communal table is a fellow customer and stranger; the next, I learn he/she/they is an immigration lawyer or a literature professor or an artist, a wellspring of stories and inspiration, and, by the time our cups are empty, a friend. Encouraged by curiosity, they blossom.
So it was with Emmy. She appeared to me in full bloom. Literally. I don’t usually see spiritual visions unless I invite them, but her aura seemed to appear to me of its own accord, lushly framing her with red petals. I thought this must be meaningful, but it wasn’t until I told her this that I learned who she is and why her aura makes sense.
For one thing, Emmy’s Vietnamese name, Trà My Trương, is taken from the Vietnamese word for camellia, cây hoa trà. “Emmy” is a simplified name she chose for Americans, but it still honors her roots. “My” comes from her first name, and “Em” is a sweet Vietnamese term of affection.
As soon as we started talking, I realized she was intelligent, confident, and mature. She was actually a working artist dedicated to bringing more beauty into the world and chose to work at the cafe occasionally to learn more about the food/hospitality industry. As I became more familiar with her work, I found that I loved her artist eye, her color sense, and her approach to life and art.
Photo © by Trà My “Emmy” TruongFive Ways To Think About Parliament’s Mothership Connection
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Finding Freedom in Music & Motherhood — Yukari Sekiya 関谷 友加里 at Studio T-Bone, Osaka (4/19/24)
While struggling to find contemporary jazz venues in Osaka, I stumbled upon Studio T-Bone, a venue supporting both live jazz and photography and decided to visit. Pianist Yukari Sekiya 関谷 友加里 and percussionist Naoto Yamagishi 山㟁直人 やまぎしなおと were improvising together. While I didn't manage to get to know them well on that occasion, I was delighted to spend time with the creative family members running the studio. A chance encounter months later unexpectedly brought Yukari back into my mind. When I reached out to her, she responded, and I've now learned what a deep and inspiring artist and person she is, opening the door to possible future collaborations. It was a powerful reminder that we can't always see right away why our intuition speaks to us. Sometimes, it may be setting something in motion far in the future or for a purpose quite different from what we imagine.
Photo © by Christopher PelhamGotanjoji — A Temple Where the Cats Are Teachers, Too (April 22, 2024)
On my way from Kanazawa down to Hiroshima, I took a detour in Fukui Prefecture to visit Gotanjoji, a Sōtō Zen temple in Shoden-cho, Echizen City, known informally as a cat temple. I came for the cats, but I was also intrigued by the temple’s history, such as it is. While many temples in Japan are hundreds of years old, Gotanjoji was founded in 2002! Despite the temple's young age, its history dates back to the late 13th century Zen monk Keizan Jōkin 瑩山紹瑾, who was born in Echizen and was, I discovered, instrumental in opening Zen to women. Gotanjoji took it one step — or four? — further, bringing cats into the spiritual practice.
Photo © by Hiroki OtsukaSinikka Langeland — Channeling the Spirits of the Forest at Mokkiriya, Kanazawa, 4/21/24
This was the only night I could conceivably visit Kanazawa, and fatefully, Sinikka was performing at the historic Mokkiriya jazz cafe and live house, founded in 1971, on this night, on tour from Norway. Meeting her in western Japan was as fortuitous as it is unlikely. Sinikka performs jazz-inflected songs inspired by the traditional music of the Forest Finns on a 39-string kantele (a kind of harp that sits horizontally on a table) that are haunting and unforgettable.
Sinikka’s singing is as clear as a bell. Yet, the purity of her voice and her decisive intonation, coupled with the dulcet sounds of her instrument, also express something profound, conveying compassion, mystery, and an ancient knowing. Gently, her music flows all around us, free of impurity and full of wonder, like a spring whose pristine and paliative waters well up from some primordial source. I wanted to know what makes Sinikka’s music so grounding, purifying, and ethereal — and what she was doing in Japan!
Photo © by Christopher Pelham
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