The paradoxical ways of Satchie Noro/Furinkaï
To begin with (wide shot)
A sound: Furinkaï, the sound of the wind.
A sound shared by the living, without words, inevitably polyglot.
The sound of breath – sound of the spirit?
An image: a tatami in a dojo in Paris. A tatami as large as the world that we carry within. As large as the Earth.
Another image: the Earth, gigantic or minute, according to whether we make it ours or not, just like the tatami above.
In the background, a dual image of Japan unfolds:
- the Japan of half of one’s origins, the Japan of a father sent by the founder of aikido to introduce this martial art in Europe;
- the Japan that is personified by the father in a dojo, elsewhere, that which he carries with him. The immaterial quality of memory, of tradition, of ancestors, of the absent.
A history in three figures
The tie with the family’s history and Nippon culture is woven through the body language of aikido and the physical place of practice, the dojo. The body learns a language beyond words, with the sound of the wind.
Revolving around a martial arts figure – centered, still, here and now – the ballerina figure is superimposed – with its pirouette, the compression and expansion of space by dancing on pointes – as well as the aerial circus figure – the ballerina, away from her usual space, is suspended in weightlessness, flowing imperceptibly into the secret interstices of space. An arabesque flies aloft, after some time on a trapeze.
Motors
There is a tie with one’s roots: they are strong and diverse, they resist exile, they are portable. Mobile roots, and driving forces, as a consequence?
There is a need to breathe, to escape being boxed in, to work differently in one’s own time, at first, through wind, rain and snow, in the dark or the cold.
There is an ambition to remain portable, and thus create a simple and lightweight form of installation and performance, a structure that would have few needs in terms of technique, lights or set. A piece, a space with which to travel, that can be installed almost singlehandedly, to be brought to life even in a field.
Trajectories
The three characters of the story are interwoven in an intermediary space and time. And the places move, beyond the voyage. Between inside and outside, outside the box, off the tatami, and in the three languages and three images of immobile force, the pirouette and the aerial element; the voyage also plays out in time – as a carrier, a transporter, of inside/outside.
The container materializes the dream of a moving space, of a voyage that transports its own space, an unsteady mobile zone between cultures and between forms. A place of time and space, suspended in time and space.
As another trajectory, the origami transfigures the inside/outside, by offering multiple paths for the journey. The container is the space, the origami is the movement.
From one voyage to another, radiating towards Japan or Chile, Satchie Noro revisits and connects various points on our planet. As a suspended voyage, as huge as the Earth.
ENCOUNTERS AND COLLABORATIONS
Trusting in a solitary course, and an open mind, provokes “encounters that surpass her, overwhelm her.” Collaborations follow one after the other, each one in its own way brings its history and its culture, and participates in a shared creation, nourished by its autonomy. And Furinkaï, the sound of the wind, bears the fruit of each encounter.
Satchie Noro also participates in adventures initiated by others, thus enriching an experience built little by little through progression and passage.
In addition, she currently co-directs a circus school, to pass on to others, to spread ideas, to favor diversity and interconnections in her activities.
IN CONCLUSION, one MORE image
In traditional Japanese architecture, between inside and outside, there is the engawa, a strip of floor that is suspended, generally made of wood, an intermediate space that opens onto the garden, running alongside the house.
Is it not in this intermediate, interiorized space that Furinkaï works to soften extremes, to shed the blinds of binary vision? In the same way that the archer need not hit his target, just as the container folds into an origami, nothing forces the house to be square; it acquires more vibrations and more life by being doubled, peacefully surrounded by the engawa, and all that happens there. And paradoxes, they are no longer.
Denise Luccioni
October 30, 2016
To begin with (wide shot)
A sound: Furinkaï, the sound of the wind.
A sound shared by the living, without words, inevitably polyglot.
The sound of breath – sound of the spirit?
An image: a tatami in a dojo in Paris. A tatami as large as the world that we carry within. As large as the Earth.
Another image: the Earth, gigantic or minute, according to whether we make it ours or not, just like the tatami above.
In the background, a dual image of Japan unfolds:
- the Japan of half of one’s origins, the Japan of a father sent by the founder of aikido to introduce this martial art in Europe;
- the Japan that is personified by the father in a dojo, elsewhere, that which he carries with him. The immaterial quality of memory, of tradition, of ancestors, of the absent.
A history in three figures
The tie with the family’s history and Nippon culture is woven through the body language of aikido and the physical place of practice, the dojo. The body learns a language beyond words, with the sound of the wind.
Revolving around a martial arts figure – centered, still, here and now – the ballerina figure is superimposed – with its pirouette, the compression and expansion of space by dancing on pointes – as well as the aerial circus figure – the ballerina, away from her usual space, is suspended in weightlessness, flowing imperceptibly into the secret interstices of space. An arabesque flies aloft, after some time on a trapeze.
Motors
There is a tie with one’s roots: they are strong and diverse, they resist exile, they are portable. Mobile roots, and driving forces, as a consequence?
There is a need to breathe, to escape being boxed in, to work differently in one’s own time, at first, through wind, rain and snow, in the dark or the cold.
There is an ambition to remain portable, and thus create a simple and lightweight form of installation and performance, a structure that would have few needs in terms of technique, lights or set. A piece, a space with which to travel, that can be installed almost singlehandedly, to be brought to life even in a field.
Trajectories
The three characters of the story are interwoven in an intermediary space and time. And the places move, beyond the voyage. Between inside and outside, outside the box, off the tatami, and in the three languages and three images of immobile force, the pirouette and the aerial element; the voyage also plays out in time – as a carrier, a transporter, of inside/outside.
The container materializes the dream of a moving space, of a voyage that transports its own space, an unsteady mobile zone between cultures and between forms. A place of time and space, suspended in time and space.
As another trajectory, the origami transfigures the inside/outside, by offering multiple paths for the journey. The container is the space, the origami is the movement.
From one voyage to another, radiating towards Japan or Chile, Satchie Noro revisits and connects various points on our planet. As a suspended voyage, as huge as the Earth.
ENCOUNTERS AND COLLABORATIONS
Trusting in a solitary course, and an open mind, provokes “encounters that surpass her, overwhelm her.” Collaborations follow one after the other, each one in its own way brings its history and its culture, and participates in a shared creation, nourished by its autonomy. And Furinkaï, the sound of the wind, bears the fruit of each encounter.
Satchie Noro also participates in adventures initiated by others, thus enriching an experience built little by little through progression and passage.
In addition, she currently co-directs a circus school, to pass on to others, to spread ideas, to favor diversity and interconnections in her activities.
IN CONCLUSION, one MORE image
In traditional Japanese architecture, between inside and outside, there is the engawa, a strip of floor that is suspended, generally made of wood, an intermediate space that opens onto the garden, running alongside the house.
Is it not in this intermediate, interiorized space that Furinkaï works to soften extremes, to shed the blinds of binary vision? In the same way that the archer need not hit his target, just as the container folds into an origami, nothing forces the house to be square; it acquires more vibrations and more life by being doubled, peacefully surrounded by the engawa, and all that happens there. And paradoxes, they are no longer.
Denise Luccioni
October 30, 2016