Sunday, 12. 10. 06

We went to a Cloud Gate performance at the National Theater this afternoon (thank you, Ben, for the tickets).

This 2.5-hour performance featured excerpts from some of the best-known Cloud Gate dances in the past 25 years. The founder and choreographer, Lin Hwai-min, firmly believes that the mission of Cloud Gate is to present and promote Taiwanese/Chinese art and culture through its music and dance. “Crossing the Black Water”, for example, depicts the epic voyage of Taiwanese ancestors who braved the violent sea to settle on this island 300 years ago. “Tale of the White Serpent” reinterprets the popular Chinese folklore about the forbidden love between a man and a snake spirit, and portrays the complexity of (human) emotions through blended movements of contemporary dance and classic Beijing Opera. “Homage to the God of the Clouds” is one song from Chinese poet Qu Yuan’s “Nine Songs”. Traditionally, only Gods can step on humans, so the dancer who plays the God travels and dances on the shoulders and backs of his carriers throughout the entire duration of the dance (about 10 minutes). It was absolutely breathtaking!

My favorite was the piece with one female dancer in a brown dress in the middle of the stage. A single spotlight shines on her from above, creating a cone of soft haze around her. The music is a piano solo: simple, peaceful, and sad. As soon as the music starts, she starts spinning on one spot, trapped in the soft light around her, unable to escape. At times she extends her arms as if to reach for a way out; other times she withers as if all hopes were gone.

One spotlight.

One dancer.

One piano.

One location.

One being.

The elements combined create this heart-wrenching sense of loneliness. She is as light as an autumn leaf spinning in the whirlpool of the Northern wind. She seems so helpless and fragile yet her strength and determination prevails. Despite the circumstance that turns her spinning, she keeps on fighting: fighting against the turmoil of life; fighting against the endless circle of fear, panic, struggle, and despair. As for the dancer, for a total of eight long minutes she spins while maintaining absolute discipline and clarity.

At last she came to a stop. My tears stopped with her. She stood still in the cone of soft haze, frozen in grace and beauty. She wraps her arms around her body and slowly starts to move again. She sways a bit then suddenly, her arms extend into wings and she speeds up into another spin. But this time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry because it was her choice to spin.

The piece is called Requiem.