In Limbo

I’ve returned to China sooner than I thought.  I didn’t think I’d have the means or impetus to get back before fall, but of course – things rarely go as planned.  I find myself in Hong Kong after an uneventful 28-hour journey from the middle of America.  And, while my jetlag isn’t nearly as bad as it should be, I still feel like I’m swimming in some sort of molasses soup.  Perhaps it’s the humidity or the change of pace from a dawdling Minneapolis summer or probably it’s the fact that I’m in China limbo.

On the spectrum of China to everywhere else, Hong Kong hovers somewhere in the middle for me.  There are certainly a lot of Chinese people here, but there’s a lot of everyone else too.  On a rainy night, it looks like a scene from Blade Runner – late night noodle stand and all.  You can get anything you want from anywhere you want it from and there’s no big brother censorship lurking behind your firewall.  Weirder still, is that I have to rely on English to get me around because I don’t speak the Cantonese dialect and they don’t speak Mandarin Chinese.  It’s such a hardwired default that I’m constantly making the mistake.  Oh, and there’s no traditional shadow puppetry.

So why am I here?   A few months back, as I was trying to settle back into life in the US, Larry Reed made contact.  Larry is the much-respected artistic director of the Shadowlight Company out of San Francisco.  He’s a lifelong student of the Balinese shadow puppet tradition and has collaborated all over the world with his innovative shadow theatre techniques.    He’s been looking to start a project in China and asked me to come along for the ride.  Plus, it all coincided with China’s first ever hosting of the annual UNIMA International Puppet Festival.  How could I say no?

We planned to attend the UNIMA Festival in Chengdu and were happy to tack on the Mingri Puppetry in Education conference in Hong Kong as it’s run by the infallible Simon Wong (who you may remember was my first meeting upon arriving for my Fulbright last year) and he had a few meetings in mind for us.

So here we are in Hong Kong, my China limbo.  It all seemed surreal and odd until we stepped foot into the conference.  A gaggle of student volunteers and dedicated staff had turned an unsuspecting primary school into a honest-to-goodness center of workshops, performances and case-sharings from local and international artists.

I was giddy with delight attending a modern shadow puppet-making workshop by Mr. Li – who has just moved to Hong Kong a few years ago after decades of leadership with the Hunan Puppet Troupe.   Afterwards, I caught shows, lectures on puppetry in therapy practice, vegetable puppet making and much more.  I realized how happy I was to be surrounded by like-minded folk who view the puppet with the same sort of reverence.

This puppet homecoming cured any trace of my queasy limbo and made for a most pleasant trip.  The few bowls of homemade brisket noodle soup I inhaled didn’t hurt either.

If you’re ever in Honk Kong, you really should see what the Mingri folks are up to.  Or catch one of Mr. Li’s shows.

Thanks for reading~

My modern shadow puppet project in progress: using two sheets of laminate plastic, colored permanent markers and some simple tools and materials.

Veggie puppet making class.  Hint:  Long beans make great arms!

Droom Theater from Holland performs for the local children.  Even with the metered pace of translating from Dutch to English to Cantonese, these kids dug it.

Oh, I did a little touristing.  Graham Street market in Sheung Wan – home of amazing eats and hubbub.

Bazhong Compilation Video

While I haven’t had much time to post, I’ve had a bit of time to put this short (super short 3 1/2 minute edit) Bazhong Compilation together of the performance I saw last year in Sichuan Province.

My original post on that trip is here.  While I still think the video pales in comparison to the live performance, it’s a great way to get a taste for the joy that is a Chinese Shadow Play.

This is a rare sunlit show – making it easier to see what’s going on behind the scenes.  Enjoy!

Click HERE for the video link.

~Thanks for reading and watching

A ChineseAmerican Shadow Play

As a theatre artist who researches, I see no better way to put my discoveries and theories into practice than through performance.   Setting up a project centered around my year of research before I had even left for China last year may seem presumptuous, but luckily I presumed right.  It is my next best step.

I’ve thought about my little shadow show continuously for the past two years.  The seed of it has been there for much longer.   Carrying a living idea around in your pocket is such a good way to enrich the fieldwork experience.  Those chaotic and quiet moments were calmed or enthused by reorienting my research around this little idea.

And, as much as I probably could have used a break this spring, there is no better way to start this process of unraveling the experience – no matter how messy or impossible it may seem.  And it certainly is unraveling.

With a story outline in hand, my trusty collaborators and I dove into our first session of intensive rehearsals a few weeks ago with the objective of simply tearing the story apart and putting it back together again.  What started out as a simple story of a shadow puppeteering Grandfather’s journey through 1930’s China up until present day has become a much richer, much more dimensional story in just two weeks.   We’ve intentionally left it an adolescent 3^rd draft in order to give us more room to play when the puppets have arrived.

For these three weeks, I’m in the studio day and night finalizing designs, cutting puppets, assembling lights, ordering projector bulbs, assembling the shadow puppet screen, painting, scenery building (etc, etc) to begin visually assembling the show.   This is the part I’m used to and comfortable exploring inside of.  I could sit in the dark making things dance with light all the day/night long.

Testing shadows in larger scale on the overhead projector.

I was a bit nervous setting up my first cutting studio in the US.  After my 2008 apprenticeship, I tried to cut a few times at home only to realize that I hadn’t learned enough.  I was so frustrated in the first 2 attempts that I gave up indefinitely.  My intention during my Fulbright apprenticeship was to get to a place where I could continue studying completely on my own, and – big sigh of relief – I think I’m there.

My modest puppet cutting station.  It’s usually a lot cleaner than that (sort of).  Oh and I’m not drinking Mountain Dew – that’s my Chinese-style sharpening stone water container with a hole punched in the cap.

While I still have years to go before I’ll get anywhere close to mastery, my hand-cutting puppet skills have already improved in the two weeks I’ve been cutting daily.  I’m realizing just how different the cowhides are (handmade, machine made, top-cut, second layer, color, finish) and how they determine the moisture content before you cut.  And the blades, the blades! My first attempt to sharpen my knives at home proved to be, yet again, hair-greying.  I had brought home two coarse sharpening blocks that were so soft, they ground down with each stroke, leaving me a concave groove in exactly the wrong place.  I felt doomed.  I fretted and bought every sharpening stone in Home Depot only to find they all had the same problem. Finally, after I told myself to give it a rest for a day or two – I stumbled upon the one red block I’d purchased in Xi’an somewhere.  I tried it and exploded with a trail of happy expletives.   This was the stone!  I could sharpen on it without sharpening it into a sandy mess.  And with it, I’ve been slowly honing my hand-sharpening nuance.

We’ve still got along way to go: another intensive rehearsal period of integrating text with the visual world and then another break to finish up things on the production side.  Performance dates/venues are still in flux, but the show will be performed sometime in May/June in Minneapolis.  Of course, I’ll post about it here.

Thanks for reading~

Some of the puppets in progress~

Note: while the my designs draw heavily from contemporary Cultural Revolution puppet design from China, they are all original.The young mother character: unpainted and unjoined.  Handcut cowhide.  14″ tall.

The central Grandfather character as an older man.  Unpainted and unjoined.  Handcut cowhide. 14″ tall.

Just a note about funding for the arts: I’m quite sure Minnesota’s arts funding opportunities is much of what makes our arts community (and henceforth our city) so vibrant, interesting and diverse.  This project has been funded by an Artists Initiative grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, a Next Step Grant from the Minnesota Regional Arts Council and a Puffin Foundation Grant.

                                                             

The Way We See It

I’ve been back home for over two months now.  And while I feel a longing for the shadow puppet trail, I’ve also been able to do a different kind of searching here in America.  It’s calmed my anxiety about the trail running cold or me losing my steam.  This time of processing and pondering is necessary to get to a more fulfilling continuation of the work.

Diving further into historical research while simultaneously building new work for the shadow theatre with my Chinese shadow training, has gotten me caught in some in some swirls of cyclical discovery and impossible intersections.   Sometimes, there is no way to gracefully integrate the old with the new.  Sometimes, it happens naturally.

My fascination with Chinese shadow puppetry has as much to do with what is presented as how it is presented.

The traditional countryside performances are the center of community celebrations and usually took place from sundown to sunup.

The crowd demographic changes throughout the night; the elderly were the last ones standing at 4am.  The stage is carted in by donkey, usually a bundle of long bamboo sticks or skinny tree trunks that are strung together to create a surprisingly sturdy screen for 6 or 7 troupe members and can be viewed from 360 degrees.

When I saw my first performance, I greedily sat myself in front and center in what I thought was the best seat in the house.

Once the music started and the puppets were underway, it became clear that I was operating under a very Western understanding of ‘best seat in the house’.  The areas where you could watch the puppet show from backstage were being vied for like Justin Bieber’s autograph.  My moment of embarrassment was cut short by my desire to get back there.

To watch a shadow show from behind the screen!  It was better than Noises Off.  It was even better than finding out who that man behind the curtain was in Wizard of Oz. 

This was the most important element I wanted to incorporate in my work when I returned to the states; the simple experience of destroying the fourth wall and presenting the entire process of performance as the show itself.  Not a promenade show, not a show in-the-round, but a show in which all aspects of creating the performance are stage worthy and just as entertaining as what’s going on in the ‘front.’

While doing more historical reading this last month, I learned that in some regions, viewing traditional Chinese shadow puppet plays from the back wasn’t always encouraged.  There was a time when the masters didn’t want their secrets exposed – to keep the magic intact.  But recently, some had come to believe that the back had opened up to compete with other forms of entertainment.   So funny – I had assumed without questions that the way I was viewing it now was the way it has always been viewed.  I had forgotten all my other research about the evolutionary nature of a folk art – the change necessary for survival.  But, it also reminded me that change isn’t always for the worse.  At least, in my opinion.

Perhaps a hundred years ago, when the audience was lagging due to competing forms of entertainment, some masters came to believe the same things I do now – which is the beauty of live performance is making magic within the limitations: invisible budgets, bad acoustics, gravity, etc.  And perhaps there is also magic inherent in the cogs that make that magic happen.  To expose those cogs is to embrace and celebrate these limitations, making them precious and valued again.

Thanks for reading~

The Turtle and Crane Phenomenon

In 2008, when I first went to China to study with a traditional shadow puppet troupe, I had a very narrow view of the form.   I only studied in one region and one troupe.

In 2011, I visited numerous troupes in nine provinces.  Needless to say, I had to reassess some previous assumptions.

Within my first few months of 2011, I became familiar with the Beijing/Hebei and Xi’an areas.  And within just a few months, I started to see a very strange trend – one that I wouldn’t fully understand until the end of my trip.

Both the Longzaitian troupe in Beijing, the Yutian troupe in Xi’an and the Shaanxi Provincial Theatre had a show entitled Turtle and Crane.  It’s a simple, modern show  with colorful animal protagonists and some perfect lilies bordering a perfectly bucolic pond.  An even cute and catchier score accompanies a short, 10-minute wander into this cute story.  But, even stranger, the puppets were nearly identical – and I couldn’t be certain, but the music sounded the same as well.

Longzaitian Troupe, Beijing China

Tengchong Shadow Puppet Troupe, Yunnan China

During my third viewing of the show in Xi’an, I naïvely asked how each troupe had come by the story.  I was always met with an elusive answer.  “Do you like it?” or “We’ve done this one for 15 years”.   Hmmm.  Still, I chalked it up to coincidence or a contained case of the ‘copies’.  But, throughout the year, I saw this same performance in nearly all provinces and nearly every troupe – including the more remote cities of Tengchong, Yunnan and Yunmeng, Hubei. S eriously: identical story, scenery, puppets and music.

In December, towards the end of my Fulbright year, I went to the Cui museum in Beijing and asked Cui Yongping about the Turtle and Crane flyer he had posted to the wall in German.  “That’s the first show we took to Germany in the 1980s”.   This was the first time I realized that the piece might have historical significance.

It wasn’t until I was reading a shadow puppet history book, from China, that I ran across a paragraph that explains Turtle and Crane as the first ‘National’ shadow production of China.

Funded as a government initiative, Turtle and Crane was created by an intellectual named Zhai Yi, in collaboration with two shadow puppet artists, in 1952 just after the formation of new China.  On the surface, it was simply an attempt to update the folk art form, but deep down it was meant to pacify what could have otherwise been a tool for subversion.

Of course, the shadow troupes of the time took it up with open arms, not wanting to challenge the new status quo.  It spread like wildfire.

Government officials were suspicious of traditional shadow puppetry because of its grassroots origins and its widespread popularity throughout the mainland.  Shows made by and for the people meant messages they couldn’t control.  At the time of the Communist revolution, and later the Cultural Revolution, troupes were forbidden to perform and most were forced to destroy their inherited trunks of shadow puppetry.  In some regions, a single troupe was allowed to continue – as long as they took their directives from the government.  Turtle and Crane was just the beginning.

Tai’an Shadow Puppetry Troupe, Shandong China

Master Qin, Hubei China

Some argue that shadow puppetry in China has continued through the mid-century but I consider this post-revolution wave a complete break.  To see a traditional show compared with a show like Turtle and Crane, I think you’d agree.

I believe in the need for art to evolve along with the people who create it, nothing is truly traditional as it’s always changing, but evolution indicates a continuum.   These new shows aren’t made by the community or artists who they are presented to, they have no regional relevance to their constituents and are so universal and pacified as to render them meaningless.   And this directive was an immediate, inorganic shift inspired by the country’s regime change.

After China opened back up in the 1980s, traditional troupes tried to pick up where they left off in the 1950s, only to find their shows about emperors and the peasant class had no place in the new China.  This break, coupled with urbanization and the digital era, has left traditional shadow puppetry floundering.   With no funding and no audiences, troupes have polarized to extremes.  Those troupes that were ‘government sponsored’ during the revolution continue to make shadow puppetry along the lines of Turtle and Crane to appeal to the modern audience, while troupes that were banned are trying to eek out a living performing the shows from way back when to an ever dwindling audience.

No one, save a few small projects here and there, has the time, money, or means to start a deliberate movement to bring the traditional form into the modern age.    Right now, it’s either or.

As I process through my year and how I want to proceed forward with my research and practice, this desire to foster a more organic evolution has become louder than others (in tandem with my desire to preserve the traditional puppet making methods).   But, as a foreigner, can I be the one to push this agenda?  I have spoken with a few of my masters on the issue and they are for it.  They’ve encouraged me to use whatever elements I’ve gleaned from their teachings and make it my own, fuse it, merge it, mash it and present it to a new audience.

Perhaps in these times of imminent extinction, the need for continuation should trump my worries of being inauthentic.   Still, I hope to proceed with a healthy dose of awareness mixed with urgency.

Thanks for reading~

The Stuff We’re Made Of

After my last puppet hunt in Shanxi, I returned to Beijing and used my last week in China to eat my favorite foods, see my favorite people and take a trip to the bathhouse.

The week was more than surreal.  It was horrible and wonderful.  Ever since I had arrived, a part of me had looked forward to the end.  As with any adventure, it’s an experience of all colors, shapes, sizes and intensities.  Above all – it’s big.  I didn’t have a single day that could have been labeled as routine or mundane.  And, after 10 straight months of challenge and adventure, all I wanted was a non-challenge.  And oatmeal for 365 days in a row.

Still, how does one say goodbye to such a year?  Such an experience?  It seems silly to bookend it, and yet, when doing research abroad – one must.  It’s nearly impossible to bring it home with you.  The information is there, but the feeling is so elusive.

Bringing it home with me has been the hardest part of the transition.  Not the reverse culture shock.  Not the fact that people obey traffic laws or refrain from spitting on the sidewalk.  Not the relative isolation we Americans live in or the cleanliness.  Just simply that I can’t live in both these worlds at the same time.  They are, geographically and mentally, too far away from each other.  I am the single being that can connect my two realities, corroborate my own story and so far, it’s been clumsy at best.

I believe this only feeds into my mission: to create a bigger bridge, for myself and others, that merge these two realities: to introduce Chinese shadow puppetry to new fans and stewards around the world and celebrate with old ones.

I plan to continue this site as a general Chinese shadow puppet informational blog.  I will keep processing my own observations of the year, my own personal attempts to innovate or preserve the work and any return trips I make to China to continue my research.  The posts will slow, but my passion will not.

Thank you to anyone who read this blog and lent their attention throughout the year.  Chinese shadow puppetry and I, thank you!

A Few Big Thanks:

• To the Fulbright program, for making this entire thing possible (and to the amazing support from the Beijing, NYC and DC Offices)
• To my parents, who are the best cheerleaders (and blog editors) a girl could ask for
• To all the shadow puppet artist in China, for showing me a generosity I had yet to experience and dedication that I hope to honor for years to come

The Pot of Gold – Part 2

(continued from previous blog – to read, click here.)

That night, I didn’t sleep much.  While everyone else in Shanxi is barely heating their homes, the Changchun hotel decided to keep our rooms at a balmy 78 degrees.   I was in paradise and I was anxious.  I finished my novel, caught up in my journal and paced around in my stocking-less feet (heaven for my thawing toes!).   The Ministry of Culture?  It sounded like a very intimidating group of people.  What if I couldn’t even get into the building?  Was my North Face outfit proper clothing for such a meeting?  What if I needed an appointment?  If I did, would I wait another day?  I already had a ticket to Beijing late tomorrow evening – my days of waiting had whittled away my precious time.

After listening to myself fret for hours, it was pretty obvious I really wanted their help.  I really, really wanted to find this troupe. Ostensibly, it was just another trip, but deep down it had come to mean something much more.  It felt like a mix of proving myself, paving the way for more true puppet hunts next time, showing Zhang Laoshi she couldn’t stop me from finding them and, most importantly, it would mean another shadow puppet troupe had survived.  The true puppet hunt was a self-imposed right of passage I’d given myself.  I knew it wasn’t my fault if I didn’t pass, but it didn’t stop me from wanting it.  Badly.

After rehearsing a multitude of possible introductions I’d give the Ministry tomorrow, finishing my novel and scribbling down a host of notes, I fell into a feverish sleep.  I awoke early the next morning and got myself good and ready.  By 8:15 am, I had eaten at the hotel’s complimentary breakfast buffet, packed and checked out.  I had 40 minutes before I could head over to the government building.  I spent most of it in the lobby pretending to be absorbed by their fish tanks.  Mostly, I was just counting down the seconds.

At exactly 8:55, I exited the lobby and headed just around the corner.  The government building in Xiaoyi follows the design directive from the rest of the government buildings in China: intimidating, impassable and humongous.  As I walked up the steps, I could feel a wave of calm sweep over me.  Either it was going to go or it wasn’t.  And I would know whether it wasn’t in just a few minutes.

I walked swiftly past the guards and into the elevator with what I hoped was a look of but-of-course-certainly-absolutely-I-know-where-I’m-going.    After I got off on the 8^th floor, I looked around with caution.  None of the doors were labeled.  One end of the hall was dark, the other well lit.  A janitor was mopping just a few feet away.  Save her, the place seemed empty.  I quietly asked her if she knew where the Ministry of Culture office was.  She gave me a shrug and kept pushing her mop.  I headed to the first office with voices and peeked in.  They pointed me to room 830.  I walked slowly to the door, took a deep breath and gave a good rap.

I heard muffled voices, some chair squeaks and – it opened.   Just beyond my view of the door frame were four very nice looking people with confused but kind faces.  After the stun wore off, I blabbered through my intro and within minutes they had ushered me to ‘the guy’.

Without ceremony or questioning, he whipped out his cell phone and looked up someone’s name, wrote a few scribbles down and told me Bidu Village.  Only once did he look up and say ‘you’re really and American?’

I grabbed that piece of paper and left uttering my thanks profusely, perhaps subconsciously afraid that they’d revoke the precious information if I let them think about what they’d done for too long.   I had it!  In my hot little hands!  The treasure map!  X marked the spot!

I called the number and a raspy voice told me to “come on over”!

I walked swiftly to the edge of the road without thinking.  I hailed the first taxi and explained myself.  ”I’d like to find a shadow puppet master in Bidu Village and talk to him for the day and then I’ve got to get to the train station”.   The luck that hadn’t been with me the three days prior was with me in full force today.  My taxi driver turned out to be an ever curious and funny fellow who was only too game to find a puppet master in Bidu.  He even knew where the village was.

We chatted like old friends for the half hour drive, my mind still a float.  After a few wrong and then right turns, we ended up on a snowy drive, lined by old round-roofed houses.  The mist over the surrounding fields was so heavy that for a moment, I was pretty sure we were the only place on earth.

From a distance, I could see a hunched figure dressed in navy.  The puppet master was waiting for us on the road and waved us down.  His smile could be seen from a long ways out.

After a jumble of introductions and shuffling in through the narrow doorway,

we sat on his Kang bed, all three of us, as he told us about his past as a shadow puppeteer.

Master Wu is the last of a long line of shadow and rod puppeteers.  In 1863, his great-great-great-great (that’s 7 generations) grandfather started a troupe in the small village of Bidu.  They enjoyed nearly a century of success until the Cultural Revolution hit.   Like many of the troupes around the country, the Wu’s were forced to burn their entire puppet stock to ensure no one was performing ‘unapproved’ shows.  Trunks and trunks of handmade puppets burned, decades of oral history up in smoke.

For forty years, Master Wu went back to farming full time.  But he never forgot his stories.  “How did you keep them?” I asked.  “Here” he said, pointing to his head and then his heart.

When Master Wu was allowed to practice again, he had to start from scratch.  And, instantly, he saw the audience had changed.   The troupe stopped performing locally about 10 years ago.

Luckily, in 2005, the small town of Xiaoyi added the then 69-year-old Master Wu to their payroll as a cultural steward.  He gives performances and teaches a bit, but mostly, this small salary allows him to live out his days with little hardship.   In the warm months, he travels to the nearby tourist town of Datong for tourist performances throughout the summer.

At some point, while my taxi hero and Master Wu were chatting amongst themselves, I had a moment.  The weight, the sheer weight, of the entire year in all its good-bad-big-amazingness, came swooping down and smacked me in the chest.   I smarted at the blow.

I had made it.  We had made it.  Shadow puppetry and I had made it through the year, together.  And here is where my rainbow ended.   After traveling for so long, it was incredible to feel like I had arrived somewhere even if it was a destination of my own creation.

We spent the rest of the day on the Kang bed, chatting the day away.

Thanks for reading~