As this is Japan, people who visit my home on anything but a 'drop-in' basis, usually bring some kind of small gift with them - a small box of confections, some fruit, perhaps a package of sembei crackers. These polite offerings are accepted with thanks, and make a subsequent appearance on our table, where they are consumed happily.

But occasionally one of the guests will bring a tallish, fairly heavy little package, and the pretty wrapping paper from the shop cannot disguise that it is a bottle ... It might be whiskey (rarely), o-sake (sometimes), or wine (more commonly nowadays). Of course, my 'thank you' is just as warm and friendly as that with which I respond to those other gifts, but this is somewhat hypocritical on my part. Unlike my younger brother Simon, whose eyes would light up with honest delight at receiving a present of this sort (any present of this sort!), I'm not much of a 'drinking man'.

I'm not really sure why this is so, but I think it may have something to do with my taste buds, or as I suspect, my lack of taste buds. I just don't seem to be able to appreciate the varied flavours of alcoholic drinks, and might as well confess right here, that I can't even tell most of them apart. If we were in a bar together, and you arranged a kind of test - putting a row of glasses in front of me containing say, rye, scotch, gin, vodka, brandy, beer, etc., and then asked me to tell which was which ... This is a test that I would fail miserably. I suppose I could pick out which one was the beer. But if you were to then test me on lagers, stouts, ales, etc., it would be the same story. A beer is a beer is a beer ...

So of course when it comes to wine, there is just no hope for me, as my friend Terry can well attest. He was visiting for the weekend a while ago, and I dragged a bottle of 'gift' wine out from the cupboard to drink with dinner. When we popped it open and served it up, to me it tasted like ... well, it simply tasted like 'wine', but Terry for his part found it somewhat less than palatable (I believe I heard the word 'vinegar' muttered under his breath ...). As he is certainly not a 'wine snob' type of person, I deferred to his more well-developed 'taste'. We finished the meal with some other accompaniment, water, I think.

So, as a consequence of this basic lack of pleasure in alcohol, I end up simply not drinking much at all. The main beverages in my home are milk and juice, and I always keep a good selection of these on hand. I would estimate my total alcohol consumption over the past year comes to about a dozen or so cans of beer, maybe a total of a half a bottle of wine (or should I say, vinegar), and perhaps one 'tokkuri' of sake (poured for 'kampai' toasting at the woodblock craftsmen's guild meeting).

I suppose that this is just as well. Although I feel a bit of a sad twinge at the fact that I do seem to be missing out on something that a great many people find very pleasurable indeed, at least there's not much danger of me becoming an alcoholic. I'm sure I save a lot of money too, but I think the best thing is ... unlike some people I know, I don't seem to have any problems with developing a 'beer belly'! Isn't that right, Simon? ... Terry?

(Summer 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 10:40 PM | Comments (0)

I had a postcard in the mail this morning from a friend in Canada, a woodblock print artist I have known for a few years. Although I can't claim her as a close friend yet, we do correspond regularly, and I suppose due to our shared occupation, we feel it important to maintain contact and communication with each other. I guess I must have mentioned in a letter to her something of the pleasure I was feeling at spending time with a lady-friend recently, for she responded with a few comments on her own experience, mentioning that she and her husband were just celebrating their 18th anniversary.

Now I suppose among those of you reading this, there are some who have been married far longer than that, and you probably don't see 18 years as being a particularly special accomplishment, but to me it seems quite special indeed. The fact that my former marriage only made it to 13 years before coming apart, is perhaps one reason. I don't regret that divorce in itself, because if two people can no longer live together at peace with each other, then they should of course separate, but the experience did leave me with residual feelings of 'failure' ... But it is a different reason for finding my friends' marriage special that interests me more nowadays, for they are not a 'typical' couple by any means. They are not just husband and wife, they are partners in their work as well. Absolute, total and inseparable partners.

You see, although I said earlier that she is a woodblock printmaker, I should more properly have said they are a woodblock printmaker. She designs and carves the woodblocks, and he uses those blocks to print the finished works. But that bald statement describing a certain division of labour is misleadingly simple. Although I suppose the initial concept for each picture is produced in her mind alone as the artist/creator member of the partnership, all the subsequent steps in producing a modern woodblock print: colour separation, carving, colour overlay design, colour selection and mixing, printing, etc., involve a huge amount of interaction between the two of them. I, working as both carver and printer (in the 'simpler' traditional style), understand better than anybody else just how intensely intertwined their jobs are, and when I first heard about their collaborative relationship, I could barely believe my ears.

But the proof is there, hanging on gallery walls, beautifully executed woodblock prints, any number of them. Somehow, these two people have found a way to work together, smoothing over the inevitable conflicts that must arise during the process of creating each print. I have never visited their workroom, and know nothing of their methods; perhaps the walls are 'covered in blood' from the gigantic battles that take place there daily! Looking at their prints though, bathed in peace and serenity as they are, I rather doubt that this is the case. Do they perhaps instead, have a boss/worker relationship? She as designer dictates everything, and his part is merely to exercise his muscles in such ways as she commands? "Yes dear, yes dear ..." But I doubt this too. The printer's part in the creation of a woodblock print is not simply that of a mindless labourer, but demands a very high level of creative input. No, they seem to have created a formula for living and working together that very few others have been able to find. I certainly wasn't able to ...

Those of you who read this, what do you think of this couple? I am sure there are many of you who are shuddering at the very idea of such a partnership ... together always. Together in the studio all day ... together in the home all evening ... together at night ... But I don't see it that way at all. Perhaps it is being a bit romantic of me, but the idea of sharing both parts of one's life with a close partner like this, seems like an ideal situation. I think it is natural for me to feel this way, because I do not 'go to work', but do all my productive activity here in my own home. There really isn't a clear separation in my life between 'living' and 'working'. Given that kind of framework, it seems quite natural to expect that the person who shares my 'living' could also share the 'working'. I imagine that this is the case with these Canadian friends of mine; they probably live and breath for each other, as they probably live and breath for their printmaking. I used the words 'not a typical couple' to describe them, but I certainly do consider them to be a 'normal' couple. It is just that such a successful living/working partnership as theirs does seem to be quite rare ... I know only one other like it, a couple living here in Japan near me, who run a business out of their home together, and who seem also to be very much 'taken' with each other.

Of course, not everybody could live like this. I can identify I think three essential character attributes for a member of such a partnership. Each must be a sympathetic person (can we say 'empathetic'?); trying always to be aware of what the other person is feeling, of what they need. I think also, that without plenty of tolerance, so that in those situations where it becomes obvious that things are not going to go your way, you can 'let it go' without feeling insecure or upset, any such relationship as this would be doomed. But above and beyond such characteristics as these, which mostly relate to how one treats your partner, surely it is also vitally important that each person have plenty of self-confidence. Enough self-confidence, not to let one's own personality become too submerged by that of the other person, nor lose sight of 'who you are' or 'why you are here'.

So why do I bring this topic up? What application does this have in my life? Am I trying to imply that I am looking for someone to share my woodblock printmaking work? No, that is hardly practical. My work as a traditional carver and printer is so incredibly specialized that there are only a few other people on this entire globe capable of helping me with it, and the likelihood of one of those being a compatible woman is simply non-existent. It's too late for that. (I think that the Canadian couple I have been talking about came to woodblock printmaking as relative beginners together, and 'grew up' in the field side-by-side ...) But although I may be currently a woodblock printmaker, I certainly do not consider myself only a woodblock printmaker. At the moment, for example, sitting here at this word processor, I feel myself to be an essayist (don't laugh please!). In a few years, when my large printmaking project is over, perhaps I will drop that type of work, and start afresh with something else. There are any number of things I am interested in doing, and many of them could involve collaboration with someone else ...

Are you shaking your head sadly? Do you think that I should forget such ideas, and expect an inevitable separation between my work and a partnership with someone, like 'everyone' else? Well, if that's the way it turns out, I guess I'll accept it, but I must admit that I would feel that to be also a kind of failure in a relationship. If two people, people who have those characteristics I listed above, have grown to feel a deep affection for each other, then surely working to create something together would be a natural way for them to extend and deepen such affection. But perhaps I am just dreaming ...

(July 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 10:02 PM | Comments (0)

I wrote a little piece the other day on request from one of the teachers at the piano school my kids are attending. She had not given me a specific topic to discuss, but as it was to be printed in their little school newsletter, it obviously made sense to speak about something related to musical activities.

So I touched on some of my experiences with music, how I had 'discovered' it during my high school days, and how it had provided a focus for all my energies for quite a number of years. I mentioned the different ensembles I had been a member of and some of the different instruments and types of music I had played. When the piece was finished, after Sadako had put it into Japanese for me I left it on my desk ready to be taken to the piano school when next we went.

It was here that my daughter Fumi noticed it. I came into the room while she was reading through it, saw what she was doing, and stood back out of her way until she finished. When she was through, she turned to me and asked, "None of this is true, is it?" I laughed and assured her that yes, it all was, but I know she had trouble believing this. The events I described all took place before she was born; the David in that story, playing his flute and saxophone, was a different person from her father David, working with his woodblocks and chisels.

Obvious it may now seem, this is something that I hadn't really considered before. If I think back to the image I hold of my own father, I can see two men - one the man as he currently is, a grey-bearded 'gent' living on his pensions, and generally taking life pretty easy - and the other as he must have appeared when I was in my early 20's, and he was a working 'club' musician. I feel I know those two guys, but what about all the 'other' fathers I had? What about that man who married my mother ... and the father of the new-born David ... of the little boy David ... of the teenager David ...? What were those men like? I have no idea, and I guess I never will.

This makes me quite curious as to what kind of image my kids have of me, and which one of their different fathers they will remember. Fumi naturally has no knowledge of what I was like, and what I was doing, before she was born, but how much will she remember of these years we are spending together? If my own experience is anything to go by ... it won't be much! The adult Fumi will obviously see me directly as an 'old' man, but I'd like to think that she will also feel that she knows (knew?) the younger me.

This is why I was so careful not to disturb her when I saw her reading that little piece. It was a new experience for me, to find myself 'talking' to her with my pencil, and it made me aware that at some time in the future, Himi and Fumi will presumably read through many of these little collections of my scribbling ... Will this help them fill in the 'gaps' in their memories? If my father had written little personal essays like these during the years I was a child, would that now help me to understand who he was ... who he is?

Perhaps it doesn't really matter. But it would be a kick to be able to read such stories. How about it 'future Himi' and 'future Fumi' ... are you enjoying these?

(July 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 11:42 AM | Comments (0)

I wrote a little essay a few months back about our new computer. I don't have that piece in front of me at the moment, so I can't be sure what I actually said at that time about having a computer come into our house, but I can remember my intentions quite clearly. The new machine was to have three quite clearly defined uses: for word processing (both for my business and my essays), for my music composing hobby, and for the kids to use to become a bit familiar with some of the things a computer could do. Over the half a year that our Mac has been living with us, it has fulfilled these expectations admirably.

As a word processor it has been a wonderful tool, and has both improved the appearance of the material I put out, and increased the amount that I can produce (about the quality I should say nothing ...). If I had known that such a sophisticated tool was available for such a reasonable investment, I would have made this purchase a long time ago (I guess though, in that case it would have been neither a sophisticated tool nor a reasonable price ...). Even if there were no other applications for this computer in our home, this one area has been more than enough to justify my investment.

But there are other applications. The music composing system (computer plus synthesizer) that was the original 'excuse' for the purchase, has also astonished me with its power and comprehensiveness. I now have here in my hands a vast palette of sounds, able to be arranged and combined in any way that I can imagine. Although this sort of system is not going to replace ensembles of real performers, it does allow one to write, listen and rewrite again and again in a fashion that would just not be possible with even the most cooperative group of musicians. It is in fact, far too powerful for an amateur like myself. I have been so overwhelmed by the essentially infinite nature of the possibilities, that it has been difficult to organize my work. The canvas is too wide ... The palette too full ... I will have to step back a bit, and limit myself to a smaller 'subset' of the system before I will be able to create any-thing better than the confused and feeble compositions I have written so far.

As for the third application, kids 'education', I have to be repetitive and say again, that here too, the system has been effective far beyond my original expectations. Using nothing more than a few pieces of software that were 'bundled' with the computer when it arrived (interactive books and 'paint' programs), they have quickly become familiar with many of the basic aspects of operating this type of machine: manipulating a mouse and keyboard, loading programs, and saving and retrieving files, etc. Combine this with the additional experience of seeing the things that their father is producing with the system, and I think that they are getting a good grounding in the use of computers. They certainly aren't going to be intimidated by them when they meet other machines later on, at school or in an office.

So it might seem as though I had things pretty well 'figured out' when I decided to go ahead with buying a computer. Well maybe so, but there is more to the story ...

One day early this summer, a couple of months after this new member of our family arrived, we received a package in the mail, a small present from the company who made the computer. It was a CD-ROM, sent to us in exchange for our filling out the registration card and the questionnaire that accompanied it. The disc contained many applications, utilities, illustrations, etc., all designed to help make our Mac more useful, and in addition to these, there was also a selection of computer games.

Games ... It had been the question of computer games that had been the only negative in my mind when I was considering the original purchase of the system. The thought of seeing my kids parked in front of the screen for endless hours, stupidly shooting away at coloured blobs representing space aliens ... No thanks. They knew about such games, having seen them at friends' homes, but each time they asked me to buy something like this, I refused. Perhaps it was a bit old-fashioned of me, but I found it hard to accept that the presumed benefits of an improvement in 'hand-eye' co-ordination could possibly make up for the amount of time lost to 'normal' activities.

So when I saw the index to this new disc, and what was on it, my first impulse was to simply set it aside, and not let them see what it was. But before doing so, I browsed through the various selections myself, to see what all these 'goodies' looked like. What did I find? Space aliens and more space aliens ... pachinko simulation ... mahjong ... still more space aliens ... card game simulations ... and so on and so on. No, there was nothing here for us. I could throw it away with a clear conscience. I couldn't do so though, without checking through everything on the disc first. It's not only cats that can be curious ...

You know what's coming up, right? After clicking on the 'icon' to start up one of the games on the list, I was faced with a screen display a bit different from others that I had seen. No aliens. No deck of cards. Just a black marble surrounded by various shapes. When I rolled the marble around the screen with the mouse, various coloured lights flashed, and then a moment later ... 'game over'. I had completely failed at whatever it was the program was expecting me to do. I tried again, watching the lights flash, and trying to understand what was going on. And this time, after a few moments of seemingly random flashing, the message came ... 'next level'. I had succeeded. At what, I still had no idea. This next level was totally different in appearance. I sat and stared at it. 'What is this? How does it work? Why does that marble behave in such different ways in different parts of the screen?' About fifteen minutes or so later, I had it. 'Next level ...' And again, a totally different screen ... and yet another intriguing puzzle ... It was hours before I could put it away. And now you are laughing. Going back to read some of the documentation accompanying the game, I found out that it was indeed a multi-level puzzle - 100 levels of interesting, captivating puzzle - each level made up of a totally new playing field. The next morning I showed it to the kids. They caught on quickly, and nearly every day since then, the three of us have been spending time with this fascinating, but sometimes extremely frustrating program. What did I say earlier, 'stupidly shooting away at coloured blobs representing space aliens ...'? Well, is this game really any different? Ahem, yes of course! This is brain work, not simply hand-eye work. The two girls sit there pooling their talents - Himi, being older, and thus a bit more physically coordinated, doing the actual mouse manipulation, and Fumi, being better able to 'see' solutions to what seem to be insoluble barriers, directing much of the action. They have climbed very high up the chain of levels, solving puzzles that I was certain would have left them stumped. They only call me for assistance when they are completely baffled.

So now I sit here, trying to sort out my thoughts on computer games. Am I crazy, letting my kids spend so much time with this thing? The simplest rationalization is that it is very much a brain game. This sort of play (work? study? mental exercise?) surely can't be bad for them. After all, I have recently been feeling quite frustrated at seeing them 'playing house' with their dolls all the time. At 10 and 12 years old, they seem to me to be too old for that sort of thing. But I certainly feel no frustration at seeing their faces light up and hearing them cheer when they break through yet another level and move on to the next playing field ...

Perhaps their interest will fade away after a while. That seems to be a common pattern with things like this. So I'll give them free access to it for as long as they wish ... as long as they promise not to tell me any of the 'secrets' of how to solve each puzzle. Because I too, am working my way up that ladder of 100 steps. I'm not going to tell you how far I've got, because I do have some pride, but I think that I'll be able to catch them soon, as the levels have recently become very very difficult. Perhaps we'll arrive at the finish just about together ... And that thought is starting to bother all three of us. What on earth are we going to do when we have finished level 100? How are we going to live without any more of this game to challenge? I think I can now get some idea of what a drug addict must feel like as he feels his 'fix' wearing off. "More, more! I've got to have more!"

What do you think? Should I have thrown away that CD-ROM? Can anything that is this much fun, really be bad for you?

I've avoided mentioning the name of the game. You see, I don't want to be responsible for bloodshot eyes, missed appointments, failed examinations, divorce, starvation ... But if you think you have enough self-control, and would like to try it, just give me a call, and I'll tell you the name - but I will disclaim any and all responsibility for what subsequently happens to you!

Now if you will excuse me, I have to shut down this word processing program for a while. There's something a bit more serious waiting for me ... Just how am I going to get through all those glass windows on level 82 without breaking my marble ...?

(July 1995)

Posted by Dave Bull at 12:10 AM | Comments (0)