Tag: Cultural exchange

Card Crossings

A magic carpet takes us to a far away photo show, and a beach scene brings back old memories.

Nina found Mrs. Hanabusa in the common room sorting groceries into cloth bags. The postcard was still in Nina’s hand—a Navajo textile in geometric patterns, black and white against red wool.

“Let me help,” Nina said, taking two bags.

Mrs. Hanabusa glanced at the card. “From your friend? The one who went to Taipei?”

“She just arrived.” Nina turned the card over.

Made it. Everything moves faster here. First night was a photo exhibit on Mt Nunhu. Already miss the slow mornings. —N

Funny, Nina had received Nora’s text with images from the show that night, long before the postcard arrived in her mailbox here in Tucson.

They walked to Mrs. Hanabusa’s room. Nina set the bags on the small counter. Mrs. H studied the postcard, her finger tracing the pattern.

“My grandparents had one like this. Hung in their house on the flower farm.” She paused. “My grandmother found it at a trading post in the twenties. She said the geometry reminded her of Japanese family crests. Clean lines. She hung it in the room where they did arrangements.”

Mrs. H’s voice stayed quiet, remembering. “After the war, when we came back from the camps, the farm was gone. But a neighbor had saved some things. The rug was one of them. Grandmother cried when she saw it. I was small, maybe seven. I didn’t understand then what it meant to get something back.”

She opened a drawer, pulled out a small wooden box. Inside lay perhaps a dozen postcards, all showing Ikebana arrangements with low, horizontal compositions in shallow containers. Pink and red cosmos rising from a white porcelain vase. Allium gigantium’s perfect spheres balanced with small lantana blooms. A giant monstera leaf with a canna lily and a white chrysanthemum.

Mrs. Hanabusa handed Nina the stack of cards. She flipped through slowly, admiring each floral design.

“My sister sent these from Osaka. Our grandmother taught the traditional way. These are more like her arrangements, traditional but made new.”

Mrs. H pointed to the one with the iris. Nina looked closer. The composition was deliberate. Bold strokes against a spare background.

“Your friend will send you more postcards?”

“She promised,” Nina replied.

“Good,” Mrs. H smiled. “We get bored without friends.”

George had haunted thrift stores his whole life. Mostly he looked for tools—socket wrenches, levels, hand planes that still had their blades. Things he could use or restore.

Now he looked for postcards too.

The Goodwill in Red Wing had a basket of them near the register. Fifty cents each. He sorted through slowly. Tourist shots of the Badlands. A faded view of the State Capitol. Then he found a few good ones.

A real photo postcard showing Lake Pepin framed by trees—”Father of Waters” etched in careful script. The water stretched wide and calm, clouds massed above the bluffs.

A color card of Minneapolis Public Library, the old red brick building with its round tower and arched windows. George remembered when they torn it down in 1951.

A chrome card showing a white horse leaning over a fence, red barn and farmhouse in the background.

And then—George stopped. Sugar Loaf Mountain near Winona. A beach scene, families on the sand, kids on playground equipment, swimmers in the water. The mountain rising behind them.

He was transported to that very day. Their family had been right there, doing exactly that. The kids running between the beach and the playground. The particular blue of the water. How his wife had packed sandwiches that got sand in them and nobody cared.

George bought all four cards. Two dollars total. At home he examined them under the desk lamp before he got to thinking about each message.

He wrote to Emma:

Found this real photo from Lake Pepin. “Father of Waters” they called it. Your wanderlust comes honestly—this river goes all the way to the Gulf. Love, Grandpa

To Jack:

Get to the good old libraries while you can. This one is gone already! Love, Grandpa

To Lily:

See how the fence posts get smaller as they go back? That’s tricky to draw! Give it a try. Love, Grandpa

He paused at the fourth card, and let out a small sigh. Sugar Loaf Mountain, seems like another lifetime. Finally, he wrote:

This one is for you, kiddo. Reminds me of you and the guys and Mom. Fun times! Love, Dad

George added addresses and stamps. Put on his coat and walked to the mailbox, a short stretch of the legs that he now enjoyed. A chickadee called from the pine tree across the street—its clear two-note song cutting through the cold afternoon air.

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Though the story is fiction, vintage postcards are still a fun way to explore.
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Island Time Travel

Native Hawaiian wisdom, mainland capitalism, an LDS mission, and the birth of Pacific tourism. At the center, a banyan tree that has watched Hawaii transform for 120 years. This 1921 real photo postcard reveals the complexities of cultural exchange, migration, and travel over time.

In the photograph we are looking at today, the Moana Hotel rises like a palace from Waikiki Beach, its elegant wings stretching toward Diamond Head. A wooden pier extends into the Pacific. The building’s Victorian details hint at mainland American grandeur transplanted to the tropics. The “First Lady of Waikiki” opened as the territory’s first luxury resort, transforming a landscape once dotted with taro ponds and royal summer homes into the birthplace of Pacific tourism.

Built by wealthy landowner Walter Chamberlain Peacock and designed by architect Oliver G. Traphagen, the Moana opened on March 11, 1901, with 75 rooms featuring Hawaii’s first electric elevator and the unique amenity of private bathrooms. The first guests were a group of Shriners, who paid $1.50 per night—about $50 today—to experience what was then a very remote luxury destination.

Three years later, Jared Smith, Director of the Department of Agriculture Experiment Station, planted what seemed like a simple landscaping choice in the hotel’s courtyard: a young Indian banyan tree, nearly seven feet tall and about seven years old when planted. In the image, the tree is seventeen years old and already creating the shaded sanctuary that is the hotel’s heart even today.

As we flip the postcard over, another dimension is revealed. On November 29, 1921, a simple message sent to Mabel Moss in Longanoxie, Kansas with the usual greetings. But this isn’t a holiday for Aunt Olive. Her return address, “Route 4 – Box 46,” tells its own story of how communities were connecting between ancient and modern, sacred and commercial.

A Mormon Pioneer’s Island Home

Aunt Olive likely lived in Laie, thirty-five miles north of the Moana Hotel, where the Mormon Church had established its Pacific sanctuary. Her Route 4 address would have been served by one of the Rural Free Delivery routes radiating out from Honolulu—a detail that places her among the settlers who were building new communities beyond the city’s tourist corridor.

The Mormon settlement at Laie represented a unique form of cultural encounter. Beginning in 1865, when Church president Brigham Young received permission from King Kamehameha V to establish an agricultural colony, the Latter-Day Saints purchased 6,000 acres of traditional land—a pie-shaped division that provided for sustainable living. The Mormon community tried to honor Hawaiian land practices, giving each family a loi (water garden) to cultivate kalo (taro), the traditional sustenance crop.

The Hawaii Temple, dedicated in 1919, was the first Mormon temple outside continental North America. Built with crushed local lava and coral, its structure embodied the meeting of mainland pioneer culture and Pacific Island materials. Polynesian Saints from across the Pacific were gathering in Laie to receive temple ordinances, creating a multicultural religious community where Hawaiian, Samoan, Maori, and haole (white) families lived side by side.

The LDS approach to missionary work emphasizes learning local languages and customs—not merely as conversion strategy, but as theological principle. One of the early missionaries mastered Hawaiian so thoroughly that he produced the first non-English translation of the Book of Mormon in 1855. The missionaries married into Hawaiian families, adopted local foods and farming methods, and incorporated Polynesian cultural elements into their worship. Even as they openly sought converts, they also saw themselves as students of Hawaiian wisdom.

Paradise Shared

Captured in our image are at least a few conflicting visions of paradise. The Moana Hotel itself represents economic prosperity through the commodification of tropical beauty. Its guests paid premium rates to experience “the ultimate playground,” complete with hula shows and exotic imagery designed for mainland consumption. By the time of this photo, the hotel’s success had already inspired expansion; wings added in 1918 doubled its capacity.

However, the hotel was built where Hawaiian royalty had once gathered, in a place that embodied the Native Hawaiian principles, very different than Western concepts of land as commodity, beauty as product, and culture as entertainment. Look again at the Banyan tree. Where tourists saw scenery, Native Hawaiians understood kino lau—the gods manifested in every plant, animal, and natural feature. But, Hawaiian language had been banned in schools since 1896, and traditional practices were actively discouraged as territorial authorities promoted “Americanization.”

The Mormon community at Laie offered a third way that, despite its evangelical aims, required genuine cultural engagement. Unlike tourists who consumed Hawaiian imagery, or territorial officials who suppressed Hawaiian practices, Mormon missionaries made learning local ways a theological priority. They understood that successful evangelism required fluency not just in Hawaiian language, but in Hawaiian concepts of kinship, land, and spirituality.

This approach created communities that were simultaneously foreign settlements and island adaptations—places where pioneer traditions mixed with Polynesian extended family structures, where American church hymns were sung in native dialects, and where temple architecture incorporated local materials and building techniques.

Time Travel

The tensions that were at work in 1921 continue today, but so do the possibilities for meaningful cultural exchange. Today’s mālama Hawaii movement invites travelers to participate in coral restoration, native forest planting, and beach cleanups. Visitors can learn about places like Waimea Valley, where ancient cultural sites are preserved alongside environmental restoration. The principle of pono—righteous action—guides travelers to maintain respectful distances from endangered monk seals and sea turtles, to support Native Hawaiian-owned businesses, and to understand that they are guests in a living culture, not a theme park.

The island time we seek now isn’t the vacation fantasy of escape from responsibility, but the deeper rhythm of understanding our place within larger cycles of care and connection. When we travel with curiosity rather than conquest, we discover that the most valuable treasures are the stories and perspectives we gather. Over time, we come to know that every place on Earth is someone’s sacred ground.

In Hawaiian tradition, banyan trees serve as gathering places for spirits, bridges between the physical and spiritual worlds. Perhaps this ancient wisdom explains why the Moana Hotel’s banyan courtyard remains a place of peace amid Waikiki’s transformation—a living reminder that some forms of growth honor rather than diminish what came before.

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Ikebana, Cultural Exchange, and the 1970 Osaka Expo

Explores the pivotal events and cultural shifts surrounding a humble set of Ikebana postcards, taking us on a journey from ancient Japanese traditions to the futuristic visions of the 1970 Osaka Expo, and beyond.

In the late 1960s, a set of postcards made its way from Tokyo to Hawaii, and then onto the American mainland. At first glance, these look like simple instructional cards about flower arranging. But a deeper dive reveals a fascinating story of cultural exchange, artistic tradition, and a pivotal moment in post-war Japanese history.

A Window into Cultural Exchange

Our story begins with a set of twenty postcards, published in 1969 by Shufunotomo Co., Ltd. in Tokyo and distributed by M. Dacal Enterprises in Hawaii. Titled in bold IKEBANA OF JAPAN, these cards weren’t only pretty pictures. They were a practical guide to Moribana, a style of Ikebana (Japanese flower arranging) developed by the Ohara School. Each card provided detailed instructions and diagrams, allowing anyone to try their hand at this ancient Japanese art form.

The very existence of these postcards tells us much about the cultural climate of the time. That a Japanese publisher would create such a set, and an American company would distribute it, speaks volumes about the growing Western fascination with Japanese culture in the post-war era. But why was this happening, and why then?

Post-War Cultural Curiosity

Let’s step back and look at the broader picture of US-Japan relations in the decades after World War II. The war had left deep scars on both sides, but the post-war years saw a remarkable transformation in the relationship between these former enemies.

As Japan rebuilt and its economy began to grow at an astounding rate (the so-called “Japanese economic miracle”), Americans became increasingly curious about this nation that was rapidly becoming an economic powerhouse. This curiosity extended beyond economics to encompass Japanese culture, arts, and traditions.

Rise of Japanese Cultural Influence

By the 1960s, various aspects of Japanese culture were gaining traction in the United States. The first anime series broadcast in the US, “Astro Boy,” aired in 1963, marking the beginning of what would become a major cultural import. Traditional Japanese arts like Ikebana, the tea ceremony, and martial arts were also gaining popularity among Americans interested in Eastern philosophy and aesthetics.

This interest was part of a broader trend. The counterculture movement of the 1960s often looked to Eastern philosophies and practices as alternatives to mainstream Western culture. Zen Buddhism, in particular, captured the imagination of many Americans, bringing with it an appreciation for Japanese aesthetics and art forms.

In academia, American universities were expanding their Asian Studies programs, fostering scholarly exchange and increased understanding of Japanese culture. This academic interest helped to deepen and contextualize the growing popular fascination with Japan.

Ikebana: More Than Just Flower Arranging

At the heart of our postcard set is Ikebana, an art form that encapsulates much of what attracted Westerners to Japanese culture. Ikebana is not merely decorative; it’s a profound artistic practice deeply rooted in Japanese aesthetics and philosophy.

Originating in the 6th century as a Buddhist ritual of offering flowers to the spirits of the dead, Ikebana evolved over centuries into a highly refined art form. It emphasizes the beauty of simplicity, the importance of space and form, and a deep appreciation for the impermanence of nature.

The Moribana style featured in our postcard set is particularly significant. Developed in the late 19th century by Unshin Ohara, founder of the Ohara School, Moribana represented a significant departure from more rigid traditional styles. The name “Moribana” translates to “piled-up flowers,” referring to its more naturalistic, abundant appearance compared to earlier styles.

Moribana was a response to the introduction of Western flowers to Japan and the influence of Western floral arrangement concepts. It uses a shallow, flat container called a suiban, which allows for more freedom in the arrangement and can include water as a visible element. This style aims to recreate natural landscapes or garden scenes in miniature, allowing for a wider variety of materials and a three-dimensional approach that can be viewed from all angles.

The development of Moribana reflects the broader changes happening in Japan during the Meiji era (1868-1912), a time of rapid modernization and Western influence. Just as Japan was finding ways to blend traditional culture with Western influences in politics, economics, and social structures, Moribana represented a similar synthesis in the world of art.

1970 Osaka Expo: Japan’s Global Coming Out Party

As our postcards were making their way across the Pacific, Japan was preparing for an event that would mark its definitive re-emergence on the global stage: the 1970 World Expo in Osaka.

The choice of Japan as the host for the 1970 World Expo was significant. It was the first World Expo to be held in Asia, symbolizing Japan’s reintegration into the international community and its new status as an economic powerhouse. The theme of the Expo, “Progress and Harmony for Mankind,” reflected an optimistic vision of technology and international cooperation that resonated in the post-war era.

The Osaka Expo was a massive undertaking and a resounding success. It attracted over 64 million visitors, making it the most attended expo in history at that time. The event showcased Japan’s technological advancements and cultural heritage side-by-side, presenting a vision of a country that had successfully modernized while maintaining its unique cultural identity.

It would take more research to learn about Ikebana displays at the Expo, but it’s highly likely that this traditional art form was featured prominently. The Expo was, after all, Japan’s opportunity to show its best face to the world, and traditional arts like Ikebana would have been important in representing Japan’s cultural heritage alongside its technological achievements.

The Expo is known for its architectural marvels, including Kenzo Tange’s Festival Plaza and the iconic Tower of the Sun by Taro Okamoto. These structures embodied the futuristic optimism of the event while also incorporating elements of traditional Japanese aesthetics. In this context, traditional arts like Ikebana would have provided a counterpoint to the futuristic exhibits, demonstrating the continuity of Japanese culture amidst rapid change.

Legacy of the Osaka Expo

The 1970 Osaka Expo left a lasting impact on Japan and its relationship with the world. It cemented Japan’s image as a technologically advanced nation while also showcasing its rich cultural heritage. The event contributed to the growing global interest in Japanese culture, arts, and design philosophy.

In the years after the Expo, Japan’s cultural exports increased dramatically. Japanese electronics became synonymous with high quality and cutting-edge technology. Japanese management practices were studied and emulated around the world. And Japanese popular culture, from anime and manga to fashion and cuisine, began to exert a growing influence globally.

This was the context in which our Ikebana postcards were circulating. They were part of a larger wave of Japanese cultural influence that was washing over the Western world, particularly the United States. The postcards represented more than just a guide to flower arranging; they were a tangible connection to a culture that was increasingly capturing the American imagination.

Ikebana in the Modern World

Today, Ikebana continues to be practiced both in Japan and around the world, though like many traditional arts, it faces challenges in the modern era.

In Japan, Ikebana remains an important part of cultural education. Many schools and universities offer Ikebana courses, and other schools like Ikenobo, Ohara, and Sogetsu have headquarters and branches throughout the country. Regular exhibitions showcase both traditional and contemporary Ikebana, and the art form is often featured in cultural festivals and events.

Internationally, organizations like Ikebana International, which has many chapters in the U.S., play a crucial role in promoting and preserving the art form. These groups organize exhibitions, workshops, and lectures, helping to keep the tradition alive and introduce it to new audiences.

Many cities with significant Japanese-American populations have cultural centers that offer Ikebana classes. Botanical gardens and art museums occasionally host Ikebana exhibitions, providing broader exposure to the art form. Some cities have local Ikebana clubs or study groups, creating communities of practitioners and enthusiasts.

The COVID-19 pandemic accelerated the trend of online Ikebana classes and virtual exhibitions, making the art form more accessible to people around the world. Social media platforms like Instagram have also provided new ways for Ikebana practitioners to share their work and connect with others, helping to popularize the art form among younger generations.

Challenges and Evolutions

Despite its enduring appeal, Ikebana faces challenges in the modern world. In both Japan and internationally, there’s concern about attracting younger generations to the art. The meditative, time-consuming nature of Ikebana can be at odds with the fast-paced, digital-first lifestyles of many young people.

There’s also an ongoing discussion within the Ikebana community about how to balance tradition and innovation. While some practitioners strictly adhere to traditional forms and rules, others are exploring new approaches, blending Ikebana with contemporary art concepts or fusing it with other cultural flower-arranging traditions.

Environmental concerns are also influencing the practice of Ikebana. There’s a growing emphasis on sustainable practices, with some practitioners focusing on using local, seasonal materials or incorporating found objects and recycled materials into their arrangements.

Enduring Appeal of Ikebana

Despite these challenges, the core principles of Ikebana continue to resonate with many people around the world. In an era of constant digital stimulation and environmental anxiety, the practice offers a way to slow down, connect with nature, and create beauty with one’s own hands.

The philosophy behind Ikebana – with its emphasis on simplicity, asymmetry, and the appreciation of natural forms – aligns well with contemporary interests in mindfulness and sustainability. As a meditative practice, Ikebana offers a form of stress relief and a way to cultivate presence and attention to detail.

Moreover, as our lives become increasingly virtual, there’s a growing appreciation for tangible, physical arts like Ikebana. The act of carefully selecting and arranging natural materials provides a tactile, sensory experience that many find grounding and rejuvenating.

From Postcards to the Present

Our journey began with a set of postcards – a modest gesture to bridge cultures through careful examples and explanations of the art of flower arranging. These cards, with their detailed instructions and diagrams, were more than just a guide to Ikebana. They were ambassadors of Japanese culture, part of a broader wave of cultural exchange that helped reshape the relationship between Japan and the West in the post-war era. It’s a story of how art can transcend cultural boundaries, fostering understanding and appreciation between formerly adversarial nations.

Today, as we face global challenges that need international cooperation and mutual understanding, the lessons of this cultural exchange are still relevant. The practice of Ikebana, with its focus on harmony, balance, and the appreciation of nature, offers not just aesthetic pleasure but a philosophy that resonates with contemporary concerns.

From those mid-century postcards to today’s Instagram posts, Ikebana continues to evolve while remaining true to its core principles. It stands as a testament to the enduring power of art to connect people across cultures and generations, inviting us all to pause, observe, and create beauty in our own corners of the world.

As we look to the future, the story of Ikebana reminds us of the importance of preserving traditional arts while remaining open to innovation and cross-cultural exchange. In a world that often seems chaotic and divided, perhaps we can all learn something from the thoughtful, harmonious approach of Ikebana – arranging the elements of our lives and our global community with care, respect, and an eye for beauty.