Click to see the full panoramic photo

The other day, as we were cleaning our old home, I came across a thick, old, rolled up poster…or so I thought. Upon unrolling the “poster”, I discovered that it was an old loooong black and white photo from my dad’s house, that I hadn’t ever seen before. Some you older folks have seen these before; the super-wide funeral photo that used to be taken at old-style Japanese funerals in Hawaii. Staring back at me in suits and black dresses were the stern faces of perhaps 150 mourners (the only time, I think, when the photographer doesn’t say “Smile!” or “Cheese!”). It was dated Feb 7, 1958; a half-century ago and captured the large group of friends and relatives who attended the service for Shunshin Shimabukuro – my Okinawan grandfather. My very capable IT friend was able to scan the long narrow photo into a 15 megabyte file and Voila! I was able to view it on my PC. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I was able to to magnify the image by 700% without losing hardly any clarity. I looked in wonder, as my mom’s face filled the screen, gazing back at me across 50 years (mom passed away over 30 years ago). It’s a sobering thought that I and my various other young cousins, lined up in the front of the large group, are all in our fifties and sixties today. The vast majority of folks, captured and frozen here in time, are, like “Gigi” (grandpa) long gone.

I was not quite 7 years old at the time, and can still actually remember that day. Trying to stand still for the shoot (some faces were slightly blurred, as they must have moved during the camera’s slow panoramic rotation) in my white shirt and bow-tie, I recall thinking how long it would be, before we could go back to playing. My older cousins were adept at folding paper balls and newspaper hats for us younger kids to enjoy, and I could hardly wait to resume the our games up on the funeral parlor veranda. A long-ago moment in time, first captured by special chemically treated paper (held up quite well over the years) and now, in the 21st Century, converted into electromagnetic bytes (15 million of them!) to be stored, manipulated and transmitted over the ether at will. The fifty years seem to have passed in a flash (no pun intended), leaving precious few of us “youngsters” behind. I was so young, and the group so large and extended, that I can only name perhaps a third of those present and recognize the vaguely familiar face (Gigi’s friend? A distant relative?) of another third. My own adult children would be hard pressed to identify almost anyone in the photo. Fifty years from now, and how many of my descendents wouldl be able to recognize the images in the photo?

Seems rather depressing, but the lesson to be learned here is that there is continuity that transcends the years. Whether it’s looking at long-departed relatives whose images and personalities are recalled by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of today. Or whether it’s the lessons and practices taught in homes, around the dinner table, something can live on and be successfully transmitted. Life moves on, progress is made, and the journey continues.

Which brings to me to my thoughts on what we mean by the word “art”, in the phrase, “Martial Art”. Why do we call karate-do an art? Here are my simple thoughts on the matter. I believe that an art is comprised of four basic components: 1) Person to person transmission, 2) A body of knowledge/techniques/traditions, 3) Flexibility for varied interpretation, and 4) The capacity to allow for individual expression and creativity.

(1) In today’s world of advanced methods of information transmission and media, one can learn so much about karate’s history, techniques and even view live performances of kata/kumite via Youtube. Yet, all of these methods pale by comparison, and are insufficient to make up for hard, repetitive training under the watchful eye and guidance of a karate sensei…teacher to student interaction is essential to the transmission of a martial art.

(2) Hopefully, there’s something, some body of knowledge and information to transmit. I don’t mean that we have to be dogmatic or black and white about the art that we practice, such as the late Bruce Lee used to hate (senseis like the pharisees). On the other hand, standardization in the basics may be preferable to a totally freestyle way of training, with no sense of reference.

(3) The basics need to be dutifully transmitted and received (usually by the dan level). The karateka should be not just blindly train, but should also always be analyzing what he/she is doing and looking for ways to improve. If you have a hundred different Shotokan instructors teach you (assuming they’re all competent), you should gain the value of a hundred different perspectives on the same technique. This, in turn, should help you form your own individual perspective on the technique. Strangely enough, lessons of this nature are more commonly learned by the instructor as he/she is trying to share technique with the students.

(4) While Shotokan can be characterized as an art with very standardized basics, it is also a very highly documented and developed martial art, with millions of adherents practicing it in countless dojos around the world. Yet, it is certainly not a stagnant art. Instead, at its best, it is a very dynamic art, whose vast body of knowledge is constantly being added to by those who practice it.

I’m rambling as usual, but in short – an art is something that is human and alive. It helps us transcend time and somehow get in touch with those who practiced it in past decades and centuries. Yet, it grows, it evolves and moves on beyond our short lifetimes. Hey, I enjoy looking at that fifty-year old image of my young mom as I first remember her. In spite of that, it’s only a frozen image of a moment in time that’s long-gone. Yet, whenever I hear my daughter’s cheerful laugh or hear her sweet singing voice, my mom’s own hearty personality and voice are alive once more (DNA at work). When I see her execute a beautiful mawashi-geri or perfect yoko kekomi-geri, learned from many faithful and caring senseis over 20+ years, I am reminded of the successful transmission of the art of karate-do across the generations…and I smile. The art lives on.