The Line: Day 1

Despite my orignal intention to cover my neighborhood of Ontakesan for the 1st exercise, I discovered a place within the Minato-ku Ward, near the Azabu-juban station, that really captured my eyes and ears, leading me from one place to the next. I call this place "The Line" for lack of a better name, because my after setting sights on a particular temple, I was lead down the street to observe other interesting little areas, walking the line...shit, that's a name of that Johnny Cash movie...or Jackween Phoenix played Johnny Cash or something I forget. It would be easy for me to talk about one area in detail, but I feel that it is necessary for me briefly touch on these areas in short descriptive terms and sentences to perhaps give you a feel for the Line.

Upon walking down one of the many two-lane streets in Minato-ku, the first thing that catches you off guard is the empty gap within the monotonous rhythm of lofty apartment buildings and businesses. Within this gap contains a smooth road that leads a short distance to a set of stairs, which stack atop eachother leading to the temple gateway. A towering apartment complex can be found kilometers away from the temple, but seems to be hovering not far behind. Numerous people will walk up the road, up the temple steps and make a breif stop at the entrance of the temple. Middle-aged women, older men, and even an young male on a delivery bicycle took a couple of minutes out of their day to visit. Within the courtyard of the temple there prominently stands a tall yellow crane, it's arm outreaching toward the sky. A man in a yellow hard hat emerges from the bathroom, opens the door, and steps inside the crane. 2 gray haired men dig into their messy vans for various equipment and tools, then proceed to point and direct the direction of the crane. Two younger men with white cloth on their heads begin to move a small piece of machinery across the parking lot, as it continues to make noise and shake, slowly crawling like a minature military tank.

As I left the temple yard, I headed back to the entrance of the small road. I hear the "ping ping" sound of metal against metal. A man with light tan hat, goggles, and earplugs sits on his small stool while he faces a small mass of stone, hammering away at it with his chisel. Next to the one he's working on sits his model, a reference to the current piece in front of his eyes. The garage turned studio serves as his public work space, while pedistrians take a quick glance as to find the source of the rhythmic hammering. A man of the same age, with long gray hair and safari vest, walks inside giving the man a nod. He stops working for a minute for a brief word with this new man and then continues to hammer away.

Taking a look down the street you can see another open space. While walking this short distance to the end of the line, you are consumed by the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. You see a lone pink glove on the ground next to the recyling bin. There's a monkey on a sign with his arms outreached for a hug. A bicylce with a BMW emblem. Upon reaching the end of the line, there is another open area, similar to a town square, a central focal piece complete with a statue, trees and plants, while roads wrap themselves around the rectangle. Today there are a number of men who have set up tables within this cement rectangle and are selling various plates, vases, soap dishes, all hand-crafted pottery. Atop a tagged stone slab sit small clay animals, not yet dry or baked, still soft as the clay it was made from. A long piece of wood serves as a small display stand for more clay animals, these ones baked, painted, and glazed. Fake plastic sushi are found on the serving dishes. Flowers and branches are in the vases and bowls. The men all have jobs to do. One man unwraps the items of their surrounding newspaper and places the newspaper into several milk crates. Another man, with cigarette in mouth, takes these items and sets them on the appropriate table. He takes a branch or twig and places them in the large cylindrical pot. Another man walks around pricing this items, placing small stickers along the inside of the bowl's wall, while another with a fanny pack and moustache monitors the whole area, assisting any potential buyers. These customers are mostly women. Women with daughters, women with sisters, and women with their husbands. These women who pick up the pieces, observing all sides of the item, and then pointing at another piece that interests them have been the customers so far. There is one more man, dissociated with the customers, who in the corner crouches down. There is a large mass of clay in front of him with a deep well in the middle. He takes a piece of newspaper, lights it on fire, and places it deep within the well of this clay. He adds more newspaper and begins to poke at it with a long wooden stick. Again he adds more newspaper and moves it around with the stick. A thick billow of smoke begins to pour out of the well as he proceeds to blow on the contained fire to keep it ablaze. Customers come and go. This man builds his fire. And the other men do their designated work.