Where Differences Bloom | Ikebana Story
- Ilse Beunen
- Nov 17
- 3 min read
Every now and then, a memory taps you on the shoulder. It happens when you least expect it. For me, it was during a recent ikebana workshop in Washington DC, watching people work side by side, cleaning tables, tidying up, and sharing that wonderful sense of unspoken understanding.
Something about that quiet cooperation unlocked an old memory and carried me back in time. I suddenly found myself in 2016, in Bruges, surrounded by laughter, confusion, and a photo that refused to be taken properly.
Plates had just been cleared, voices were rising, and everyone was half-relaxed but not quite ready to say goodnight. It was picture time after dinner.
The Japanese staff of Akane Teshigahara, headmaster of the Sogetsu school, kindly instructed that first the photo with the Belgian volunteers would be taken, and then the one with the Dutch.
The message got slightly lost in translation, turning into a comic ballet of good intentions, as messages sometimes do when enthusiasm runs ahead of clarity.
A cheerful chaos followed: polite confusion, friendly hand-waving, and the unmistakable sound of laughter in four languages and even more accents.
In the end, nobody wanted two pictures. We all squeezed together, Belgians and Dutch side by side, smiling in one big group. Different cultures, same sense of joy. A few years later, in 2019, that same feeling appeared again, this time much farther from home, in Chicago.
It was my first large demonstration, organized by Ikebana International, an organization that brings together practitioners from different ikebana schools.
Although I am a Sogetsu ikebanist, members of the Ohara school and others came to help backstage. The Ohara team, helped to put leaves on a wire, resulting in the arrangement below. There was no rehearsal for kindness; it just happened.
Their warmth and teamwork made me feel part of something much larger, not just a demonstration but a shared celebration of our art.
These moments remain vivid in my memory, strong impressions of how cooperation feels when it flows naturally. Ikebana, I have often thought, is a bit like music.
There are around two thousand ikebana schools today. You might think that is a lot, but think of how many music genres came from one simple rhythm. Each school has its own style and philosophy, just as some people love jazz, others classical, and some a bit of rock and roll.
There is not one truth, only many tastes, opinions, and ways to express beauty. And that is what keeps ikebana alive, the variety, the personal voice, the freedom to interpret nature in so many ways.
Just like in music, harmony appears when the instruments listen to each other, and the same goes for people. And perhaps that is what makes ikebana so fascinating.
It has always been a conversation between cultures. It grew from Chinese flower offerings, was shaped and refined in Japan, and now travels in so many hands around the world.
Each arrangement carries a story of exchange, of learning, adapting, and finding balance through difference. Since then, I have been lucky to encounter that same spirit many times. It gives me energy without words, a quiet motivation, warmth, and inspiration that seem to grow organically whenever people create together.
When you next place a few branches in a vase, notice how each one seems to chat with the others before finding its place.
That quiet conversation, that is harmony. Since then, I have been lucky to encounter that same spirit many times, it continues to give me warmth, motivation, and quiet inspiration.
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