Fall in Love with the Tricky One! | Ikebana Stories #12
- Ilse Beunen
- 5 days ago
- 2 min read
It was 1997, the 70th anniversary of the Sogetsu School. I was in my early thirties, seated among a crowd of students and teachers at the Sogetsu Headquarters in Tokyo. On stage: Hiroshi Teshigahara, the third headmaster, captivating us with his demonstration. You could almost feel the excitement buzzing in the air.
After the demonstration, a Q&A session began. And here’s where I had my quiet little shock.

A Japanese teacher raised her hand and asked, "Nageire is so difficult, is it okay if we teach the moribana arrangements before we start on nageire?"
Another teacher wanted to know how to explain the techniques clearly to students. These weren’t beginners—they were teachers. Japanese teachers. I sat frozen, thinking, "But shouldn’t they already know this?"

Hiroshi answered calmly but firmly: as a teacher, you must master both styles. And as an ikebanist, learning both is absolutely essential.
Now, if those two words—moribana and nageire—don’t ring a bell, let me quickly unpack them. They’re the bread and butter of ikebana's early lessons.
Moribana, which charmingly translates to “piled-up flowers,” uses a wide, shallow container and a spiky kenzan (picture a bed of nails) to hold the stems. Think of it as ikebana with training wheels: stable, structured, and ideal for learning.

Nageire, however, is the poetic rebel. Arranged in tall, narrow vases with no kenzan in sight, it relies entirely on clever invisible techniques to keep everything in place. Trickier, yes—but so much more graceful when it succeeds.
I have always preferred nageire over moribana. Still do. There’s something inherently more elegant about it. Moribana is practical, sure, and easier to teach. That’s probably why most Sogetsu practitioners gravitate toward it. But Nageire, with its subtle elegance, has always felt more harmonious to me—more natural.
And with its tall, vertical form, it fits easily on a cupboard or shelf—something moribana’s wide containers rarely allow. And really, who hasn’t wished for a bit more space on the sideboard?

But here’s the thing: nageire is technical. It requires precise knowledge and a lot of practice. That might explain the hesitation I witnessed that day. And yet, when taught well, it unlocks a whole new freedom. A good nageire can look as if it doesn’t need a container at all—as if the flowers decided, on their own, to hover elegantly in midair.

In my own atelier, we have a rite of passage. When you participate in a workshop for advanced ikebanists and teachers, you must carry your nageire arrangement up the stairs to Ben’s photography studio. If it survives intact, your fixation was solid. If not... well, back to practicing the fixation techniques. The stairs, it turns out, are very honest critics.

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