Born in Tokyo in 1979, Kaori Ito started doing ballet at the age of five, but after questioning the practice of “wearing white tights, donning a blonde wig like Europeans, and applying white makeup”, she quit at the age of 17 and entered the world of contemporary dance.

Then, after studying dance in New York, she sought out a dance career in Europe by proactively visiting companies that caught her interest and meeting and negotiating with their representatives in person. That led to her collaborating with leading choreographers shaping contemporary dance, including Philippe Decouflé, Angelin Preljocaj, Alain Platel, and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui.

As a trailblazer who has consistently forged her own path, Ito is now based in France, where her contributions to dance led to her being awarded the French government’s Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres honour in 2015.

After that, in January 2023, she became the first Japanese national to be appointed Artistic Director of the Théâtre du Grand Est (TJP) in Strasbourg, northeastern France. From that base, she now strives daily to pioneer cultural bridges between Japan and France.

Jstages.com visited the rehearsal space for “Dance Marathon Express (Yokohama ⇔ Hanamaki)”, an international co-production programme led by Ito between TJP and the Kanagawa Arts Theatre (KAAT) in Yokohama. We spoke with Ito, responsible for choreography and direction, about the aims of this international collaboration, the source of inspiration — Kenji Miyazawa’s novel “Barefoot to the Light” — and her current role as TJP’s Chief Artistic Director.

During the first half of rehearsals for “Dance Marathon Express (Yokohama⇔Hanamaki)”, eight dancers from Asia and Europe performed to nostalgic J-Pop with almost unrestrained energy – at times humorous, at times acrobatic. In the second half, Kenji Miyazawa’s exquisite words captivated both ears and body.

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How did this collaboration between Japanese and French public theatres come about?

In 2020, whilst back in Japan during the pandemic, I met the Artistic Director of Kanagawa Arts
Theatre (KAAT), Keishi Nagatsuka. He had seen my solo work and asked me to create
something at KAAT. From there, we explored possibilities by holding annual labs
(development programmes) at KAAT.

Amidst this, the children’s performance “The Upside-Down World”, which premiered in France in 2021, was staged at KAAT in 2023 as part of the KAAT Kids Programme 2023. Even before that, I had wanted to create a work at KAAT using Japanese onomatopoeia and mimetic words as its subject. However, when we conducted a lab using these sounds, we realised that without a narrative, it would become like mime or a show. That’s when I suggested Miyazawa Kenji’s “Barefoot in the Sun”. Having also taken up the role of Artistic Director at the Centre National de la Scène Contemporaine (TJP) in Strasbourg, France, in January 2023, this international co-production between TJP and KAAT began.

Why did you choose “Barefoot in the Sun” as the key story for the work?

Kenji Miyazawa’s literary world employs numerous onomatopoeic and mimetic expressions.

The story features two young brothers, Ichirō and Narao. As we re-read the novel with Nagatsuka, who is also the dramaturg, the background of the story became clear: the younger brother Narao was destined to be sacrificed, to die, due to the family’s poverty. This revealed the social context of Japan’s impoverished era, where survival depended on someone giving their life.

I imagine Europeans might wonder, “Why choose death?” Yet I found it an intriguing endeavour to begin creating this work alongside French people, exploring this Japanese perspective on life and death depicted through the themes of sacrificing one’s life and becoming a victim. Japanese concepts like the kamikaze pilots or Mount Ubasute [where old, infirm people were left out in the open to die] are likely subjects of both questioning and fascination for Europeans.

For instance, during rehearsals, a French dancer asked why the ending portrays Ichirō, the survivor, as the true victim, facing immense hardship in his subsequent life. We explored the relationship between ostracism and sacrifice, discussing how Narao, dying for his family, was not actually ostracised by those closest to him.

In the novel, Ichirō pleads with the demon: “Strike me instead. Narao has done nothing wrong”. He wanted to sacrifice himself, to die in Narao’s place. Yet, even so, life cannot be changed; Ichirō must live on. This is the perspective through which we view this work. In other words, there is a complexity here – surviving does not equate to happiness.

Were there any other interesting questions from the dancers?

Someone asked why Japanese people avoid contact, why they don’t make physical contact. They said it seems as if there’s air between bodies. In response, the Japanese dancer Aokid explained, “European dragons have wings and fly, but Japanese dragons (Ryū) fly without them”, which I thought was fascinating. Essentially, for Japanese people, physical contact or touching signifies conveying something “(particularly) fondness”. To avoid this, we express affection through other means, hence the air between people. For instance, I’ve never seen my parents holding hands, and that was normal. I explained to the dancers that there exists a form of affection understood without needing to be shown; it’s a very delicate presence, even if unseen. The French dancer who asked that question had experienced this sensation in Japan too. He mentioned feeling reassured when dining alone at Japanese family restaurants. In France, staff would lean right up close to take your order, but in Japan, that doesn’t happen. He said the space with that air, where you aren’t stared at intently, felt comforting.

Another difference between France and Japan is that in France, people tend to gather where others are already present. For instance, when sunbathing on the beach in France, even though there are plenty of empty spots, someone will inexplicably start laying their towel down right in front of me.

Regarding time, they invariably arrive about 10 minutes late for appointments, so when Japanese people come to France, we explain this cultural difference beforehand. Also, French people sometimes abruptly leave the room during rehearsals. In those cases, I explain, “Don’t worry, it’s not about you; they’re just frustrated with themselves and have stepped out”.

This time, the performers have a very international flavour. Were there any particular points you considered when selecting them?
I chose Japanese dancers whose individuality shines through, specifically those capable of group work. Beyond that, I selected people who possess potential brilliance – not necessarily those already shining brightly, but those who have that spark and can show it even more. Those whose brilliance is already fully formed tend to have their own established style and don’t change much.

Therefore, we prioritised those who are beginning to show what Zeami [Japanese aesthetician, actor and playwright who perfected Noh theatre]referred to as true brilliance, not merely youth, and selected based on that criterion.

This time, Issue Park-kun has a breakdancing background, and Rinnosuke-san is an actor as well as a dancer – they’ve come together from various fields. Within that, the group dynamic is crucial; we chose people who can adjust in various ways, ensuring no single individual dominates.
Aokid-san has a rather strong character, which is unusual for a typically reserved Japanese person, but Europeans absolutely love his persona. Drawn along by him, the others are increasingly stepping forward too.

I get the impression that with Ito-san’s dance, you looking forward to what happens on site.

Dance occurs between the performer and the audience. It’s not merely about presenting choreographed material; we must strive to share what emerges in the moment as freshly as possible with the audience. Since human beings lie at the heart of dance works, I consciously aim to reveal each individual’s humanity. When one focuses solely on the dancers, the gaze tends to fixate on technique. Yet, I hope that when we step back from that technique, we can glimpse the performer’s humanity.

How is this international collaborative production, developed through repeated labs and rehearsals, evolving at present?

It feels as though Miyazawa Kenji’s text has entered the dancers’ bodies. The current use of onomatopoeia and mimetic words – for instance, “moe moe, kyun” or “waku waku” – carries a certain lightness, often employed to conceal one’s feelings. Kenji’s era, however, employed them with far greater intensity. For instance, phrases like “black, gori-gori rock”, “snow, tsun-tsun white”, or the silence of “shiiin” – these are inserted throughout. I feel Kenji’s onomatopoeia has begun to manifest within the dance piece. The dancers must have absorbed the brilliance of Miyazawa Kenji’s words.

The dance marathon, which has existed since around the 1990s, is a long-duration dance event where participants dance while running a marathon or continue dancing while brushing their teeth. The flow is rather forceful, culminating in a transition into Kenji Miyazawa’s “Barefoot in the Light”.

Do you discuss matters such as the role of public theatres with Nagatsuka who is also the artistic director at a public theatre?

We do often. The work of an artistic director differs greatly between Japan and France, so we have many such discussions.

At the National Theatre Centre in Strasbourg where I work, artists also serve as artistic directors, so managerial personnel matters are part of the job.

There are 25 theatre staff members, and as I handle their personnel matters, the daily meetings can be quite demanding. Regarding projects, they are open to public submission. For instance, government or local authority officials read the 40-page proposal I wrote, and if it’s selected, I can then execute that project. So, even during my maximum four-year term as General Artistic Director, if I want to do something, I must write and submit my own proposal.

Naturally, before taking up the role of Artistic Director, I had to submit proposals covering management aspects, including my proposed organisational structure and budget.

How do you envision developing TJP going forward?

In Japan, partly due to frequent earthquakes, there’s a strong sentiment towards repairing and reusing broken items, much like the art of “kintsugi”. Conversely, in Europe, I sense a shift in sensibilities recently, with people contemplating the end of the world due to anxieties about terrorism, war, and climate change. France, fundamentally is a country that has always valued the old, and is one where its people have traditionally looked at things that have been stored away, not at things that are broken. Yet, in recent years, they have begun to look at broken things. This is where TJP is undertaking a project about how to “repair with gold” – broken things, wounded people, and situations that seem hopeless.

In this context, the “gold” is our “childlike spirit” – the power to imagine all manner of things.

We have four slogans. Firstly, while TJP is a theatre accessible from birth, this year we specifically set the goal of attracting audiences aged 15 to 26. Hence, we are strengthening our collaborative framework with schools. Secondly, being Japanese myself, I focus intensely on producing artists from mixed cultures, particularly Asian mixed cultures. Furthermore, we actively select works across diverse genres – circus, puppetry, dance, and theatre pieces that use everyday spoken language or expressive physicality in their texts, rather than traditional classical dramas. Finally, we involve children in devising and creating projects. This is quite an unusual mission in France.

What is the status of dance in France?

There is the significance of conveying the French language, and theatre receives more government funding. The number of dance performances is overwhelmingly smaller. While there are National Choreography Centres and National Theatre Centres, the National Choreography Centres are fewer in number and have smaller budgets.

I am the Artistic Director of the National Theatre Centre. I am the first choreographer to hold this position, and the first Japanese person to do so. There are meetings for the Artistic Directors of the 36 theatre centres, and I am the only foreigner present, and the only choreographer. So, while there are various expectations placed upon me, establishing my own identity within this context is taking time.

Looking at your career so far, it feels like you’ve always knocked on the door in front of you yourself to open it.

Yes, but I’m rather tired of that now. (laughs) So now I’m in the position of being the one receiving the knocks. What I consider important now, stemming from my desire to see more young female choreographers and directors thrive, is to provide greater support for emerging artists. For instance, I’ve invited Yū Okamoto, who is participating in the “Dance Marathon Express (Yokohama⇔Hanamaki)”, to stay at TJP for a month. I also believe Japanese artists should venture abroad more often; experiencing the outside world broadens their perspective.

Do you have any advice for young people looking to go abroad, coming from your experience working overseas?

I think it’s vital to clearly state what you want to do. Fidgeting about without saying anything is a waste of time. Life is too short to drink bad coffee. If you want good coffee, you have to say, “Please give me good coffee”. You can’t just put up with bad coffee. It’s okay to fail, so I think it’s better to try until people think you’re being a bit persistent.