One Hand
Clapping:
The Taoe of Music
WholeArts and
The Psychic Internet is proud to present the
"Preface" and "Part One" of this
remarkable book by Daniel d'Quincy. "One Hand
Clapping: The Tao of Music," originally published by
WholeArts in 1991, is a book-length essay on the
performance of music from the perspective of Eastern
philosophy and religion. Mr. d'Quincy is a noted
composer, musician, author, inventor, educator, speaker,
and photographer. Please visit his unique music sites at WholeArts: syNThony, and the WholeArts Online Music Conservatory.
Page 46
If so, consider
again if things we focus upon in the foreground of our
attention can really and actually be divorced from the
space they occupy. Eastern culture, at any rate, clearly
understands implicitly in everything it does that empty
space is just as fundamental as the things contained in
it. A cup must be hollowed out if it is to hold anything
and be properly defined as a cup. A house would be of no
use to anyone if the walls contained no empty space, its
utility being greatly enhanced by the empty space of
doors and windows. Up to a point we all understand this
in principle. But the Japanese painter excels in the way
she makes empty space share in artistic significance with
all the objects within it.
The eastern
martial arts reveal a different kind of integrity between
foreground and background. The Judo master, for example,
teaches by making his student aware of the very thing he
is least conscious of, namely: the exact disposition of
his own weight and posture. That is the background, for
one quite naturally tends, in battle, to place the
assailant in the foreground of attention. By using this
reflexive habit against the student, the teacher
ultimately makes him more self-conscious. He knows very
well how to take advantage of any slight imbalance or
weakness in posture, but his teaching aims to help the
student to harmonize a background consciousness of his
physical body with a foreground of his thinking mind and
will. Putting this in a different way, we might say that
the martial arts aim at an integration of action and
reaction. These are the two alternating currents of
martial conflict, and they depend on an equal awareness
of foreground and background. As every general knows, in
war all certainties evaporate. One scarcely knows how to
distinguish between foreground and background, except
that the background is usually where the attack is
staged.[1]
This mode of
awareness was beautifully embodied in a work of art that
hung in the atrium of San Francisco’s Museum of
Contemporary Art, as part of a large show from China in
the year 2001. The work consisted of a straw covered
canoe, suspended from the ceiling, and pierced with
hundreds of arrows.
In a commentary
on the work, the artist told of a Chinese army general
who felt not a bit put out by his Emperor’s demand
for a supply of arrows in the next day’s campaign
that far outstripped the productive capacity of his
arsenal. The general cunningly affixed straw to all of
the boats of his fleet, and sent them out with the men
crouched down within. The enemy, on spotting the fleet,
shot volley after volley of their precious arrows, until
the general called back the fleet and retrieved all the
arrows he needed to satisfy his sovereign’s command.
This was to see the background when everybody else was
fixated on the foreground. One can only marvel at the
many levels of background that informed the installation
of this work in San Francisco at the beginning of the 21st
century. Not farthest in the background was China’s
awakening pride and determination to participate in
global trade and culture, protecting her sovereignty
without question or error, and in her own way. Americans
are still trying to ignore this background element in
their picture of our brave new world.
[1] D.T Suzuki description of this technique is
characteristically colorful and worth quoting: “The
Japanese fencing master sometimes uses the Zen method of
training. Once, when a disciple came to a master to be
disciplined in the art of fencing, the master, who was in
retirement in his mountain hut, agreed to undertake the
task. The pupil was made to help him gather wood for
kindling, draw water from the nearby spring, split wood,
make the fire, cook rice, sweep the rooms and the garden,
and generally look after his household affairs. There was
no regular or technical teaching in the art. After some
time the young man became dissatisfied, for he had not
come to work as servant to the old gentleman, but to
learn the art of swordsmanship. So one day he approached
the master and asked him to teach him. The master agreed.
The result was that the young man could not do any piece
of work with any feeling of safety. For when he began to
cook rice early in the morning, the master would appear
and strike him from behind with a stick. When he was in
the midst of his sweeping, he would be feeling the same
blow from somewhere, from an unknown direction. He had no
peace of mind, he had to be always on the qui vive. Some
years passed before he could successfully dodge the blow
from whatever source it might come. But the master was
not quite satisfied with him yet. One day the master was
found cooking his own vegetables over an open fire. The
pupil took it into his head to avail himself of this
opportunity. Taking up his big stick, he let it fall on
the head of the master, who was then stooping over the
cooking pan to stir its contents. But the pupil's stick
was caught by the master with the cover of the pan. This
opened the pupil's mind to the secrets of the art, which
had hitherto been kept from him. He then for the first
time really appreciated the unparalleled kindness of the
master.” (Next
Page)
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