mask, puppetry, performance
It’s taken a few months to organize and upload the photos from my trip to India, but I’m happy to report they are are ready! And good golly, there’s a lot of them. So a few options exist.
If you want the entire adventure, including all the work on Maya the musical and my subsequent travels to south India, follow this link.
If you want to see just the travels to south India, click here.
We’ve opened MAYA and the kids have performed at two of the three venues already! Here are some pictures 🙂
I’ve always been a very visual learner. When learning a new place, it is no different. Cross-referencing my physical experience of moving through a city with the visual representation of the journey on a map is important to me.
I had an idea of the location of my guest house before leaving, but only an idea. Addresses in India follow different syntax than what I am accustomed to, and many addresses include items like “nearby this prominent location” or “opposite of this building you will hopefully already know or be able to locate”. Building numbers and street names don’t’ seem to be used much, if it all.
At 11:30pm, it was a dark ride and over an hour’s drive from the airport. I’m not really sure the path we took, but traffic was not bad. As we got closer, the cab driver would stop and ask people on the street about the location of my guest house, or at least the hospital it was said to be nearby. I checked in, notified my contacts I had safely arrived, and was asleep by 1:30.
I looked out of my 6th floor window in the morning to look at the suburb of New Panvel. There were some nearby hills, a lake, and some cows grazing in a grassy triangle between the street and the highway. After a breakfast and couple quick phone conversations, it was determined that I would be changing residence to a more central location in Mumbai. I packed up my things, had a quick lunch, and took a taxi to Vashi station to meet Sheetal, our artistic consultant/coordinator, wardrobe supervisor, charge painter, etc.
During our drizzly cab ride to join Jinal and Toral, who are working in production and stage management on Maya, Sheetal and I discussed a work plan. There was so much sensory information from the streets we passed along that it was difficult to focus. There were different styles of architecture and plant life. There was the constant (literally) honking of horns as cars, trucks, motorcles, scooters, rickshaws, hand drawn carts, and pedestrians wove the fabric of traffic. In many cases, traffic lanes and signals are merely a suggestion of what one might do if so inclined.
We collected Jinal and Toral and looked at one of our two prospective workspaces. It was in an office in South Mumbai, not far from the beautiful Nariman Point. It was very clean, carpeted and formal, and the hours were restricted to 9-6. It’s pretty difficult to stay tidy when sculpting clay, using papier mache, etc. After the tour, we all agreed that it wasn’t optimal. The artistic process doesn’t always easily conform to a business day schedule. Sometimes the work you are doing suddenly takes off late in the day, and you would be a fool to stop working because of an external and arbitrary stop time…especially on the condensed time frame we are on.
With my wet bags up on the rack of the taxi, the four of us proceeded along the waterfront to Worli Sea Face and the home of Shaheen Mistri, founder and CEO of Teach For India. After meeting Raju, a former student of Sheetal and a recent arts school graduate, the five us stepped through each of the masks and puppets needed, the materials required and so on. After a delicious meal of dal, rice, and vegetable dishes, I moved my belongings into a room at Shaheen’s place.
The next day was shopping day. or more like an education day. Either way you look at it, it was ALL day.
My new trusty sidekick Raju took me all around streets and streets of markets. I think we were in Crawford Market. Each street of stalls is sort of thematic: “Plastics”, “Stationery”, “Machine parts”, etc. Traffic is of course insane, and the horns remained constant. Social relationships were at play, it was very clear, though I don’t know who was which part. it took quite some time to break out of the spell of it and remember what things I was looking for. Most vendors spoke Marathi or Hindi, and very few spoke a little English. I still only have only the most general idea where we were most of the time.
After dodging crumbling pavements and suspicious pools of water for sometime, we entered a primarily Muslim neighborhood. Here was much more of a ‘junk store’ approach. It reminded me of a parallel experience in years ago in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, where at the time there were many stores of collected junk for resale under awkward lighting. All this junk, however, is laid out in the street on tarps and such. According to Raju, all of it is second hand and/or stolen. This was in the Chor Bazaar (“Thief Bazaar”). Raju reminded me to watch my pockets.
At 1:30, the muezzin started calling, and the street was about to close for prayer. We caught a cab as soon as we could and got out of the neighborhood before it was impossible. We ventured forth and north to Dadar. This is where I will be working, close to the Dadar West train station. We grabbed lunch from a restaurant to go— really I suppose it was a food stand. Samosa chaat, a noodle roti and something else potatoey. It was all very good (though the next day Sheetal chided Raju for giving my untrained stomach street food). The work space is a little small, but accessible at all hours and surrounded by other markets. It will be awesome!
We looked for more materials—it just takes sooo long! I was simultaneously taking note of, well, everything. The sounds, the signs, the traffic, the experience of being the only person who looks like me in a group of thousands, what materials are common in US but hard to find here, what materials are in both but with radically different names, and what the Indians like to use. Which is apparently thermocol. That’s styrofoam. There’s a lot of thermocol that has been intricately shaped and is often used for a variety of festivals. I may be learning some new materials!
With things still running a bit slowly, and with all my senses still being assaulted, we took the train up to Mahim Junction to look at the baskets woven on the street. We commissioned a full sphere basket as a test as an armature for sculpting some of the helmet masks. We had at least and hour before it would be ready, so we took the train two stops back down to Dadar. Traveling back to Dadar was more hectic because of rush hour. The trains doors are left open, and many people sort of hang out the sides. New Yorkers: if you think you know the stress of a rush hour subway, think again. Mumbai has you on this one.
Suddenly the purchasing mojo sort of kicked in and things were found without too much trouble. Hooray! We dropped it off at the workspace. Once back in Dadar, we were suddenly able to find many materials we wanted right away. The reward of the day!
We closed up the studio and went once more to the train to collect our new basket. As we let several overcrowded trains pass in the hope of a less populated car, Raju told me that he had once seen a drunk man climb on top of the train because it was so crowded. However, he hit the power line and was dead on the ground in six seconds. His entire person was aflame.
We took a cab.
The basket collected and the day ended, we traveled back to Worli Sea Face for some food and rest.
The next day was full of plotting out work schedules for each day and setting up the studio. A well-organized workspace cannot be beat! Having experienced a bit of what was available in the markets, I tried to determine with what material each masks could be made. Sheetal brought me some powdered clay – I had never used it before and was dubious. As Raju painted some of the thermocol pieces created by another artist on the project, I managed to figure it out (I think). And now the first mask is underway!
The following day I took off from studio work to change residence again. Now I am locate just between Worli and Dadar in Prabhadevi. A quick walk around yesterday afternoon yielded the location of Starbucks (and therefore internet) and thus I am able to write this all now. I don’t know how often my workload will permit blogging, but I will try to keep you all updated at least with a couple of pictures now and then!
As promised, more photos! Click on the link above to see all the photos in the blog and many, many more. It is such a pleasure to share them with you, and to give a little visual context for all I’ve been writing about.
This trip was done through a program of Dell’Arte International. It was made possible in part by funding from the Regional Arts and Culture Council.
Re-entry is interesting. And by interesting, I mean full of surprises. Surprise is also, itself, interesting. And therefore surprise is…surprising.
I’m not just playing circular word games. Surprise, like accidents, cannot ever be fully predicted. For example, when thinking about my reactions to coming back to the US after studying abroad, I could see some likely outcomes, and was therefore relatively prepared for those. But re-entry is surprising (=interesting (=surprising)). No matter how much I might look ahead or prepare, there will always be something surprising, something I won’t see coming. Yet somehow I’m always surprised by the fact that I get surprised. And that’s interesting.
It was surprising to me to find the way in which the known parts of my life at home were feeling foreign. Suddenly awake and confused with jetlag at 4am, I looked at everything in my room. “This is mine. I chose these things. This is the way they look.” Somehow it felt all very faraway. Recognizable, yes; but the thread of connection was difficult to perceive.
A few days have passed, and the feeling has largely diminished. And as my home reality takes precedence, I want to record a list of sights and impressions from my trip before they, too, seem distant and difficult to connect with.
(These are in no particular order)
° Sidewalks are segmented, and some stones have metal handles. The walkway often has several stones which have fallen in, revealing the water channels beneath. These channels are all connected to each other.
° Sarongs, sarongs, sarongs! They are commonly sold in printed, batik, or ikat fabrics.
° Shops that are all selling mostly the same things, right next to each other. Bargaining is the way things are done. “I give you good price, for luck.” Keep your sense of humor.
° The lack of idle chatter about first world problems, celebrities, and so on. How refreshing!
This is not to say I didn’t witness some very odd Javanese game shows and soap operas on mute in the central room at the hotel.
° Coconut, banana, papaya, and jackfruit trees are widespread. There was even a mangosteen tree on the grounds of the hotel! Thankfully durian were more rare.
° The frequent appearance of the words “spa” and “villa.” These words are replacing the words “rice paddies” with increasing frequency.
° Bottles of petrol for sale on the side of the road. You can buy in either kecil (small) or besar (large). The large fills your motor scooter tank, and costs 1400 rupiah. That’s about $1.
° Very noticeable is the red and grey and black coloration of so many housing compounds and temples.
° I enjoyed the moments where I started to understand what I was seeing. Just the beginning of understanding really, like when you’re learning a language, and every so often you recognize a word instead of only hearing sounds. The positions of the golden statues I’d seen along the road when I arrived were suddenly recognizable choreography. When looking at a painting or temple figure, I could recognize a character or sometimes a part of the story of the Mahabharata or Ramayana. What was aesthetic appreciation at first now carries more context and has more meaning.
° Black and white checkered sarongs wrapped around banyan trees, signifying they have a spirit and are protected. These sarongs also sometimes appear on certain statues. Balinese religion is a fascinating mix of Buddhism, Hinduism, and animism. Good and evil are both acknowledged as forces in the world—our purpose is to keep them in balance.
° Offerings are everywhere. Not just on the front porch, or in a little box at the corner of a building. Even in the middle of the supermarket, there are offerings.
° Wayan Wija talking to us about his role as a dalang (puppeteer). The dalang is also a sort of a priest and philosopher. He often deals in ancient stories that bring to life questions of philosophy, while also providing something for the eyes to enjoy. Wija says that even in Bali, so many now are filled up with material concerns, few have room in them for philosophy.
° Parisawata tour buses choke the small, winding back roads… Chinese and Australian tourists wander in downtown Ubud… white people look hot and uncomfortable while some Balinese are wearing jackets, because it’s cold to them.
° The smell of cempaka incense.
° Frogs performing their own version of a kecak or a gamelan. All three—frogs, chant, and orchestra—produce interlocking sounds that are beautifully trance-like and transporting. But how do the frogs all know to cease at same time?
° Our mask carving teacher talked to us about the meaning of the progression of the characters in the one-man topeng pajegang. The progression of the story mirrors the the entire life of a person. The dancer moves from the rough path of youth with strong will and body (topeng keras) to the strength of mind and experience (topeng tua) to the enrichment of life gained from sharing experience (topeng penasar) to the leadership of others (topeng dalem) and finally to success and prosperity (topeng sida karya).
This trip was made possible in part by a professional development grant from the Regional Arts and Culture Council.
Most days I wake naturally about 6:30 am (2:30 pm the previous day Pacific Standard Time). The sound of roosters is frequent, regardless of the time of day. Roosters are often in small round bamboo cage baskets by the edge of the road. Apparently this is to desensitize them to loud noises and sudden disturbances so that they perform better in cockfights. These fights are simultaneously a part of the religion and technically illegal.You might see a man washing his cock by the side of the road late at night in the U.S., but I assure you it’s a different thing here in Bali.
Geckos are similarly omnipresent. I have discovered their name is onomatopoeic for the sound they make. Some are quite large;all are walking over the walls and ceiling. These small lizards eat pesky insects, so who can complain?
Dogs are quite common, though not kept in the same be-sweatered and organically fed way now fashionable in urban USA. Judging from appearances as you pass by on the street, many range from very skinny to malnourished. Some unwanted dogs are also driven to certain locations and left to fend for themselves. There are some organizations lobbying for better treatment of the canines; some restaurants donate portions of their profit to the cause.
Frequently sighted are all kinds of trash. Before the advent of petrochemicals, nearly all waste items were organic. For example, food was served on banana leaves; when the meal was over, the ‘plate’ would be tossed into a nearby irrigation canal to eventually drain to the ocean. No problem, right? But as the type of materials has evolved, the habit of tossing trash has remained constant.
We were at a cremation ceremony a few weeks ago, and someone had collect our garbage of soda cans and potato chip bags into a plastic bag. A Balinese woman saw it, threw the bags into the bushes and kept the cans (presumably for a deposit). Even as beautiful offerings of palm, flowers and incense are carefully place everywhere you look, trash of all sorts is being frequently burned, if not dumped in the water. I have taken to the game of playing “Garbage or Incense?” A cliffhanger every time!
The people of Bali are really great. Everyone I’ve met has been warm and gracious. There a variety of visitors, some on vacation, some on a program of study. Many people come here looking for paradise, affordable goods, or a healing from some perceived deficit in themselves. Eat, Pray, Love seems to have stoked that fire. On my less generous days, I feel if I never see another middle-aged white woman wandering wide-eyed and wistful in yoga pants through the streets of Ubud, it will be too soon.
However, even with the stream of visitors beginning back at least in the 1930s (if you don’t count colonial times as a “visit”), the Balinese remain so friendly and accommodating. We are always treated very well as guests. If at a ceremony not knowing where to sit, they will offer a seat for you. Fall on your motorbike? They quickly move to help. Yesterday, our mask teacher told us he’d been up all night with his father at the hospital, and had come to class directly from that experience. Yet he was full of genuine smiles and easy laughter as he shared his knowledge and art with us. I hope to pay these kinds of gestures forward.
I haven’t worn shoes in about a month. Flip flops carry you from location to location, and are removed before entering most places. When I first arrived, I was taking the bemo to and from classes. Well, sort of. The bemo is actually more of a public bus; ours is hired specifically for our group of students.
It was a great education on the nature of traffic in Bali. Traffic keeps to the left here, but that’s the least of the differences. The center line is a little more of a general guideline. Autos, motorcycles and scooters weave with in subtle moment-to-moment negotiations of speed, turns, right of way, potholes, and hanging banyan vines. Vehicles of all sizes may suddenly pass or approach you from any direction, on any side of the line. It’s not as unsafe as it may sound, just structured slightly differently than the more controlled queue format in the States. I never even thought of our traffic this way until witnessing its counterpart.
And a week later, I hired a motor scooter. After a few days of practice, I was set to go! I think my decade and a half of bicycle riding prepared me well—like the rooster by the side of the road, I’m acclimated to large vehicles passing by all of a sudden. It’s really quite nice, and the most efficient way to balance getting to class and seeing the island for myself.
This trip was made possible in part by a grant from the Regional Arts & Culture Council.
We wait for maybe four and half hours, just outside a new house that will have a blessing ceremony, before any sign of the activities. Our dance teacher, Gustu, is to perform a topeng at the ceremony. Initially he thought it would be in the morning, then received word that it would be closer to 1:30.
There are related ceremonies happening elsewhere, and the people will not arrive until those are done. Whenever that is.
We are served a few coconut snacks and coffee as we wait and entertain ourselves. Word games abound.
A few give up and take their motorbikes home. The rest of us wait it out. A group of girls, aged approximately 8-10, enter the housing compound. They are dressed in white and gold, and have beautifully ornate headdresses made of woven palm. Their eyes are accented in red, blue, yellow, and black. They sit and wait for others to arrive. Curious giggles arise as one of my classmates begins to sketch one of them.
Thirty minutes later, a number of Balinese stream into the housing compound and sit around the various open air bales. It is just about sunset on this cloudy day. The gamelan players arrive, and one compliments us on our Balinese style of dress with a warm and toothy smile. Many women arrive in an amazing array of colors in their sarongs and kabaiyas. Offerings are being uncovered near the house temple. Snacks and hot tea are being circulated and the gamelan begins to play.
I take a moment to inhale it all, and think about it less. The percussive melodies of the gamelan are both stirring and trancelike. The sound envelops everything. It is a transcendent experience. The young girls are now dancing a little ways away. There are easily 80 people in the outside area, and I try to understand if it will be respectful to move closer to see.
But this is where this kind of performance is so different from watching dance or theatre or seeing a concert in the West. There is not a defined start time at which point all must quiet themselves and observe—there are children moving around the space, priests conducting a blessing ceremony, and a puppeteer readying his puppets. It is a beautiful mish-mash. What’s important here seems to be the actions that need to happen: a dance must happen, a puppet show must happen, a series of masks must be performed, offerings must be made… and it’s okay if they overlap or happen all at once. It seems much less about the ego and so much more about what is being offered.
Pak Gustu is absolutely amazing as he dances the keras prime minister, followed by the old man tua. These masks are so intense and strong. As they are full masks, all expression derives from the sculpture and movement, at moments sustained and others peppered with quick flicks of the eyes and hands. This is all done on a bit of floor perhaps 4 x 6 feet, surrounded by people on all sides, some watching, some doing other things.
Children pass through the space as he performs, as do women carrying various offering from the kitchen to the temple. Following these two full masks are some servant bondres, three-quarter and half masks that speak directly to the audience, relating story line and making them laugh. Some lines he delivers to us in English as well, which we tamu (“guests”) appreciate. Remember there is also a puppet show, with its own music, being performed right next door, as well as some singing elsewhere. The topeng closes with the dance of Sida Karya, bringing blessings of success.
The entire time, people at the house have been helping us find places to sit and see. We are more there to see the performance, they to be present at the ritual. At every moment, we strangers are honored as their guests. We are even invited to a meal with them afterwards, including such dishes as mie goreng (fried noodles and vegetables), hard boiled eggs, numerous meat dishes and sate, and spicy sambal.
It was an experience unlike any I’ve had before. It was not only the complete warmth and openness to strangers that felt so new, but also the relationship of art and performance to the people. It was in some ways casual–people could really choose how they would like to relate to or focus on the performances–yet each element had to happen for the ceremony to be complete.
It is said that in Bali there really isn’t a word for “artist” as we understand it in the West. However, there are farmers and electricians and bus drivers and cooks who also play the gamelan, or dance legong, or chant the kecak, or carve masks or puppets. I saw an integration and appreciation of the arts into everyday life and spiritual practice that benefited from the collective interdependence of Balinese life.
It felt so very rich.
This trip was made possible in part by a grant from the Regional Arts & Culture Council.
Selamat sori! Good afternoon!
It’s been another delightful week in Bali. How interesting it’s been to discover how all the arts we are studying are connected. The masks must be carved for the dancers to wear. The hand movements of the dancers echo the movements of the puppets. Mask carvers are also often dancers, or sometimes gamelan players.
And faces appear everywhere, not just on performers.
They appear in the middle of stone walls facing the wantilung where we have dance and kecak classes. Faces line the paths in the forest that trace the path of the river and adorn the edges of buildings and columns. Faces are everywhere!
Mask carving is progressing nicely- I may be able to begin a second mask on Monday! It’s fun trying to translate things I already know into a new medium, and to hear the insight of a master carver. Nyoman is also full of stories about Balinese culture.
And here are some more faces around Ubud:
Last Wednesday, we took a mini-break from classes to visit a mask and puppet museum in a nearby village. It is so very rare to see this many masks in one place– and the whole visit is free of charge.
The first building concentrated mostly on variations of the Barong mask. The Barong is an animal figure that protects the village. There are several variations, including the boar barong, elephant barong, tiger barong, and the barong ket.
The next building featured many masks of the Topeng—the mask dance form we are studying—as well as character masks from the Ramayana. Topeng dances feature storylines from the golden age of Balinese kings, and feature characters like the prime minister, the old man, and the king. While those characters are pantomimed, the servants and bondres clowns speak to the audience. Each dance closes with the Sida Karya mask.
The museum also houses collections of masks from around the world, as well as shadow puppets from all over SE Asia.
We were taken to the house of Tisnu, a carver renowned for his sacred masks – including the Barong Ket, the Rangda, and more- by Judy Slattum, author of Masks of Bali: Spirits of an Ancient Drama.
We were able to hear more about his work, the processes of creating sacred mask and costumes, and purchase some of his non-sacred masks.
Pak Tisnu not only is an accomplished carver and dancer of a masks, but I believe he plays the gamelan as well. He is a former vice-chair of the University, too. We visited this talented man at his home, which is part of a palace compound in a village outside of Ubud.
We also were able to visit a carver who lives just down the road from Pak Tisnu. The majority of the Balinese masks in the Museum of Masks are his work. His name is I Wayan Tangguh.
In addition to topeng, he creates masks that are part of the wayang wong tradition. His son and some apprentices were working on a large order when we dropped by.
This trip was funded in part by a professional development grant from RACC.
I’ll be on the plane to Bali in just eight days! As I consult with my boyfriend, a seasoned international traveler, for the best things to bring, he of course mentions a towel. And naturally, I cannot help but think of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
I’m sure if I’m together enough to remember where my towel is at all times, I’ll present the image of someone who is ready to explore the world.
As I consider what to bring with me, I’m also looking forward to what things await. I am so looking forward to beginning my training! After a couple of days of orientation to the area, settling into our accommodations, etc., we begin! Here’s what I’ve been told about my mask-carving teacher:
“Nyoman Setiawan comes from a family of mask carvers; his father, Regug, is a famous carver featured in a number of photo books on Balinese art and masks. Both of them live in a small village near Batuan, which is home to many famous dancers and carvers. Setiawan has made masks for Theatre du Soleil in France, for Dell’Arte International in Blue Lake, CA, and for many other performers and companies. He is equally at home carving traditional masks or taking on creative challenges from those who come with special orders. He teaches at his own studio as well as at Pondok Pecak, a library and cultural center offering lessons in dance, carving, language, etc in the center of Ubud. He is currently mayor of his village, and his daughter is one of the stars of the Balinese sprinting team.”
How awesome is it that he’s both the mayor and a mask maker?! I’ve always thought it important as an artist to maintain a lively connection to community and daily life. This belief has followed me through my work in AmeriCorps with Heart of the Beast in Minneapolis, to my study of “theatre of place” at Dell’Arte, to performing free original mask comedies in the parks of NYC with Under the Table, to working as a teaching artist in public schools, and then to working for the Educational Theatre Program at Oregon Children’s Theatre. That my teacher serves as both an artist and community leader seems to hint at what I’ve already been told about the way of life in Bali: art and life are inseparable.
And what is life without food? For many years I have heard my friend Abigael, an amazing chef, reference the mangosteen in a plaintive, yearning tone. It’s a fruit from SE Asia which is very difficult to find in its fresh form in North American markets. Apparently the threat of the Asian fruit fly is to blame for its relative scarcity.
I am also pretty interested in tasting the rambutan. This fruit is similarly rare to find fresh, as it only ripens while on the tree. The Lonely Planet guidebook sums up the fruit as “hairy and scary on the outside, sweet and juicy on the inside.” Although both can be sometimes found dried or in syrup, some allege that the fruits must be eaten in their native equatorial zone to be fully appreciated. I’m super excited to try them both out!
But with eight days left in the States, I have supplies to purchase, affairs to settle, and towels to locate. That will be just enough time.