Einträge von Thomas Lehmen

Solo
As my hotel is reasonably close to the palace, I can walk for a change. Today, a Sunday, things should be a bit quieter in Solo; last night I even managed to sleep for several hours at a time. But political parties campaigning for the up-coming election have organized a series of motorcycle parades across the city. These parades are an ear-splitting affair – surely they were staging a race and not a parade?

The Prince receives me and, after a short time, I realize that you can only fool around with him in the morning. The Prince is obviously an immensely talented man. His highly expressive manner and sense of humour make him a world class comedian. Despite our occasionally differing opinions, we strike up a friendly rapport and I sense that the Prince is somebody you can believe in. My intuition is later proved correct when the Prince demonstrates his serious interest in and support of the arts. A member of the Prince’s staff, Daryono, a historian and lecturer for traditional dance, provides me with some background information and outlines their approach to the reconstruction of historic palace dances.

In the evening, the Prince is more serious. Perhaps his duties have exhausted him. He invites me to join him in a spacious European-style theatre, where traditional performances are staged every night. The audience smokes, watches, eats, chats, and comes and goes without anyone being annoyed by all this bustling activity. The Prince hints at a few necessary renovations. Clearly I have not been invited merely to admire the glorious beauty of the theatre. At dinner, the Prince, who is visibly depressed, laments the growing loss of this cultural city’s special character.

But dance is still hugely popular. The next day I attend the rehearsals and public performances at the palace. The mesmerizing sounds of the gamelan orchestra transport the audience into a space where time ceases to exist. The grace and beauty of the dancers are almost dizzying. Then, after forty-five minutes of meticulously choreographed movements, the dancers draw their knives and, smiling serenely, begin a dance that tells of a political assassination … or perhaps it is intended to warn us of the need to respect the unique beauty of this dance.

Yogjakarta
After asking for directions and phoning around, we eventually find the choreographer’s house in Yogjakarta. Her name is Fitri Setyaningih; she wears her hair shaved close and lives with her five dogs in a small, idyllic house with a garden. After a week of relentless noise and sleepless jetlag nights the silence is overwhelming. It is a relief to be able to spend half a day with Fitri.

As we talked Fitri confirmed the impression I had gained while studying her works on DVD – this was an artist who had broken radically with traditional dance to work with forms of visual art. This decision had given her more freedom and liberated her from the constraints of unspoken aesthetic controls. Her curiosity and passion for dialogue are boundless, and we talk for hours on end.

Fitri is one of the few choreographers I have encountered who can explore her artistic vision and background through the lens of the visual arts. The need to acquire the methods which enable artists to deal with the challenges of "today" is evident among many younger choreographers and dancers.

Tradition always holds the same fundamental answers to the same fundamental questions. On the other hand, more modern forms, lacking any real impetus for dealing with such fundamental matters, are often little more than simplified facsimiles that seem empty and vague.

Even if contemporary dancers/choreographers like Fitri break with tradition stylistically and formally, the spirit of their works and the metaphysical space which they occupy is often so similar to that of traditional works, that in effect they reproduce the intellectual outlook of their traditional predecessors. The break with tradition is achieved when the artist succeeds in reflecting their own unique descriptive language, outlook and discussion in their works.

But perhaps we underestimate the effect that alternative forms, including non-lingual techniques, can achieve. These forms do, in fact, provide a more or less precise “language” – a specific elaboration of form – which makes all the difference.

There are few contemporary choreographers who explore questions of external form, point of view and philosophy with such passion. And even fewer who arrive at new conclusions and aesthetics. (...) I am not referring here to what is commonly termed “conceptual dance”, which emphasises the concept as the content to be communicated by the arts, but about the artist’s ability to develop a concept to work with. (...) Nor am I suggesting that choreographers should pursue a vague, academically and politically correct discourse; instead what is needed is a lively discourse of diversity, where ideas, methods, positions and their articulation serve as a tool for the promotion and support of artistic work. Like Fitri, many artists could acquire this approach to art if offered the opportunity.

I ponder Fitri’s invitation to sleep at the house and relax in its idyllic atmosphere, but eventually decline her well meant offer, fearing that the growing masses of mosquitoes would leave me with precious little chance of sleep.

Jakarta
The contemporary performance Gathik Glinding by the Salhita group highlights the interesting relationship that exists between tradition and actuality, which brings me back to language and the street.

On the stage, a few elderly women dressed in traditional costumes speak, sing and move about in a very formal manner. Only the oversized images of ancient sculptures with colossal phalli, hint at the fact that these traditions cannot last. While I am unable to understand a single word of what is being said, the style of the recital and the reactions of the audience are telling – this is first class humour.

The Salhita performers were utterly convincing and I was astonished to learn that they were not, in fact, elderly women. When I asked, why the actresses play older roles on stage in all of their pieces, they replied dryly: "Old women can say anything." And they do so at great length, covering their relationships and friendships, their dealings with the opposite sex, politics and society – nothing is left out or glossed over. Gathik Glinding was a superb offering of side-stitching humour, inter-spliced with moments of profound gravity that cast a veil of astonished silence across the audience.

Jakarta
Naturally enough, I underestimated how long a ride through rush hour Jakarta can take. No, I had little chance of reaching the theatre at the other end of the city within the next hour by taxi, explained my acquaintance at the end of our hour-long conversation – the local equivalent of a fleeting conversation.

Jakarta does not have a subway and my only hope of reaching the theatre on time was to travel by motorcycle. My hosts quickly ordered one and, after donning a helmet and clambering onto the pillion seat, I learnt that my driver was none other than the father of the choreographer whose work I was about to view. He delivered me to the theatre in a record-breaking 45 minutes...

We sped across the intersections, faster and more agile than the hundreds of other mopeds, hurtling past the trucks and cars as they hustled centimetre by centimetre along the city’s overcrowded thoroughfares. Here and there a police officer struggled to regulate the traffic, inevitably bringing everything to a standstill. I discovered that it is best not to think about matters of life and death in rush hour traffic.

If you want to understand how things work in Indonesia, then you should take a ride on one of the city’s many motorbike taxis at rush hour. There are obviously no rules except for one: use every opening that presents itself to you and adapt to the general flow. Nothing is definite; everything can change within the twinkling of an eye. You always have to reckon with the possibility that others might do something unpredictable. After thanking the choreographer’s father a thousand times for delivering me safely to my destination, I entered the theatre somewhat shaken from the experience and my head spinning from the exhaust fumes.