The In-Between: Mother and Artist
West Japan (More or Less) Travel Notes — Part V
How Long Can a Two-Year-Old Sit Still?
What happens when professional responsibility and motherhood occupy the same physical space — at the same time?
On a tour through western Japan, I tested this question in real settings: town halls, museums, long transfers, and public programs not designed for children.
This essay is not about heroism, nor about failure.
It is a quiet examination of endurance, attention, kindness — and the limits of what a two-year-old, and her mother, can reasonably be asked to hold.
The In-Between: Mother and Artist
West Japan (More or Less) Travel Notes — Part V
Previous:
Part IV — The Brink Mothers Stand On
https://medium.com/@ekotumi/the-in-between-mother-and-artist-the-brink-mothers-stand-on-f6896bb1e838
***
The journey itself reached an unexpectedly moving turn, but after that long prologue, I would like to reflect on what actually unfolded at each site, and to examine whether it was truly possible, in practice, to inhabit both roles: artist and mother.
This time, however, there were several important conditions.
What I presented was a presentation of content that had already been translated; I was not creating or performing something new on the spot.
There was no performance involved (though I did do a reading).
Because of this, there was no need for extended vocal warm-ups or physical stretching.
There were no costumes, and no carefully prepared makeup.
These constraints matter.
Our first destination was Yaotsu Town Hall in Gifu Prefecture.
We presented the project to the vice mayor and other officials; I served as the interpreter.
They had been informed in advance that Mini-Tumi would be present.
Result: an ideal balance.
Because the town hall is some distance from the nearest station, they kindly arranged for a car to pick us up at the hotel. They even addressed Mini-Tumi directly. Upon arrival, we were warmly welcomed — and, to our surprise, she was given stickers and a pin badge.
Mini-Tumi, too, did her best.
It was early in the day, her concentration was still intact, and the novelty of Yaocchi stickers helped. For a full ninety minutes, she sat quietly at the desk. When she used up all the stickers during the presentation, she was given another one — and remained in good spirits. (My sincere thanks to everyone at Yaotsu Town Hall.)
Afterward, we visited the Chiune Sugihara Memorial Museum. There was no presentation here, and we were free to explore at our own pace. Thoroughly enjoyed, with no issues at all.
What about the next stop?
First, there was a three-and-a-half-hour transfer.
There was no time to buy food, so I gave Mini-Tumi bread I had bought as a backup. A baumkuchen I had picked up at Shinagawa Station also proved useful. She slept briefly on the train. Somehow, our first-ever ride on the Shirasagi Line passed without incident, and we arrived safely in Tsuruga, Fukui Prefecture.
Our destination was the Port of Humanity Tsuruga Museum, a history museum.
This program included not only museum staff but also educators and other external participants. As in the morning, we explained the project — and this time, I would also do a reading from the book.
Result: a narrow defeat.
In Yaotsu, we had sat in a U-shaped arrangement around the projector.
Here, however, we were seated in a row facing the audience, with the screen behind us.
A seat was prepared next to me for Mini-Tumi.
My regret surfaced almost as soon as the presentation began.
By this point, she had already gone through two full sets of “quiet, seated activities” — ninety minutes in Yaotsu and three hours of travel afterward. During the transfer, I should have reorganized her toys.
Instead, without checking carefully, I handed her a third set: a house-shaped bag. Inside it was a plastic bag she had played with on the train.
She was playing by herself. She was doing nothing wrong.
But plastic is loud.
Because the room had excellent acoustics and voices carried well, the rustling sound carried too. I felt deeply apologetic toward the participants.
The artist in me wanted to say, “I need to take that away.”
The mother in me objected immediately: if I took it now, she would surely cry or cause a disturbance.
I tried to decide which was the right choice — but my brain was already fully occupied with interpreting, and I could not reach a conclusion.
The situation escalated.
Bored with the plastic, Mini-Tumi began playing with the cats inside the bag: five wooden cats from Bali.
For reasons known only to her, she decided to try to give the cats to us —
to me, to the tall director, to the author Agne, and to the poet.
She walked back and forth among us and, of all moments, began trying to tuck a cat into the director’s chest pocket while he was speaking in English.
Why?
Because he was talking — and therefore did not take the cat from her. (Naturally.)
I wanted to stop her.
As an artist, and as a mother, I wanted to stop her.
But I was fully absorbed in interpreting and could do nothing.
And then, my reading began.
Unlike a presentation, a reading allows a world to emerge in the room.
After a while, Mini-Tumi came back and listened as I read,
or stood there quietly, as if sensing that this was the real thing.
The ninety-minute event ended at 5:00 p.m.
I was utterly exhausted.
Mini-Tumi, who had not run even once or played outside all day, immediately began running along the road in front of the museum. I understood her completely. How punishing must it be, for a two-year-old, to be asked to sit still for so long?
Staff members and participants kindly told me, “She was so quiet — how admirable.”
Still, I could not stop wondering what the other attendees truly felt.
There is no doubt that she distracted them. And of course, they had not been informed in advance that a two-year-old would be present.
While we waited briefly for a taxi, a staff member from the Tsuruga Museum played with Mini-Tumi. She burst into laughter.
In the 1940s, Jewish refugees who arrived here at the risk of their lives were handed apples and offered warm baths. Perhaps there is something in this place — a spirit that reaches out instinctively to help those in need.
[[Notes for Travelers]]
Chiune Sugihara Memorial Museum
A beautiful all-hinoki-wood building. In the reconstructed consular office, one can reflect deeply on Sugihara’s decision. Visiting by car is recommended.
Address: 1071 Yaotsu, Yaotsu-cho, Kamo-gun, Gifu
Website: https://www.town.yaotsu.lg.jp/sugihara-museum/
Port of Humanity Tsuruga Museum
Reconstructed buildings including the former Tsuruga Port Station from the Taisho to early Showa periods. The atmosphere alone is worth the visit.
(I did not have time to explore the museum properly this time — I hope to return someday.)
Address: 23–1 Kanegasakicho, Tsuruga, Fukui
Website: https://tsuruga-museum.jp/
—
This essay is part of the series
“The In-Between: Mother and Artist.”
Previous:
Part IV — The Brink Mothers Stand On
https://medium.com/@ekotumi/the-in-between-mother-and-artist-the-brink-mothers-stand-on-f6896bb1e838
