Ginza is a fascinating town, frequently linked with special moments and fond memories. Visits to department stores while holding tightly to a parent’s hand, afternoons in old-fashioned cafés run by one-of-a-kind characters, first dates in special restaurants . . . Ginza is a place like no other.

Hanatsubaki’s “Ginza Memoir” series, hosted by Yoshiyuki Morioka of the iconic Morioka Shoten bookstore, explores the multifaceted nature and universal appeal of Ginza through interviews with guests from a wide variety of fields. With Morioka as guide to Ginza’s hidden charms and diverse narratives, new discoveries await around every corner.

Our fourth guest for “Ginza Memoir” is Hananofu Shuho. In the first part of our interview, Shuho told us about the historic conversation she witnessed at a Ginza gallery and her experience of “hearing” the flowers through her fingers. In this second part, we discuss the dreamlike lifestyle she led at Jishoji, the Temple of the Silver Pavilion, and the art of stopping at the seven-tenths mark.

(Read Part 1 here.)

Ten Years in Dialogue with Ashikaga Yoshimasa

Morioka: In a past interview, I recall that you said you were always in dialogue with Ashikaga Yoshimasa. And yet he lived more than 500 years ago . . .

Shuho: He died in 1490, yes. I spent ten years as general manager of flower affairs, or hanagata, at Jishoji, studying the flower culture of the Muromachi period [1336–1573]. My mission was to rethink the way of flowers as it existed in Yoshimasa’s time. Very few texts or diagrams survive from that period, so rather than studying the flowers of that period directly, I deepened my understanding of flowers by learning about medieval arts like poetry and Noh, and the Zen philosophy that served as their base. It wouldn’t have done to allow my personal preferences to affect my interpretations, so I took “What would Yoshimasa prefer?” as my guide. And so I spent ten years at the temple, immersed in the Muromachi Period and in dialogue with Yoshimasa. Even to me, it sounds almost like a fantasy, but it was possible because my work was done within the temple.

Morioka: Living in a space built more than 500 years ago, cutting yourself off from contemporary information in favour of the ideas of the Muromachi Period—an experience somewhat like time travel.

Shuho: That’s correct.

Morioka: I’m curious to learn more about the light of the Muromachi period. I imagine it created a much stronger sense of space than today.

Shuho: There was no electricity, so all light was natural. Shoin rooms were made so that light would enter from one side, and they were decorated with flowers arranged so that their best features were on the side with the light. For example, light might enter from the back of the room, or the side facing the garden.

Morioka: Just imagining it feels like a different world. Like seeing the world beyond.

Shuho: When I hold lessons, I avoid electric light as much as possible and instruct my students to view the flowers in natural light. Japanese ikebana is not, in my opinion, about showing the flowers themselves, but rather about arranging them to create a presence in the space that was not there before.

Morioka: Like a kind of art installation.

Shuho: I think so. A single flower has an effect on people’s consciousness that encourages a new awareness of the space as a whole.

Morioka: You developed your understanding of the flowers in dialogue with Yoshimasa. I suppose taking a single, specific “person” as guide is key.

Shuho: And my guide was a shogun! But the higher the hurdles you face, the more you are raised up yourself, together with the other person. I see this as a method of study unaffected by the times or the trends of the age.

Morioka: Did Yoshimasa ever steer you wrong?

Shuho: At times I did ask, “Why?” In my tenth year as hanagata at Jishoji, my activities at the temple stopped. I was truly angered by this, as Yoshimasa was my life! But I later realized that this was because I was thinking in terms of time spent in the outside world. Complete the temple’s flower project by myself had never been a realistic goal, and all my original planning had been based on the idea that, a hundred years from now, perhaps the third hanagata would perhaps be ready to stand at the starting line. My role was to pave the way.

Morioka: You did your work for the sake of someone three generations in the future. Ginza’s tailors have a similar perspective.

Shuho: At the time, I couldn’t understand why my activities had stopped. But I’m currently in my tenth year since leaving the temple, and I understand now why these ten years were necessary. I plan to continue my dialogue with Yoshimasa.

The Art of Stopping at the Seven-Tenths Mark

Morioka: If you’ll pardon the elementary question, what exactly was Yoshimasa’s influence on the way of flowers? Did the culture of tatehana and ikebana predate him?

Shuho: Well, the use of the word “standing” (tateru) for flowers dates back to the Heian period [794–1185], but at that time it didn’t refer to tatehana as a style. From the Muromachi period, we see a development of words for floral arrangement styles, from “standing” to “imparting life” (ikeru) and “casting” (nageireru). If we restrict the discussion to Yoshimasa’s time, before ikebana developed as such, there was a culture of “decorating rooms.” The goal of this decoration appears to have been to demonstrate power in a beautiful way using karamono (items imported from overseas, which were very precious at the time) that were put on display for invited guests. To properly decorate with these karamono, which included pictures, ceramics, plants, and so on, specialists were needed. Animals not found in Japan, like parrots, cats, and dogs, were also prized as karamono. The vessels thus predated the flowers, which were needed to show karamono to best effect.

Morioka: The flowers came later. I see.

Shuho: That’s right. Particularly during the time of Yoshimasa’s grandfather Yoshimitsu, people preferred brasher, bolder displays of power. This gave rise to things such as tocha (competing to recognize different kinds of tea based on flavour) and basara (brash, eye-catching behaviour). By the age of Yoshimasa, however, the chief goal seems to have been to decorate a room based on a certain aesthetic sensibility, creating a unified world of beauty.

Morioka: Why do you think things changed in that way?

Shuho: I believe it came from Yoshimasa’s noble aesthetic sensibility and depth of learning, but the weakening of the Ashikaga family’s authority and financial power during the turbulent Onin War period [1467–1477] probably also had an effect. Some take a critical view of the idea of spending times of crisis safely hidden in Higashiyama, idling away the days with tea and flowers, but my interpretation is that Yoshimasa recognized his powerlessness in the face of the age’s turbulence, and found a ray of hope in beauty. That is exactly why he called his most important room the Dojinsai.

Morioka: “Dojinsai”?

Shuho: It’s a small 4.5–tatami mat room where Yoshimasa spent a great deal of time in his later years, and a national treasure today. The name comes from a famous aphorism, roughly translating to “The sage views all things with equal benevolence.” I believe that the foundations of tea, flower arranging, and incense were cultivated under this spirit and aesthetic exemplified by Yoshimasa.

Morioka: Yoshimasa’s age is similar to our own in some ways. Turmoil, financial crises . . .

Shuho: Yes. But precisely because we live in such an age, I hope that we will come to see things that were invisible to us before. This may prove to be an age when things that went unseen when abundant reveal their importance by their very absence.

Morioka: I’m not sure if this is related, but I would like to ask you about the aesthetic ideal known as iki. Ginza is said to be an iki town, so I often wonder what iki means exactly. It seems to me that your use of imperfection in your arrangements, the attitude of “stopping at the seven-tenths mark” of which you have spoken, could offer some clues in this regard.

Shuho: The final three-tenths are up to the viewer. Yoshimasa didn’t take absence as impoverishment, either; rather, he seems to have thought about how one might turn it into beauty. There was a wonderful lesson there. Even if I mean to stop at the seven-tenth mark, I still find myself torn. I wonder: Wouldn’t it be better to do a little more? It’s difficult to leave something undone, even intentionally.

Morioka: What kind of things do you “stop at the seven-tenths mark”?

Shuho: I stop working on my arrangements around when I start thinking Just one more change. Even if I suspect that one more change would result in a more balanced form, I leave that absence, that ma, as it is, and let the viewer supply the final three tenths and complete the work. This is a world with more than one answer. That kind of relaxed exchange might be connected to iki as well.

Hananofu Shuho
From 2004 to 2014, acted as first general manager of flower affairs at Jishoji (the Temple of the Silver Pavilion), spending a decade showing how flowers were used to decorate rooms in the age of Ashikaga Yoshimasa and reconstructing the Muso Shinko school of flower arrangement founded in the mid-Edo period. Planned and hosted workshops at the temple’s research centre, and planned and executed international exchanges around the theme “peace and culture.”
In 2015, established the Seirensha and embraced her life work as a hananofu of offering flowers to nature, the divine, and people, promoting richer lifestyles through flowers via Kaho no Kai gatherings. Also collaborates with traditional and contemporary creators in Japan and around the world in fields such as Noh, contemporary art, music, crafts, and architecture.
In 2024, established the Yushinkai NPO and became its representative director. The organization is chiefly concerned with tracing the history of tatehana from the Ami tradition of the Muromachi Age, which allowed the spirit to play in serenity, and researching and recording the spirituality, art, and technique of ikebana. Strives to create opportunities for learning about the beginning, establishment, and development of ikebana, along with related fields of study, art, and performance, and to cultivate the next generation of practitioners.

Major published works:
Flowers of Jishoji of the Silver Pavilion: Creative Nature (Tankosha)
Ippongusa: A Single Stem (Tokuma Shoten)

https://www.hananofu.jp/ja/top/

Yoshiyuki Morioka
Born 1974 in Yamagata. Head of the Morioka Shoten bookstore. Writer. Published books include Around Ginza in 800 Days (Bunshun Bunko) and Forgiving the Shortcake (Raichosha). Also active as an art curator, with recent shows including Children and Radiation, the second stage of an exhibition held jointly with the University of the Sacred Heart (October 30, 2003–April 22, 2024).
https://www.instagram.com/moriokashoten/?hl=ja

Sogo Hiraiwa
Editor/writer
Born 1990 in Takayama, Gifu. Freelance editor and writer contributing regularly to literary, cultural, and fashion magazines. Also involved in planning and editing books, including the Japanese edition of Octavia E. Butler’s Bloodchild and Other Stories (trans. Hikaru Fujii). Translator of Virgil Abloh’s Dialogues (Adachi Press).
https://www.instagram.com/sogohiraiwa/

Nathalie Cantacuzino
Photographer
Born in Stockholm, Sweden. Studied Japanese culture and photographic technique in Tokyo. Shoots in genres ranging from fashion to documentary and lifestyle.
https://www.instagram.com/nanorie/