MAGGIE THOMAS
January 22nd 2008
Thank you for a lovely evening with Sangati Arinhya. Just seeing
those two words made me very nostalgic. I could almost hear them, the
intonation, which took me back to my youth in Calicut.
I must confess that I was somewhat relieved that the script was in
English and "ordinary" Malayalam. Moplah Malayalam is very
distinctive, attractive, but not always easy to comprehend, especially
if you have been away from it for a long time.
I thought the play was very well done. Amusing, yes, but the
underlying sorrow made it poignant.
After the interval the scene that was set described a place/space that was very different from that of Bhargavi Nilayam. The Afghanistan(?) vignette where Basheer got robbed was fearful,made almost sinister by the bright, beautiful and glittering materials that were draped at the back of the stage and the costume of the dancer which contrasted with the squalour of the surroundings. The fearfulness of what happened to Basheer was leavened by the unexplained generosity of the Chief.
I could have sat through another two hours without fatigue -- which is
something, considering how ancient I am.
I thought the sets were clever. They didnt distract from what was
happening and yet played an important role in the scheme of things.
SANGATHI ARINHYA? (HAVE YOU HEARD?)
I THINK I’VE LOST IT!!
NIRMALA SESHADRI
January 21st 2008
I must be a tad mad. I went to see the play “Sangathi Arinhya (Have You Heard?)” for the first time on Saturday. Attended the matinee show. The play went on for two hours and ten minutes, which is considered ‘l-o-o-o-o—ng’ by urban Indian standards. I don’t even know that I can say I enjoyed it thoroughly or understood it well enough. All I could say was that I liked what I had just been through. Somewhere deep down I knew it was good theatre. And that I wanted to see it again.
And so I went again, on Sunday. This time it was for the evening show. (I’m convinced now that except for the traffic consideration, plays should not be watched in the afternoon). And now, I want to see it again! Is something wrong with me? Am I getting old? Or am I going through one of my insecure phases when I need to keep engaging in the familiar? No, I don’t think it’s either. Not this time anyway. After watching it for the second time I know that what the group Perch has shown is not just good theatre. It’s a brilliant work of art. Indian art.
In my last eight years as a resident of Chennai I have often wondered why English theatre here is so preoccupied with the West when there is so much to explore right here. Often the only Indian factors are that the actors and audience are Indian and that the plays are being staged in India. Almost always I come away feeling dissatisfied and always the question in my mind “Why?”
And so when Rajiv Krishnan and his group presented Basheer’s “Moonshine and Skytoffee” a few years ago I sat up. That was also the first time that I watched Aparna Gopinath in action. She was effective then; now she has blossomed into a mature and complete actor. It was a long time ago but I remember the play was sensitively handled and engaging. Also, here the actors were not confused when it came to accent. There was nothing put on or stilted in the way they handled English on stage. Then a couple of years ago I watched Rajiv’s play, 'And Sunshine Follows The Rain', an adaptation of Tennessee William’s play, 'The Glass Menagerie'. The play provided an insight into the history and lives of a section of our society- the Anglo-Indian community. I was spellbound. It was magic- the way in which the script, acting, sets, lighting came together. The work left me on a prolonged high but there is a flip side to this. Nothing else seems to match up.
So what is it? What is it that makes me look forward to a play from Rajiv Krishnan and what is it, as in the case of this most recent work, that makes me think I just might watch it for a third time? Mind you, this is totally out of character as far as I am concerned!
All I can say is that it is a combination of factors which obviously come together to render it an exceptional work of art. For there is art and there is Art and in a city which has to live up to its label “cultural capital”, often too much is happening and passed off in the name of art. Life gets chaotic and futile. People are running around mindlessly to view art for various reasons, PR and Back-scratching exercises included, and so sometimes Brilliance may come and it may go-
unnoticed.
Back to Perch. The group dynamics. For some reason it seems to work well. It is evident in the performance that the actors have been at it for months and that there is strong rapport. Commitment. I know from experience that it is not easy to keep actors focused on a project for an extended period of time. There are other projects that come in the way and sometimes ennui sets in. But here is a group of individuals who are not just completely dedicated to theatre but to the themes that their director places before them. It is clear that ultimately the production is placed above all else. And even the production is part of a larger whole. With Perch, 'Festival' takes on a whole new inflection. Research. To present works such as these requires deep and sustained interest as well as stamina to delve into the subject and to do whatever it takes to arrive at the largest picture possible. Again, this group seems to have got this right with all of them having traveled to Kerala to do their research in various areas of the topic. And subsequently to bring it all together. Talent. There is no one in the play lacking in this department and there is tremendous energy that each actor brings to the stage space. They were stunning in their roles, transforming themselves constantly.
The length of the play. After my first viewing the one misgiving I had was that it was a bit too long. That perhaps it could have been edited. But interestingly the second time I didn’t feel the length at all. In fact the space, the gaps helped evoke a reciprocal emotion in me. I found that I needed the time. And then I wonder- what is tooooo long? Don’t people in this country watch movies (inane ones at that) that are at least three hours long? How then does a two-hour play become ‘too long’? Is there an ideal length for a performance art work? Doesn’t it depend on the content and quality of the performance? After watching it a second time I think if it is edited something at a very subtle level will be lost. After all, it is a weaving of seven short stories along with episodes from the life of the author. What a brilliant script!
And the range of emotions that it contained. The play moved from a rural sort of a humour, to pathos, loneliness, yearning, satire. And the devices used to bring out the stories. Who would ever have thought that three tyres could make one well. Or that a steel tub could make a gramophone player or that the plastic plates that we eat on could turn into long playing records? That a long pipe could become a nose and a garland and a rope. That men could play women, women could play men. That virtually anything is possible when the play is in the hands of an imaginative director and such talented actors!
Poetry and magic unfolded before my eyes. Even on the second day I was sitting there in anticipated excitement. I was laughing again, and this time even louder, at the same jokes. But also on the second day the pathos hit me. The script became clearer. The place of each scene in the entire whole was clear to me. If there is anything even remotely critical I have to say about the second day, it is that just as I, who had seen the play anticipated the moves, so seemed the actors. And that I felt at times took away from the naturalness of their actions and responses. Having said that, on the second day I noticed that here and there changes had been made, perhaps some of it planned and some spontaneous. On the second day I understood so much more and felt closer to what I was watching. The significance of the sound track for instance-they were not using music just for the sake of it. And that it is a many-layered play.
Basheer’s mind and his characters were brought to life by the team of actors. And when they all sat there at the end fanning Basheer who sat in his easy chair listening to MS Subbalakshni’s ‘Kattrinile Varum Geetham’ one could not help feel one in spirit with the actors, with Basheer. I felt a pride surge within me and a sense of belonging. A great high. These people had taken me to another world- Basheer's world.
What pulled me back were the baby in the audience that kept making awful distracting noises as well as the woman next to me who just wouldn’t let me enjoy a quiet moment with myself when it was over. She yanked me by the arm saying, “Come let’s stand up for them.” I’ve never been forced into a standing ovation.
I wasn’t forced into seeing the play a second time. And even the third time, if there is one, will be of my own volition. When good art beckons, like a long desired love, how can I not respond to it?
Basheer Centenary in Chennai-
an event that signifies brotherhood, friendliness, and Peace
Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
January 17th 2008
Sometimes a group of people are enthused to do something extraordinary that fills old, tired souls like me with happiness and hope. For me, that was what happened when I watched the inaugural function of the three week long Basheer Centenary in Chennai, organized by a comparatively new organization, PERCH (Performers of Chennai) formed by two enterprising young people, Kaveri Lalchand and Rajiv Krishnan. I think this was their first event.
A Three week long celebrations to mark the hundredth year of Basheer’s birth (January 21, 1908). Who was Basheer? You ask that question in Kozhicode or anywhere in Kerala, everyone knows about him. He was a writer, a writer with a special brand of humour, a writer who wrote in Malayalam that could be understood even by the commonest of common people of Kerala and yet had strains of profound mysticism, difficult to translate into any other language or even paraphrase into any other regional dialect of Malayalam. As Paul Mathew of Perch put it, Basheer was not just a writer, he was a mystic and a mad man too. He had traveled all over India, done all kinds of jobs for survival. But, to me Basheer was first and foremost a humanist, a man of peace, celebrating whose life and works is the need of the hour. His philosophy of life was so simple and yet so profound; love human beings and this universe itself; feel the sweetness, joy and pathos of life; live in harmony with nature and all beings. He lived such a life in a small town, Beypore near Kozhicode. He was known as the “Sultan of Beypore”. He was indeed a Sultan, a large-hearted person, who could absorb the agonies of the entire world and still smile and make others happy.
In Kerala, the land of his birth, year-long celebrations have been planned. But, that is only natural, isn’t it? After all, what did they or any other region or establishment do for him while he was alive. They did not give him prestigious award , The Padmasri to Bharat Ratna awards, they did not elevate him to a “gnanapeeth”. Why, did they give him at least some Sahitya Akademi awards or the great “Kalidas Samman”. No, they did not. Did the Sultan of Beypore feel dejected and despondent? No. He led a full life, surrounded by loving friends and relatives, a man whose presence is felt only when he is absent. I am reminded of the movie, “Patton” where towards the end there is a passage, “They did not honour him like the victorious Roman Generals, with gold coins, girls, horses and festivities. The Germans, the enemies, whom he tried to conquer knew him better”. I think that is the situation of all truly great people. The people around them, the people for whom they fight and sacrifice their lives and comforts of life never know their worth. Only when the outsiders, the foreigners recognize their worth and honour them, the locals also rise and make gestures of appreciation. Tagore after he won the Nobel Prize, C.V. Raman after he was awarded the same prize. Oh India, the land which is famous for ignoring the living and honouring the dead, what do you know of the agonies of neglect, humiliation and outcasting? There are many Nandanars standing in front of Chidambaram temples yearning to go in and have a glimpse of the great God. But, will the doors open for them during their life time?
This is why it is so heartening and soul-uplifting when an organization like Perch, a non-Malayali, a non-Kerala organization decided to honour and celebrate a Kerala writer. This was felt by Aneesh Basheer, Basheer’s son who was specially invited for the inaugural function. He said “I am not a speaker. I cannot speak well in Malayalam or English. I am here by virtue of the fact that I am the son of Basheer. And Vaikom Mohammed Basheer was a great man (I have never heard a simpler and more poignant tribute given by a son to a father!). All over Kerala they are holding celebrations in honour of Basheer. But, I have never felt the warmth and hospitality that was given to me here by the organizers of this function”. I have a tendency to be dramatic. And it comes out at the most unexpected times. So, I walked up to Rajiv and Kaveri and said: “Folks, when the history of Malayalam Literature with its chapter on Basheer is written, your names will be there, in golden letters. “ They felt embarrassed. But, what to do, even small people have to make big gestures, at times like this, don’t we?
I have to comment on the elegant and appropriate manner in which the inaugural was held. Characters from Basheer’s famous short stories, like Mandan Muthapa, Ettukali Mammoonju came below the stage and kick-started the events by introducing themselves and making the audience participants of the event. They cleverly connected it to the “Oppana” dance performed by the girls trained at Saradhi Academy. Then Paul Mathew gave an introduction on Basheer and the purpose of the celebrations. The meeting, speeches short and to the point by representatives of the three organizations who collaborated in the event, the Malayalee Club, The Asan Memorial Organisation , Saradhi Academy of Arts and Culture spoke. After the Meeting the lamp was lit, not the traditional kuthuvilakku with burning wicks. A Hurricane lamp, with blue frames to signify the one film script that Basheer has written, “Neela Velicham”(Blue light) which came out as “Bhargavi Nilayam” on the silver screen. Hurricane Lamp for the poor malayali writer, not the golden brass lamp lit in front of Gods! Aneesh Basheer inaugurated the photo exhibition by placing a photograph of Basheer on the easy chair kept under a cane structure, symbolizing the famous mangosteen tree under which Basheer sat and talked with his friends. A film “Antamillatha Yatra” (Endless Journery) on Basheer by the documentary film maker, M.R. Rajan was then shown. That’s it. It was clear that a great deal of research had been done by Perch on Basheer. The events organized for these three weeks touch all aspects of Basheer’s life and works. The plays are carved out of his inimitable short stories; the dance was a Muslim folk dance performed at times of marriages. The week long festival at “Ente Keralam” would showcase the delicacies of the Muslim cuisine. Two films, “Mathilukal” by Adoor Gopalakrishnan and “Bhargavi Nilayam will be shown at Satyam Theatre. Adoor himself is coming to initiate a discussion on his film. It seems he said, when he was invited for the function, ‘Oh, so you are the Basheer Lady?” Yes, indeed she is the Basheer lady who is trying to spread the fragrance of a great man in distant lands. The events will conclude on January 27 with a seminar on Basheer and a music performance including all the favourite songs of Basheer. So, the many-faceted life and times of Basheer will be effectively and unostentatiously captured in Chennai, where two enterprising people have recognized the Sultan’s worth. Rajiv had staged a play entitled “Moonshine and Sky Toffee” combining two stories of Basheer, “Prema Lekhanam” (love letter) and “Mucheetttu kalikkarante Makal” (The card-sharper’s daughter) in 2004 at which time he asked his group of actors, “Have you read Basheer?” At that time they hadn’t. He insisted that they all should read him in translation. That is the beginning of this movement, the movement to honour Basheer. All movements have simple beginnings. But, they grow and grow into events that encompass not only the region where it began, but the whole universe.
The beginning of a new year is always fraught with mixed feelings. The challenges of the year and an unknown future are there. But, along with it there is a feeling of loss, loss of something precious, something poignant. At such times there must be events encompassing these two feelings – hope for the future and nostalgia for the past. The Basheer Centenary Celebrations by Perch has done that for me. In a world, filled with war and destruction, in a world where love is lost and hatred is breeding, in a world where inertia and apathy are slowly taking hold, this kind of a celebration is rejuvenating. All I can do is hope that the enthusiasm of Kaveri, Rajiv and their young friends will spread on to everyone in Chennai and outside Chennai. Basheer, wherever he is, must be
happy.
Kathakali – An all night experience
by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
January 17th 2008
Twilight. Time for mellowness. It is also a time when day ends and night begins. We mourn for the dead day and welcome the new night. Twilight is a time of expectation; sadness; yearning; harbinger of night, a veil over the harshness that clarity of the day brings. Night is a time for sleep, burying all sorrows and anxieties and preparing oneself for a new day.
But, on that day, the first day of the year, the twilight that spread over Skills Theatre at Besant Nagar, where Chandralekha lived and died, and infused the very earth that she trod on with her energy had a special quality. Chandra died on December 30, 2007. A year had passed after her death. But, to those of us who knew her, loved and respected her she was still present at Skills as the breeze that played on the nameless tree (I feel like calling it Chandra tree) in front of the stage, the memories of Sadanand and Dashrath who had been her constant companions and friends, the sea shore, a silent witness to all her activities, over which she wanted to be build a stage to dance facing the natural forces that come alive at dusk and dawn. Oh, Chandra, where are you, wherever you are, be with us and fuel us with your undying energy.
Sadanand, Dashrath and Sasi had planned to celebrate Chandra’s death anniversary with performances dear to her…..Kalari in the new hall that has been built, Singing by Gundechas and an all night Kathakali from the Kalamandalam troupe from Kerala. I could not attend the first and the second event as I was away at Bombay. But, I did return the day before the Kathakali was to be held. I thanked my stars for I have not seen an all night Kathakali for a long time that evoked memories of my childhood and adolescence in Kerala, the innumerable times I had visited the Kalamandalam on Vallthol’s birthday and witnessed stalwarts like Kunchu Kurup, Krishnan Nair, Vazhenkada Kunchu Nair, Mankulam Vishnu Namboodiri Pattikamthodi Ravunni Menon and Ramankutty Nair taking on the roles for which they were famous. I have even had the benefit of detailed explanations by my Namboodiri ancestors on the “Manodharmam” done by these stalwarts sans songs and accompanying instruments such as Chenda. It would not be out of place if I said that Kathakali is in my blood even as Panchavadyam and Tayampaka are. After coming to Madras one rarely got an opportunity to see a real Kathakali, starting with the Kelikkottu and ending in Duryodhana Vadham or some such piece. Needless to say I was charged with such enthusiasm and energy to be part of such an event once again. Nostalgia. I once again became a child watching these performances. Sleep did not come to me. I was wide awake in spite of the sleepless nights I had spent at Bombay, that crazy city, the previous week.
So, when the big brass lamp was lit and the instrumentalists began to tune their instruments I was in another world, a world where we as children did not feel the absence of electricity, computers, games, channel TV or the frenzied Sabha hopping that the season in Chennai calls for. I felt very safe, anchored, sure in my capability to interpret, understand and analyse the performance. For those brief hours, I felt like a patron of Kathakali, who saw it for the pure joy of seeing it. Sadanand and Dashrath should be thanked for recreating the village atmosphere to the last detail. There was tea and coffee and small eats sold outside. There were people sitting on the ground, their eyes glued on the stage. There was an air of festivity and pure joy that happens only in a village festival or fair. Three stories were taken up for the performance – Kalyana Sowgandhikam, Keechaka Vadham and Duryodhana Vadham. Fine, my favorites Nalacharitam, 1st day and Bali Vijayam were not there, so what. Kalamandalam Gopi could not come because he fell ill, so what. There was Raman Kutty Nair and his famous Vella Thadi Hanuman. There was some other-worldly Sopana style singing by Mohana Krishan and his team. Youngsters like Kalamandalam Haridas were truly good. How can we living in Chennai hope for a better show? Such and arid and parched earth, on which fell the first drops of the monsoon rain! I realized that I was really lucky to know every single detail pertaining to this dance form. All the reading that I have done, all the research and analysis and the rare experience of having seen all these stories performed at least three or four times by consummate artists. What a good beginning for an otherwise bleak year! I praise you Sadanand, Manasa, Vacha, Karmana for this glimpse of what I consider heaven.
The singing was outstanding. What feelings, what clarity, what discipline and thoroughness and what untiring energy to sustain the tempo throughout the night. Never once did it flag or loose its flavour. And when it was Duryodhana Vadham, even the lyrics, heard and memorized took on another inflexion. The pathos of Draupadi.s “Paripalaya Mam”(protect me) and the combativeness of “ Gnyati Vatsala Bhuripujita” were poignant and thrilling. In Kathakali, music plays an important role in evoking the required emotions and giving the necessary support to the dance. It is known in popular parlance as “oomakkali” the play of the mute, but music fulfils the role of the sound and dialogue. Sopana singing is remarkable and different from the classical carnatic and Hindustani styles of singing. It is like mounting the insurmountable stairs in an invisible staircase. There were other songs too that were remarkable.
The costumes were resplendent and added to the spectacular quality of the dance. The elaborate masks and costumes heightened the quality of other-worldliness and fantasy and without any Brechtian effort reminded us of alienation and distanciation. And yet it was not just that but the theatre of transformation that prevailed, where emotions had an important part to play. They were never trivial or sentimental expressions of emotion but the elevated, universally applicable kind of emotions which made us face the inevitability of human condition without any fan fare. There was story, history and mysticism all combined in a subtle manner. There was humour too, at times piercing and at other times gentle. Repetition was used as a device in the song as well as the dance to mirror the repetitiveness of real life and the circularity of life eternal.
One thing is clear. It was not mere revivalism of the classical form. It was on the other hand, a positive and hopeful statement that authenticity does not necessarily exclude originality or innovation. It was also an assertion that there are certain art forms which if served as vitamin capsules or cocoa cola and pop corn would not have any effect at all. Everyone has to take time off and enter into the spirit of the dance. Not your abridged Bharatanatyam recital which jumps from Pushpanjali straight to Varnam and then to Tillana. Sure it is a ritualistic dance; but that does not mean it has to be reduced into a ritual. The human body which adds newness to movement and the human emotions which go deeper than skin can always rejuvenate and find its links with tradition or modernity. It is also not catering to instant Nescafe training schemes. Discipline, commitment and resilience cannot be forgotten whether you are repeating an item or you are experimenting on a new interpretation. No pleasing the audience and their routine of eating curd rice and going to sleep by 9.30 p.m. No pandering to the excuses with regard to distances and traffic jams. They were created by the system of which you, the audience are also a part. So, you have to bear the onus of it, not pass it on to the artist and the quality of his performance. The artist is not coming to you with a begging bowl, pleading with you to watch his/her performance. The artist performs. That’s it. If you want to share that artistic journey you go to him or her on their terms. It is very heartening that this Kathakali renewed the faith in the artist and his capabilities and beckoned the viewers to share in the glory of his performance.
January 17th 2008
Twilight. Time for mellowness. It is also a time when day ends and night begins. We mourn for the dead day and welcome the new night. Twilight is a time of expectation; sadness; yearning; harbinger of night, a veil over the harshness that clarity of the day brings. Night is a time for sleep, burying all sorrows and anxieties and preparing oneself for a new day.
But, on that day, the first day of the year, the twilight that spread over Skills Theatre at Besant Nagar, where Chandralekha lived and died, and infused the very earth that she trod on with her energy had a special quality. Chandra died on December 30, 2007. A year had passed after her death. But, to those of us who knew her, loved and respected her she was still present at Skills as the breeze that played on the nameless tree (I feel like calling it Chandra tree) in front of the stage, the memories of Sadanand and Dashrath who had been her constant companions and friends, the sea shore, a silent witness to all her activities, over which she wanted to be build a stage to dance facing the natural forces that come alive at dusk and dawn. Oh, Chandra, where are you, wherever you are, be with us and fuel us with your undying energy.
Sadanand, Dashrath and Sasi had planned to celebrate Chandra’s death anniversary with performances dear to her…..Kalari in the new hall that has been built, Singing by Gundechas and an all night Kathakali from the Kalamandalam troupe from Kerala. I could not attend the first and the second event as I was away at Bombay. But, I did return the day before the Kathakali was to be held. I thanked my stars for I have not seen an all night Kathakali for a long time that evoked memories of my childhood and adolescence in Kerala, the innumerable times I had visited the Kalamandalam on Vallthol’s birthday and witnessed stalwarts like Kunchu Kurup, Krishnan Nair, Vazhenkada Kunchu Nair, Mankulam Vishnu Namboodiri Pattikamthodi Ravunni Menon and Ramankutty Nair taking on the roles for which they were famous. I have even had the benefit of detailed explanations by my Namboodiri ancestors on the “Manodharmam” done by these stalwarts sans songs and accompanying instruments such as Chenda. It would not be out of place if I said that Kathakali is in my blood even as Panchavadyam and Tayampaka are. After coming to Madras one rarely got an opportunity to see a real Kathakali, starting with the Kelikkottu and ending in Duryodhana Vadham or some such piece. Needless to say I was charged with such enthusiasm and energy to be part of such an event once again. Nostalgia. I once again became a child watching these performances. Sleep did not come to me. I was wide awake in spite of the sleepless nights I had spent at Bombay, that crazy city, the previous week.
So, when the big brass lamp was lit and the instrumentalists began to tune their instruments I was in another world, a world where we as children did not feel the absence of electricity, computers, games, channel TV or the frenzied Sabha hopping that the season in Chennai calls for. I felt very safe, anchored, sure in my capability to interpret, understand and analyse the performance. For those brief hours, I felt like a patron of Kathakali, who saw it for the pure joy of seeing it. Sadanand and Dashrath should be thanked for recreating the village atmosphere to the last detail. There was tea and coffee and small eats sold outside. There were people sitting on the ground, their eyes glued on the stage. There was an air of festivity and pure joy that happens only in a village festival or fair. Three stories were taken up for the performance – Kalyana Sowgandhikam, Keechaka Vadham and Duryodhana Vadham. Fine, my favorites Nalacharitam, 1st day and Bali Vijayam were not there, so what. Kalamandalam Gopi could not come because he fell ill, so what. There was Raman Kutty Nair and his famous Vella Thadi Hanuman. There was some other-worldly Sopana style singing by Mohana Krishan and his team. Youngsters like Kalamandalam Haridas were truly good. How can we living in Chennai hope for a better show? Such and arid and parched earth, on which fell the first drops of the monsoon rain! I realized that I was really lucky to know every single detail pertaining to this dance form. All the reading that I have done, all the research and analysis and the rare experience of having seen all these stories performed at least three or four times by consummate artists. What a good beginning for an otherwise bleak year! I praise you Sadanand, Manasa, Vacha, Karmana for this glimpse of what I consider heaven.
The singing was outstanding. What feelings, what clarity, what discipline and thoroughness and what untiring energy to sustain the tempo throughout the night. Never once did it flag or loose its flavour. And when it was Duryodhana Vadham, even the lyrics, heard and memorized took on another inflexion. The pathos of Draupadi.s “Paripalaya Mam”(protect me) and the combativeness of “ Gnyati Vatsala Bhuripujita” were poignant and thrilling. In Kathakali, music plays an important role in evoking the required emotions and giving the necessary support to the dance. It is known in popular parlance as “oomakkali” the play of the mute, but music fulfils the role of the sound and dialogue. Sopana singing is remarkable and different from the classical carnatic and Hindustani styles of singing. It is like mounting the insurmountable stairs in an invisible staircase. There were other songs too that were remarkable.
The costumes were resplendent and added to the spectacular quality of the dance. The elaborate masks and costumes heightened the quality of other-worldliness and fantasy and without any Brechtian effort reminded us of alienation and distanciation. And yet it was not just that but the theatre of transformation that prevailed, where emotions had an important part to play. They were never trivial or sentimental expressions of emotion but the elevated, universally applicable kind of emotions which made us face the inevitability of human condition without any fan fare. There was story, history and mysticism all combined in a subtle manner. There was humour too, at times piercing and at other times gentle. Repetition was used as a device in the song as well as the dance to mirror the repetitiveness of real life and the circularity of life eternal.
One thing is clear. It was not mere revivalism of the classical form. It was on the other hand, a positive and hopeful statement that authenticity does not necessarily exclude originality or innovation. It was also an assertion that there are certain art forms which if served as vitamin capsules or cocoa cola and pop corn would not have any effect at all. Everyone has to take time off and enter into the spirit of the dance. Not your abridged Bharatanatyam recital which jumps from Pushpanjali straight to Varnam and then to Tillana. Sure it is a ritualistic dance; but that does not mean it has to be reduced into a ritual. The human body which adds newness to movement and the human emotions which go deeper than skin can always rejuvenate and find its links with tradition or modernity. It is also not catering to instant Nescafe training schemes. Discipline, commitment and resilience cannot be forgotten whether you are repeating an item or you are experimenting on a new interpretation. No pleasing the audience and their routine of eating curd rice and going to sleep by 9.30 p.m. No pandering to the excuses with regard to distances and traffic jams. They were created by the system of which you, the audience are also a part. So, you have to bear the onus of it, not pass it on to the artist and the quality of his performance. The artist is not coming to you with a begging bowl, pleading with you to watch his/her performance. The artist performs. That’s it. If you want to share that artistic journey you go to him or her on their terms. It is very heartening that this Kathakali renewed the faith in the artist and his capabilities and beckoned the viewers to share in the glory of his performance.
Feminism and Performing Arts in India- Some Thoughts
by Vasanthi Sankaranarayanan
January 17th 2008
Apology. Begin with an apology. That is my usual trait. For a person who is normally very assertive, I turn apologetic, the moment I start writing on subjects which are close to my heart, but do not know enough. I revel in my original thoughts; I manage to substantiate them also. However, I do not seek established theories or academic discussions or even quotable quotes to justify or prove what I have to say. Instead, I fall back on my own fund of knowledge and experience and wade through a process of argument. Sometimes, and to some extent, it succeeds. But, most of the times people, especially the academicians and theoreticians are not impressed by what they consider as my gimmicks. There was a time when I used to crave for the approval of these people. But, now, I have gone past all that. It does not matter to me that the learned crowd does not appreciate my capability for original thought. I only hope this capacity to arrive at original (maybe puerile) conclusions will never leave me. There is not enough time to master all the theories and the results of academic wisdom and prolonged research. Honestly, I get bored by the content as well as the language used in such research works. So, I desist from that and go back to what I consider original thinking.
So, with this piece of writing also I have to apologise for not being profounder. At the outset I have to state that this is not a well researched paper on the subject. It is only the outcome of lingering thoughts I have had on the subject, out of which at a future date, I may prepare a well structured and thought out research paper. Arguments in this paper will be substantiated not through quoting other documents already written or presented, but my own original and cogent ideas and thought processes.
By Feminism, I mean broadly all that pertains to women and adds value to their cause. By cause I mean the various rights – right to be free, (free thought, free expression, free emotions, free employment) and to have security and protection while exercising those rights. By Performing Arts I mean mainly dance and theatre. Again I would like to emphasise on dance or dance drama.
When we examine the performing arts scene of India, we come across art forms from which women are completely excluded such as Kathakali, Yakshagana, Bhagavatha Mela Nataka and Terukoothu. As we seek for reasons why women are prohibited from these dance forms, we get arguments such as they are very vigorous and therefore causing strain to the body of women. Again, even the body training given to artists such as Uzhichil(body massage) and training in martial arts (Kalaripayattu) are tough and considered to be harmful to the female body and its function in child birth. First of all why have movements which only men can physically perform and challenge women to put themselves through the strain of mastering them? So, excluding women from the arts in the name of strain is not acceptable. The second argument that one hears is that Kathakali training and practice involves a great deal of community living. And women, after a certain age, having their own families, will not be in a position to fully adapt to this community living. Performances in different locations will take them away from home and upset the life at home. Children will be left without anyone to take care of them. Cooking, cleaning and taking care of the house will not be done satisfactorily. Again, this is not a good argument. Times have changed and why should women alone take on the burden of family, children etc? What can’t men also chip in and share the burden and find some workable solution. There are other options such as taking children with you when you go on tours etc. What the children loose by way of monotonous school studies, they gain from experiences and association with different types of people in different places. Also, why not men and women take turns to look after children as they do in Scandinavian countries? . So, in conclusion I feel that exclusion of women from certain art forms is not based on rational or humane arguments, but patriarchal impulses and instincts.
Now, let us take another scenario where women are allowed to fully take part in the performance of art forms. The classic case is that of Bharatanatyam, where the solo woman dancer takes the centre stage most of the times. Now, of course, the situation has changed and even men have started performing Bharatanatyam. But, look at the state of the solo Bharatanatyam dancer. She is in every ways objectified and subjected to the male gaze. She is in fact, performing to please men. The emotions portrayed, the stances taken, the associative ideas are all supporting this objectification. She may seem to be a very independent operator, but, in effect, she is literally and metaphorically dancing to the tune of the Nattuvanar, the singer the accompanying instrumentalists especially the mridangist whose loud and fast tempo produces sounds which literally drown the dancers movements and distracts the audience from her dancing. She is dressed like a doll, she dances like a doll; finally she is transformed into a doll, a doll which gyrates and moves to please an audience, especially a male audience. There is no exaltation of the body or the spirit. She just moves and acts like a robot and produces loud, prolonged thumped claps which she is forced to accept as marks of appreciation. More and More her movements and expressions are becoming convoluted and contrived. She has no connection with reality; nor is she allowed any leeway to move away from the traditional structure in form or theme. It is at best a soul-killing experience.
The last section with regard to women and performing arts is the part played by the audience in promoting these stereotypical ideas and stances. The audience, not only men, but women too are oblivious by far to the implications of the roles played by women when they perform or not perform arts. They are happy to witness maintenance of status quo and aversion to experimentation. Any change or move is vociferously voted down in the name of maintaining the purity and authenticity of the classical form. So, there is no protest even from the audience at this mindless continuance of patently patriarchal practices. Unless, we can get rid of this aversion to experimentation through protest or the extreme measure of banning the presentation of the accumulated baggage there is no salvation to women in performing arts.
January 17th 2008
Apology. Begin with an apology. That is my usual trait. For a person who is normally very assertive, I turn apologetic, the moment I start writing on subjects which are close to my heart, but do not know enough. I revel in my original thoughts; I manage to substantiate them also. However, I do not seek established theories or academic discussions or even quotable quotes to justify or prove what I have to say. Instead, I fall back on my own fund of knowledge and experience and wade through a process of argument. Sometimes, and to some extent, it succeeds. But, most of the times people, especially the academicians and theoreticians are not impressed by what they consider as my gimmicks. There was a time when I used to crave for the approval of these people. But, now, I have gone past all that. It does not matter to me that the learned crowd does not appreciate my capability for original thought. I only hope this capacity to arrive at original (maybe puerile) conclusions will never leave me. There is not enough time to master all the theories and the results of academic wisdom and prolonged research. Honestly, I get bored by the content as well as the language used in such research works. So, I desist from that and go back to what I consider original thinking.
So, with this piece of writing also I have to apologise for not being profounder. At the outset I have to state that this is not a well researched paper on the subject. It is only the outcome of lingering thoughts I have had on the subject, out of which at a future date, I may prepare a well structured and thought out research paper. Arguments in this paper will be substantiated not through quoting other documents already written or presented, but my own original and cogent ideas and thought processes.
By Feminism, I mean broadly all that pertains to women and adds value to their cause. By cause I mean the various rights – right to be free, (free thought, free expression, free emotions, free employment) and to have security and protection while exercising those rights. By Performing Arts I mean mainly dance and theatre. Again I would like to emphasise on dance or dance drama.
When we examine the performing arts scene of India, we come across art forms from which women are completely excluded such as Kathakali, Yakshagana, Bhagavatha Mela Nataka and Terukoothu. As we seek for reasons why women are prohibited from these dance forms, we get arguments such as they are very vigorous and therefore causing strain to the body of women. Again, even the body training given to artists such as Uzhichil(body massage) and training in martial arts (Kalaripayattu) are tough and considered to be harmful to the female body and its function in child birth. First of all why have movements which only men can physically perform and challenge women to put themselves through the strain of mastering them? So, excluding women from the arts in the name of strain is not acceptable. The second argument that one hears is that Kathakali training and practice involves a great deal of community living. And women, after a certain age, having their own families, will not be in a position to fully adapt to this community living. Performances in different locations will take them away from home and upset the life at home. Children will be left without anyone to take care of them. Cooking, cleaning and taking care of the house will not be done satisfactorily. Again, this is not a good argument. Times have changed and why should women alone take on the burden of family, children etc? What can’t men also chip in and share the burden and find some workable solution. There are other options such as taking children with you when you go on tours etc. What the children loose by way of monotonous school studies, they gain from experiences and association with different types of people in different places. Also, why not men and women take turns to look after children as they do in Scandinavian countries? . So, in conclusion I feel that exclusion of women from certain art forms is not based on rational or humane arguments, but patriarchal impulses and instincts.
Now, let us take another scenario where women are allowed to fully take part in the performance of art forms. The classic case is that of Bharatanatyam, where the solo woman dancer takes the centre stage most of the times. Now, of course, the situation has changed and even men have started performing Bharatanatyam. But, look at the state of the solo Bharatanatyam dancer. She is in every ways objectified and subjected to the male gaze. She is in fact, performing to please men. The emotions portrayed, the stances taken, the associative ideas are all supporting this objectification. She may seem to be a very independent operator, but, in effect, she is literally and metaphorically dancing to the tune of the Nattuvanar, the singer the accompanying instrumentalists especially the mridangist whose loud and fast tempo produces sounds which literally drown the dancers movements and distracts the audience from her dancing. She is dressed like a doll, she dances like a doll; finally she is transformed into a doll, a doll which gyrates and moves to please an audience, especially a male audience. There is no exaltation of the body or the spirit. She just moves and acts like a robot and produces loud, prolonged thumped claps which she is forced to accept as marks of appreciation. More and More her movements and expressions are becoming convoluted and contrived. She has no connection with reality; nor is she allowed any leeway to move away from the traditional structure in form or theme. It is at best a soul-killing experience.
The last section with regard to women and performing arts is the part played by the audience in promoting these stereotypical ideas and stances. The audience, not only men, but women too are oblivious by far to the implications of the roles played by women when they perform or not perform arts. They are happy to witness maintenance of status quo and aversion to experimentation. Any change or move is vociferously voted down in the name of maintaining the purity and authenticity of the classical form. So, there is no protest even from the audience at this mindless continuance of patently patriarchal practices. Unless, we can get rid of this aversion to experimentation through protest or the extreme measure of banning the presentation of the accumulated baggage there is no salvation to women in performing arts.
BV Balasai’s “Moods of the Bamboo”
by Nirmala Seshadri
January 14th 2008
From the age of sixteen I would visit Chennai (Madras, rather) virtually every December to attend the Season. In those days there was an excitement in me as also the stamina to hop from sabha to sabha, enjoying the doasas and vadas in those canteens, generally soaking it all in. It wouldn’t be just the dance shows; I was passionately interested in Carnatic music too and would join in all the thigh slapping, head swaying and clucking.
Now when I look back, it is as if I am looking at a different person. A person who is so diametrically different from the person I am today. Perhaps actually standing on the other side, on stage, for a few years brought in a change of perspective. I began to see things that as an innocent audience member, I had totally missed seeing. Or perhaps I have just outgrown it all. Is there any regret? Not an ounce.
Against this backdrop I couldn’t believe I was actually at a sabha for a Carnatic music concert. No thigh slapping now- thigh pinching perhaps! But how could I not attend Balasai’s concert? Years ago (I’m speaking of the early 90s), Balasai used to play live for my solo Bharatanatyam performances. After a longish break, I got back to dance in 2002. For the last five years he has been a partner in crime, composing music for my concept driven works. No easy task this, as it means placing concept above all else. It means stepping out of the traditional framework and norms and viewing the form with fresh eyes. Initially I would hesitate to offer certain suggestions as I know that Balasai is sincere to tradition. But then I began to realize that this exceptional musician was uncompromising in a creative sense. He would do whatever it took to work with concept, even if it meant letting go of the familiar.
So how could I not attend a concert by Balasai, that too one that was going to be experimental and exploratory in nature? A day before the actual concert I sat in on a rehearsal and was astounded by the energy, excitement, playful spirit and camaraderie that filled the room. There were eleven musicians- Balasai on the flute, with the mridangam, violin, tabla, keyboard, rhythm pads, saxophone and four vocalists supporting him. During the two hours that I spent, there was laughter, chatter, jokes criss-crossing along with the music which left me totally spellbound. As they practiced the Thillana (composed by Balasai in raag Desh and tala khanda jathi triputa), I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. Was it the music which touched excellence, was it the single-pointed devotion to music, was it the high energy and excitement in the room, was it the courage and commitment to experimentation that moved me or was it the fact that I had been suddenly lifted out of the state of numbness and disinterest? Possibly it was a combination of factors that made me get up quietly to leave the rehearsal, just to be alone to come to terms with the high.
Balasai’s phenomenal work “The Moods of the Bamboo” is almost an invitation to revel in oneness through a voice that is ancient, sensual and eternal. A primordial voice that calls out through a reed. The bamboo flute, the instrument of the shepherds, leads us back to our folk and primal origins and yet it can be the most refined instrument, imbued with the flexibility to traverse genres of music. The flute is so simple it can be played all alone. And yet, it has the capacity to call out and draw all to it.
Balasai’s flute met with a range of other instruments and sounds. It was a meeting of music with technology that created a presence of instruments through absence. The meeting of tradition with new possibilities. Each piece was rooted in tradition but infused with new energy.
The flute merged and yet stood apart, a metaphorical Krishna at the centre in a Raas Leela with the Gopis. Together they journeyed through form and space- Carnatic, folk, Hindustani, Jazz and semi-classical, exploring the distinctness of each and yet the inter-connectedness.
Unpredictability was what characterized each piece, except perhaps for Deva Deva Kalayaamithe (a Swati Thirunal composition) that was rendered faithfully in the traditional Carnatic format. But a moment of predictability in an exciting wave of change is not only welcome but needed as an anchor of sorts especially for an audience that has been attuned to the traditional format for a whole season. Also it underscored the timeless depth and beauty of the form. And yet, contrary to what I felt when I first began listening to the music at the rehearsal, each piece had been worked on, played with and extended into something even better than the original.
Krishna Nee Begane Baro, Brahmam Okate, Sadinchene O Manasa are cases in point. In Krishna Nee Begane Baro, a dramatic quality was brought out- one could almost see the mischievous prankster, the loving mother as well as a devotee who is yearning for a glimpse of something higher. Brahmam Okate was a unique rendition in which the musicians not only played their own instruments but stepped out to contribute to the concept of “one voice containing the cadences of many different voices”. Saadinchene O Manasa is one Pancharatna kriti in which Tyagaraja actually takes the liberty of remonstrating his favourite deity Rama. While the instrumentation highlighted this, one somehow got the feeling that the singers were focused more on ‘singing in praise of’ which seemed to be at a tangent to the central idea of the kriti.
One did feel somehow that the singers did not come across as effectively as the rest of the orchestra. One reason could have been that they could hardly be heard. Also I felt that they did not have much of a role. Perhaps stronger, more confident voices as well as a greater inclusion of vocals would have made for a more cohesive and effective whole. Another point- there is something unnatural and disturbing about women singers having to sing outside of their comfortable pitch to suit the male pitch.
The fusion number set in the Jazz format with solos by the saxophone, violin, flute, keyboard and rhythm pads was another high point and it demonstrated the sheer versatility of these musicians, excelling in the form and yet able to step out of it with such ease to create something new. What brought the piece down slightly was the saxophone which somehow did not rise to the level of the other instruments. I can’t help wondering if it would have been different if it had had more of a presence through the concert. Also the rhythm pads solo, while interesting and exciting in parts, did end up going on for too long.
Balasai’s Bansuri with Chandrajit’s tabla in raag Mohanangi and Teen Taal was haunting and a soothing break from the Carnatic genre. Of course the Hindustani lover in me would have liked for it to have gone on longer, but then I reminded myself that that was not the point of the process. The idea was to journey and when viewed in that context the experiment not only worked, it worked brilliantly.
As a dancer I could not help but get drawn into the Desh Thillana. Srinivas, who maintained a high energy throughout the concert played this piece as if he were accompanying a dancer thereby creating the presence of an invisible dancer at the center of it all.
The musicians were:
On the bamboo flute, susatoo flute, bansuri and western key flute- BV Balasai who also composed and arranged the background score.
On the mridangam- DA Srinivas, who also conceived and composed the rhythm patterns
Violin- Raghavendra Rao
Saxophone- Rajah
Tabla- Chandrajit
Vocals- Sai Bhavadharini, Krithika, Sudhir Warier and Aravind Menon
Keyboard- AS Ram
Rhythm Pads- Sri Ram
That such an off-beat work had the chance of seeing the light of day at a sabha and that too during the sacred season speaks volumes for the relative open-mindedness of a sabha like Bharat Kalachar but that it was staged after December came and went is a telling statement. But taking my Pessimist hat off for a moment- that it was staged at all and received well by an appreciative audience is something to smile about. Mrs YGP, in her inimitable style, commended the effort, recognizing the courage and difficulty involved in such a venture and the role that a process such as this could play in motivating the younger generation.
At this stage, I can only say I am truly proud of my creative collaborator and his team for working with such conviction, for daring to be different. While this platform was ideal to begin with, I hope that the musicians will get to jam on a larger stage the next time. And that there will be a next time. And that they will truly jam like they did on the day of the rehearsal. For on the actual day, I missed the enjoyment, light-heartedness, playfulness and laughter.
On Patriarchy...
"It includes the inability of men to accept that women have rights, that they are human beings, that they should be left alone, that they have a right to occupy space in the public arena.
Time again, deep-seated patriarchal attitudes are laid bare when an assault on women, particularly in cities, is reported. The time-worn arguments about the way women should dress in public are doled out. Women will be "safe" if they stay away from certain places, we are told. Women must not go out in the middle of crowds of men, so women must be careful, we are warned.
The basic attitude that still prevails, irrespective of caste, class or creed, can be summed up as follows: Men know, women don't; men must teach, women must learn; men can behave as they like, women must conform. Need one say more? The exceptions do not make the rule, as we have seen time and again."
- KALPANA SHARMA
in her article "An Assault on Dignity", The Hindu Magazine, January 13, 2008
Time again, deep-seated patriarchal attitudes are laid bare when an assault on women, particularly in cities, is reported. The time-worn arguments about the way women should dress in public are doled out. Women will be "safe" if they stay away from certain places, we are told. Women must not go out in the middle of crowds of men, so women must be careful, we are warned.
The basic attitude that still prevails, irrespective of caste, class or creed, can be summed up as follows: Men know, women don't; men must teach, women must learn; men can behave as they like, women must conform. Need one say more? The exceptions do not make the rule, as we have seen time and again."
- KALPANA SHARMA
in her article "An Assault on Dignity", The Hindu Magazine, January 13, 2008
Confluence of cultures
Bharatanatyam danseuse Nirmala Seshadri performed solo at a concert by the Singapore Chinese Orchestra
BHARATANATYAM DANCER Nirmala Seshadri is back from Singapore where she performed solo to the music of a live 70-member Singapore Chinese Orchestra. This experimental piece was for the orchestra's concert, Nanyang Musical Voyage, and was staged at the Singapore Conference Hall.
Born in Singapore and a homegrown talent, Nirmala began her training in classical Indian dance in Singapore, where she also learnt music, both Indian and Western. She did her schooling in Singapore, at the Singapore Chinese Girls' School. Now based in Chennai, Nirmala is actively involved in the arts scene in Singapore, through performances and arts education programmes. She also serves on the National Arts Council's Arts Resource Panel. In August this year, Nirmala was invited to present her choreography, "The Eternal Human Aspiration", at the Esplanade Theatre in Singapore. This was the adaptation of the Mandarin poem, "Aspiration" by Singaporean poet Dan Ying, into dance.
Of the orchestral collaboration Nirmala says:
"My first exposure to the SCO was the opening of the Singapore Arts Festival this year. The experience changed my perception of orchestras, of Chinese music and of myself as an artiste in a multi-cultural setting. As I listened to them play, I felt myself relating to their music and wanting to get up and dance. Of course, Tan Swie Hian's poetry and paintings played a great role in creating deeper connections".
So it was not difficult to say `yes' when Maestro Tsung Yeh, managing director, SCO, who also conducted the Nanyang Musical Voyage, invited her to collaborate with the orchestra. Nirmala divided the piece into four segments: `Comfort', `Call of the Flute', `Rhythm' and `The Celestial Web' (based on Swie Hian's poem). She choreographed these pieces using her dance form as a base. It was Maestro Tsung Yeh's idea to start with a piece from the traditional repertoire of Bharatanatyam to establish the style. So the first segment `Comfort' was based on the `Thillana', which is usually the concluding piece in traditional dance recitals. Nirmala used it as a beginning, as she tried to gradually find connections through music, rhythm, poetry and painting.
In the second piece, `The Ganges Nocturne' by Hong Kong composer Tan Bao Shuo, Nirmala brought out the essence of two ashtapadis, using the flute as a connection. In the third segment, the concept of rhythm was used to move closer. Here Nirmala performed the traditional tisra alarippu to Chinese percussion as well as tabla.
In the final segment, "The Celestial Web', everything came to a climax - with Swie Hian's poetry and painting providing stronger points of connection along with soul stirring music by Singaporean composer Low Wai Lun. A creative video by Chetan Shah heightened the emotional segment.
Note: The write-up was published in The Hindu, 18th Nov 2003
BHARATANATYAM DANCER Nirmala Seshadri is back from Singapore where she performed solo to the music of a live 70-member Singapore Chinese Orchestra. This experimental piece was for the orchestra's concert, Nanyang Musical Voyage, and was staged at the Singapore Conference Hall.
Born in Singapore and a homegrown talent, Nirmala began her training in classical Indian dance in Singapore, where she also learnt music, both Indian and Western. She did her schooling in Singapore, at the Singapore Chinese Girls' School. Now based in Chennai, Nirmala is actively involved in the arts scene in Singapore, through performances and arts education programmes. She also serves on the National Arts Council's Arts Resource Panel. In August this year, Nirmala was invited to present her choreography, "The Eternal Human Aspiration", at the Esplanade Theatre in Singapore. This was the adaptation of the Mandarin poem, "Aspiration" by Singaporean poet Dan Ying, into dance.
Of the orchestral collaboration Nirmala says:
"My first exposure to the SCO was the opening of the Singapore Arts Festival this year. The experience changed my perception of orchestras, of Chinese music and of myself as an artiste in a multi-cultural setting. As I listened to them play, I felt myself relating to their music and wanting to get up and dance. Of course, Tan Swie Hian's poetry and paintings played a great role in creating deeper connections".
So it was not difficult to say `yes' when Maestro Tsung Yeh, managing director, SCO, who also conducted the Nanyang Musical Voyage, invited her to collaborate with the orchestra. Nirmala divided the piece into four segments: `Comfort', `Call of the Flute', `Rhythm' and `The Celestial Web' (based on Swie Hian's poem). She choreographed these pieces using her dance form as a base. It was Maestro Tsung Yeh's idea to start with a piece from the traditional repertoire of Bharatanatyam to establish the style. So the first segment `Comfort' was based on the `Thillana', which is usually the concluding piece in traditional dance recitals. Nirmala used it as a beginning, as she tried to gradually find connections through music, rhythm, poetry and painting.
In the second piece, `The Ganges Nocturne' by Hong Kong composer Tan Bao Shuo, Nirmala brought out the essence of two ashtapadis, using the flute as a connection. In the third segment, the concept of rhythm was used to move closer. Here Nirmala performed the traditional tisra alarippu to Chinese percussion as well as tabla.
In the final segment, "The Celestial Web', everything came to a climax - with Swie Hian's poetry and painting providing stronger points of connection along with soul stirring music by Singaporean composer Low Wai Lun. A creative video by Chetan Shah heightened the emotional segment.
Note: The write-up was published in The Hindu, 18th Nov 2003
Dialogues within dialogues
Oil Painting "DIVINE MELODY" by Tan Swie Hian
In the conclusion of a two-part article, NIRMALA SESHADRI looks at what went on behind production at the Singapore Arts Festival. She talks to three of its key members.
THE gala opening of the Singapore Arts Festival, held at the new Esplanade Theatre, featured the Singapore Chinese Orchestra (SCO) in a musical dialogue with the country's most celebrated multi-disciplinary artist, Tan Swie Hian in the world premiere of "Instant is a Millenium"— A Musical Conversation with Tan Swie Hian".
Following the interview with Tan Swie Hian, which was featured in part one of this article, a discussion with conductor Tsung Yeh, digital video artist Casey Lim and lighting designer Tommy Wong offers a peek at the production process.
Quite by coincidence, the discussion picks up from Swie Hian's last comment. "You are all naturally multi-disciplinary".
"All of us here are multi-disciplinary!" says an excited Tommy Wong, who is also a dancer. Casey is also a musician, actor and director. Tsung Yeh, a pianist and conductor, brings up another aspect of his artistic persona.
"I was the trouble maker!" says conductor Tsung Yeh when I ask them just how it all began. "I have always enjoyed combining music with other art forms but have never had the chance of collaborating with calligraphy." Maestro Tsung Yeh joined the SCO as Music Director in 2002. He is also the music director of the South Bend Symphony Orchestra in the United States and Conductor Laureate of the Hong Kong Sinfonietta.
Not only was he looking for a calligrapher, but also for one who could perform in front of an audience. It was the Singapore National Arts Council that connected the two. "After getting to know Swie Hian, so many other aspects to the performance emerged," says Tsung Yeh.
There were some very dramatic moments that evening that still remain etched in my mind. I ask the team for some insights into the process.
NIRMALA SESHADRI: In the first piece, "The Celestial Web", none of us in the audience would have imagined that there was a 188-member choir standing on stage. When the lights came on at the back of the stage in the middle of the number, and we suddenly saw them standing there, we knew it was going to be a special performance.
CASEY LIM (C.L.): The poem touched on the concept of breath, and then a deeper breath. So we thought that we could highlight this thought with the introduction of the choir at that point in the poem. Most of the time, what started as being functional became aesthetic.
It also went in line with the idea of inter-connectedness which was an integral element in the poem.
TOMMY WONG (T.W.): Did you notice how we lifted the thin veil towards the end so that you could see the choir clearly in full white light?
Yes, and you know I didn't know till you lifted it that there was a veil in front of them in the first place! Another element of surprise there.
C.L.: It was a spontaneous decision. The night before, during the stage rehearsal, the music was on. The part about the "white light" came in the verse and we suddenly lifted the veil so that it looked as if the choir was soaked in white light, in purity. It wasn't planned at all. It meant that we had to plan well and the orchestra became inspirational. Many ideas emerged during rehearsals, not really during the meetings.
It was a highly imaginative display of Swie Hian's water colour paintings in the second piece, "Fables". When the choir moved off stage, instead of moving away the steps on which they stood, you turned both the steps to form a kind of a `V', resulting in a very interesting series of visuals. How did that idea come about?
T.W.: We kept thinking of how we could create a 3-D field with the slides. It could have looked very one-dimensional had it been projected directly onto the cyclorama. And from a static state, there was movement that matched the flow in the fables.
In "Divine Melody", you displayed the oil painting in such a way that it seemed as if an invisible hand was at work. How did you manage that?
C.L.: First, when both Swie Hian and I came up with the same thought at the same time during one of our creative meetings, we knew it was the right idea. We both agreed it should be an oil painting. But we wanted to keep the calligraphy special; for him to come up only in that final segment. Also, an oil painting can't be completed so quickly.
So I recorded him painting it with three digital video recorders, extracted every stroke and replicated it as a digital painting. Swie Hian listened to music as he painted. I listened to music as I did the digital work.
It seems as if at every level there were dialogues and that music inspired you at each level.
C.L.: Yes, and do you know that the graphics were happening live? Because the music was live. We couldn't pre-record the timing of the graphics because it would've been out of sync with the music
T.W.: And even the lighting was linked to the tempo of the music. It was like being a dancer but off stage!
It did feel, though, that the pipa solo brought about a dip in the mood and tempo. I found myself getting restless. Why did you choose to include that piece?
TSUNG YEH (T.Y.): I thought it would be good to have a string solo without the orchestra, to provide some contrast and focus.
The final piece with the calligraphy must have been the most challenging especially in terms of timing. I noticed you and Swie Hian watching each other very closely.
T.Y.: I had to calculate when he should come in, start, and how long he would paint. He said it would be for five minutes, but on that day, he completed it in two minutes! He is a true performer.
How was it decided that he would do the work on the elevated platform and that this would be projected on the cyclorama? Why didn't you get him to paint vertically on a sheet of paper?
C.L.: The theatre is so big that we would have had to get a gigantic piece of rice paper for the calligraphy to be seen. Also, if it had been vertical, the ink would have been dripping. So for very practical reasons, we came up with this design and found we were happy with it functionally and aesthetically.
How does it feel now that you have the production behind you? What are future plans?
T.Y.: I feel we have created a new type of art and enlarged the repertoire of Chinese music. That it has moved people from other artistic and ethnic backgrounds is indeed gratifying. We are going to continue on this route. Perhaps next time, we will introduce audience participation. It is really the arts coming together and moving up to a different level.
Multiple levels of dialogue, dialogues within a dialogue, a unique harmony between music, visual art and poetry, between the real brush and digital brush, real space and the virtual.
To quote Swie Hian: "To me, all forms of art are interrelated. Cross-disciplinary practice is like mutual visits between neighbours. It is just next door and one can easily go over for a chat, so near and so close."
A stanza from the English translation of the Mandarin poem "The Celestial Web":
A jasmine by the window
Has got a thread
Linking with a star beyond the horizon
A star beyond the horizon
Has got a thread
Linking with an early-rising mother
An early-rising mother
Has got a thread
Linking with a wink of a butterfly
A wink of a butterfly
Has got a thread
Linking with the inner clarity of a lake
And a thread of the inner clarity
Links with the eternity of the cosmos. (Written specially for this concert by Tan Swie Hian, and inspired by the Avatamsaka Sutra)
(Concluded)
Note: This article was published in The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, on July 13, 2003.
The first part titled "Myriad Possibilities" appeared in The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, issue dated July 6, 2003.
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