Performing Arts

The Shapes Of Change

• Byline:SARAH BROOKS
• Publication Date:02/01/1991

Superb dance, expensive decision-performances by foreign dance groups such as the Atlanta Ballet delight audiences, but the high costs divert government funds away from local dance ensembles.

Taiwan's dance scene is as imaginative and daring as it is diverse.

A woman sits on an old wooden bench, wearing simple peasant garments. Knotted around her waist is a baby sling; in it she carries not a child but a plaster statue of a Greek goddess.

The woman reappears in the robes of a classical Chinese scholar, with a long black scarf hanging from her waist. She swirls the scarf, as if writing calligraphy in the air.

In another scene, she is a modest, kimono-clad geisha, complete with white face and red cherry lips. Then she suddenly transforms into an uninhibited flamenco dancer, with high heels and black fan to complement her alluring movements.

Gradually, as the dance progresses, the woman hides deeper inside her many guises: in a multicolored sheet, a PVC body wrap, an army-green sleeping bag. Each time she struggles to free herself.

Finally, she emerges from underneath a pile of newspapers, standing tall and subdued in a graffiti-decorated bodysuit.

These wild and fascinating images flow together in Like Dancing, Like Painting, by Taipei choreographer Lin Hsiu-wei (林秀偉). First presented in a series of adjoining gallery rooms at the opening of an art exhibition, the dance was meant to trace the development of Taiwan's art history. It was also an apt description of the island's current dance scene: surprisingly diverse, ambitiously creative, and acknowledging the past while experimenting with the future.

Trailblazer in ability, creativity, and tone – the Cloud Gate Dance Ensemble was unique in its vibrant interpretations of founder Lin Hwai-min's East-West style.

Yet, despite the flurry of activity in the last couple of years, Taiwan's dance scene is still struggling, much like the woman in Like Dancing, Like Painting. It is struggling for direction, for a unique identity, for funds, for government support. But struggle – whether over direction or money – may be just what gives dance here much of its high-voltage energy.

New York choreographer Jim May, who has worked with modern dance pathfinder Anna Sokolow and now divides his time between teaching dance at Princeton and in Taipei, finds the dance scene more stimulating in Taiwan than in the States. "We dried out a little bit with the spirit in America ... it's becoming somewhat intellectual," May says. "[In Taiwan] it's like a wonderful garden that has the fragrance and the spirit of dance. New York people should come here and sniff a little."

People from New York, as well as the rest of the world, had a chance to enjoy Taiwan's dance garden this past summer. At the 1990 International Festival of Dance Academies in Hong Kong, Taiwan's contributions presented a broad spectrum of dance, from high school to college to professional level. For example, the high-caliber performance of the young dancers from Tsoying High School in Kaohsiung demonstrated their strong training in traditional Chinese dance, classical ballet, and modern dance. And students from the National Institute of the Arts (NIA) executed reconstructions of aboriginal ritual dances as well as pivotal works from the repertoire of Cloud Gate, Taiwan's premier dance company until it disbanded two years ago. 

Also represented at the festival was a varied range of independent choreographers, from one of the youngest, Liu Shu-ying (劉淑瑛), to the most established, Cloud Gate founder Lin Hwai-min (林懷民). The dances also displayed the influence of foreign choreographers working in Taipei. These include Jim May, artistic director of the Dance Forum, one of Taiwan's newest and most promising dance companies, and former Dutch National Ballet member Leon Koning, who was ballet master with Cloud Gate for six years and also helped build the Tsoying dance program.

Critical response to the Hong Kong performances was positive and encouraging. The University of New York at Purchase, which has one of the top dance schools in the U.S., accepted three Tsoying students. The famed Laban Center in London also welcomed auditions from the high school, while the NIA students won praise from the press.

Members of the highly respected Dance Notation Bureau in New York expressed interest in documenting one of the Cloud Gate pieces to add to its archives, where it would join works by George Balanchine, Frederick Ashton, Doris Humphrey, and other great names in twentieth-century dance. One notator was so impressed with the work, he offered his services for free.

Another member of the Notation Bureau, Els Grelinger, made a subsequent visit to Taipei and at a lecture-demonstration urged the public to be aware that dance history is being made in Taiwan. She urged documentation of this history before it is lost, and suggested that the records be kept in a special library. "You have some wonderful young choreographers here," Grelinger told her audience. "Get their dances down!"

According to Dance Forum manager Ping Heng (平珩), an NIA instructor who studied at the Notation Bureau, initial plans are already under way to notate Crossing the Black Water, probably Cloud Gate's most famous piece. This dance, a sequence from Legacy, Lin Hwai-min's moving epic about Taiwan's fIrst Chinese settlers, will also remain in the NlA repertoire. The dance not only offers the students a challenging exercise in movement, but it also forges a link with their own dance history, and with the immense influence that Cloud Gate still has on the current dance scene.

When Cloud Gate was disbanded in October 1988, some critics predicted the death of dance in Taiwan. Cloud Gate was the only professional company that offered opportunities to the island's growing number of dancers. It also set high standards and urged dancers and choreographers to strive for perfection in technique, skill, and creativity. It was disheartening, as well, that choreographer Lin Hwai-min would no longer have a showcase to display his unique and vibrant interpretation of the East-West style that had earned for local dance a measure of international prestige.

Braving the Straits – angry foam caps the waves in Crossing the Black Water, part of the moving epic dance by Lin Hwai-min about Taiwan's first Chinese settlers.

But instead of bringing about the demise of dance, Cloud Gate's departure prompted a surge of activity and an increasing range of styles. For some critics, this new vitality was an indication of how much Cloud Gate had monopolized dance in Taiwan. They charged that Lin had maintained such an overpowering and dominant influence that others could not, or would not, develop their personal styles or start their own companies. While it is true that Cloud Gate was (and remains) an awesome monument, and although it may be true that Lin's talent was sometimes intimidating, credit must go to the company for paving the way for today's dedication, diversity, and multitude of voices.

In fact, Cloud Gate itself had become more and more diverse over its fifteen-year life span. It seems strange that so many people, even some former members, tend to remember the company in monolithic terms. Lin made way for a number of other choreographers with styles very different from his own. Most notably, he introduced the improvisation-based concepts of Chen Wei-cheng (陳偉誠), who was strongly influenced by his studies in experimental theater, and he encouraged both the European perspective of Leon Koning and the more avant-garde approach of Sunny Pang, formerly resident choreographer with City Contemporary Dance Company in Hong Kong.

Choreographer Lo Man-fei (羅曼菲), also a teacher at NIA, credits Cloud Gate with having nurtured an atmosphere and an audience willing to respect the diverse and unusual approaches seen today. "Having someone prestigious doing something experimental is crucial," Lo says. "Now our generation can be more daring. There's more space, more freedom than before to be unique, to express ourselves in a different way."

Many of today's successful choreographers came of age with Cloud Gate. The company presented them with the chance to train in a wide variety of styles, honed their talents, helped them find artistic direction, and gave them a strong sense of professionalism. Says choreographer Chen Wei-cheng, formerly a dancer with Cloud Gate, "My choreography is never related to Cloud Gate. I never use Chinese legends as a basis. But when I work with people, it's very Cloud Gate. I work very hard, I really push, I care about every detail."

Lin Hwai-min, Cloud Gate's founder, sees what is happening today as a natural development of the foundation his company established. "To me, it is all a continuation of Cloud Gate," he says. "I dared to fold the company because there were other things going on."

Indeed, there is much going on in the local dance scene. Some choreographers continue to pursue the East-West blend that Lin made famous, combining modern dance techniques with traditional Asian movement and Chinese themes. A recent example is a piece by Liou Shaw-Iu (劉紹爐), The Seven Hermits, performed by his own troupe, the Taipei Dance Circle. The movement is drawn from the slow motions of tai chi, the story from a famous legend, and the inspiration from the chaos that took place last year at Peking's Tienanmen Square. In his other dances, Liou more directly reflects Lin's overriding concern with forging a local identity. One work, Disappearing Space, depicts the plight of the island's farmers as they face the encroachment of urban sprawl.

Liu Shu-ying is another choreographer who often expresses a strong identity with Taiwan society. In 1990, she started her own company, the Wandering Dancers Work Group. In the past, Liu has incorporated Taiwanese songs and, in one dance, the clunking of traditional wooden slippers. A recent work uses videos projected from a pile of TV sets, an apparent comment on the inanity of the boob-tube generation.

Frances Tao (陶馥蘭) also takes a close look at what is going on in contemporary society, but she expresses it in a form of personalized dance theater. She transports her dancers from one abstract, dramalike situation to another, and surrounds them with a theater environment. A recent work presented by the Dance Forum, The Episodes of the Gray Dresses, offers a stark and sometimes disturbing view of the Chinese family.

In her latest work, Happy Birthday, Tao creates a surreal world out of disturbing, dreamlike images that suggest a theme of alienated femininity. Her numerous props in this production range from a lifelike baby doll to red Chinese slippers sized for bound feet to a toilet filled with apples. Tao also draws on ancient Chinese traditions, such as ghost-story classics and Chinese operas.

Lin Hsiu-wei is even more closely in touch with her Asian heritage, particularly ancient Chinese philosophy. But she uses it to develop her own distinct dance language, one that is as modern as it is traditional.

Her movement is acutely inward-directed, both in body and in mind, a sort of meditation in motion. She often pursues an idea of progressive transformation, as in Like Dancing, Like Painting, or the life journey portrayed in Mandala, presented last year by her group, the Taigu Tales Dance Theater. In her most recent work, a solo called Compass, Lin continues to refine her unique system of movement, combining primitive, ritualistic sensibilities akin to Japanese Butoh (a harsh, direct style of modern dance) and movements inspired by wind, water, flowers, and other natural objects.

The range and imagination of the new choreographers represents a continuation and an expansion of what began with Cloud Gate. Yet the distinct differences among them reflect how much dance mirrors the changes in society. Gone, or at least subdued, is any thought of dance expression as being monolithic. In its place is an increasing plurality of views, and creative expressions of personal opinion.

Although many choreographers explore social and political issues in their works, there is no longer the compulsion to present a spirit and pride unique to Taiwan – an orientation that was considered an essential element of Cloud Gate. "Times have changed, society has changed," says Ping Heng. "Taiwan is so much influenced by the outside world. Younger choreographers have a broader area to draw on. They don't have that limited sense of history."

Perhaps it is only natural for the more seasoned choreographers to feel that this change in attitude spells a great loss for the development of a Taiwan identity. There is also the fear that there will be too much Western influence. Younger choreographers, however, see this change as a matter of course. Most of them value their more international perspective; it is essential for today, for now. They prefer utilizing this broader awareness in their search for a personal rather than a national identity, trusting that the former will naturally express the latter. "We know the roots are there," Frances Tao says. "If we're interested in finding them, we can go deeper. But it can't be forced."

Others recognize the lack of any major style or direction as part of the struggle to ensure a future for dance in Taiwan. Chen Wei-cheng sees the new plurality of voices as an unavoidable but precarious step forward. "Now everybody has more freedom," he says. "On the one hand it's good. On the other hand, we became free very quickly, even before we could understand what freedom is. People are not really mature enough to go on their own. There isn't the environment to train people to be independent. "

The issue of independence versus collective identity may provoke differences of opinion and interpretation. But there is one constant theme from generation to generation in Taiwan's dance scene: the struggle that dancers and choreographers face in pursuing their art, with the emphasis falling in the areas of financial problems and shortcomings in the government's cultural policies.

Tapping a rich legacy – Cloud Gate often translated Chinese myths into modern dance, as in Stars above.

Total creative independence mayor may not be the best course, but many choreographers actually go this direction out of necessity. And it is not just to ensure that no one else treads on their personal interpretations. Most choreographers would more than welcome an established and professional national dance company, but it seems as though the arts environment simply cannot support one. Cloud Gate is not the only group to prove this. Liou Shaw-Iu's six-year-old Dance Circle is uncertain whether it can afford another season; Lin Hsiu-wei's Taigu Tales company has not performed for more than a year and a half; and even the new Dance Forum has had to depend on private funding.

Foreigners involved in the local dance scene have taken note of this problem as well. Atlanta Ballet artistic director Robert Barnett, who recently worked with local dancers in a project sponsored by Taipei's National Theater, is one of the many dance figures who have commented on the lack of long-term opportunities. The nineteen students involved in the project rehearsed for months for the chance to appear on stage in performances with the Atlanta Ballet. Barnett, who praised their discipline, expressed concern that the dancers' efforts might go to waste. "They have worked so hard," he said. "It's a shame they don't have a company of their own .... You're going to lose all your talented dancers."

Many people in Taiwan's dance community blame the situation on a government policy that puts more money into importing foreign productions than in promoting local ones, and a bureaucratic grants system that is oriented toward individual productions rather than overall development. "There is dance talent, there is choreographic talent," says Leon Koning. "The only reason I can see for it not working is money."

But it is not the amount of money that is the problem; it is how it is spent. In fact, the government is now pouring more money than ever into dance. Even Robert Denvers, the director of Belgium's well-heeled Flanders Ballet, commented on the astounding availability of funds during his company's 1990 summer tour to the island. "The amount of money Taipei is able to give to culture is incredible," he said.

Ko insists that CCPD distributes funds for these programs as fairly as possible, and bases its decisions on quality. The council also considers the number of people involved in a project and the technical needs, such as lighting costs. The council has a Performing Arts Consulting Committee to decide the artistic emphases for the year and also to help review grants and scholarship proposals. Nevertheless, the council is criticized for being "purely production-oriented," in the words of Lin Huai-min. "They do not consider cultivating companies that have potential, " he adds.

But even the harshest critics of government policy recognize the potential of Taiwan's dancers, whatever the obstacles or struggles might be. "I should be happy," Lin concedes. "What we did in Hong Kong was good. Taiwan was one of the best in everything." Like the figure in Like Dancing, Like Painting, local dancers and choreographers will continue to struggle, intent on freeing themselves. If these struggles continue being as imaginative and daring as in the recent past, even greater success can be expected in the future.