Performance and Adventure at the Top of the Mountain

The Performance Klub in Yogyakarta holds a yearly performance art festival in the surrounding area of Yogyakarta. Last year, it took place in a small village in Bantul, commemorating the one-year anniversary of the devastating earthquake that rocked Yogyakarta in May, 2006. This year, the festival took place at Krinjing Village, high up in the mountains at the edge of Merapi, the volcano that towers over Yogyakarta and central Java. The theme, 'Global Warming, Global Warning', comes at a time when the active discussion of how to take charge of the health of our environment is essential to its survival for future generations. International artists and locals alike gathered together, participating in early-afternoon seminars regarding global warming and ways to save our environment from complete destruction, and afternoon performances reflecting individual and group thoughts about the environment. Coming from a theater background, I'll admit that at times I find "performance art" to be boring- where's the excitement? Where's the beginning, middle and end? What really is performance, and how does performance art encompass that? This year's event was focused on group performance, forcing the typically solo performers to get into a group and collaborate. Ending results ranged, but I found for the most part the majority of performers to be working together but still separately, many of them doing individual actions in a shared space. The few that did work together included members of Taring Padi, who had audience members stick Salon Pas, heated patches, all over their bodies until they were full, yelling out "Panas!" ("Hot!"), "Body Warming!", and with help from the audience then taking those same patches and sticking them to a tree. This was a light-hearted way to link our own bodies to that of the earth, and brought enjoyment to participants all around. Another group, two performance artists from Surabaya and two from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, brought a large stack of tiny mirrors and handed them out to audience members. The audience then followed them up the hill and reflected the sun with their mirrors. This created an effective image, and brought direct relation between the audience members and the sun. On the last night of the festival, a group of thirty performers gathered together at midnight and climbed to the top of the volcano. This twelve-hour, strenuous climb was intense and not easy, a full hands-and-knees event, but once at the top for sunrise, it was stunning, and worth the scrapes and sore legs the following day. Global Warming, how many times do we have to say it's a reality? What is the most effective way to make people think twice about the way they consume, about what they burn and use for transportation? Is performance a good way to communicate these issues? Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn't. The most important thing, I think, is gathering together as a community and making a true effort to discuss these issues, and take direct actions to address the way we treat our earth. Global Warming, Global Warning!!!

Critical Mass, Yogyakarta

Did you know that Indonesia is the third largest producer of CO2 in the environment? You wouldn't be surprised if you set out on one of Java's many busy streets, full of big monster trucks spurting black clouds of exhaust in your face, seas of motorbikes and continuous problems with overpopulation. Environmental issues here are far behind, and most people don't have the same options that more developed countries have to improve their standards of living. Did I mention burning trash? Trash is another big problem in Indonesia- and the problem is that there's nowhere to put it! People throw their trash in the rivers, in the forests, anywhere they can, simply because they have nowhere to put it and not enough education to think twice about the effects of their actions. Many people, coincidentally, end up burning their trash, plastic and all. This, obviously, is also very bad for the environment.

A couple of weeks ago, here in Yogyakarta, we had a critical mass bike ride through the city. A group of almost 200 people, we rode our bikes through busy streets, stopping traffic and aweing people with our colorful costumes and decorated bikes. The message we had was: Think of the environment! Try riding your bicycle for a change! If more people in Indonesia rode their bicycles, not only would the streets be much more peaceful, but the amount of harmful pollution would also reduce. Riding a bicycle as opposed to riding a motorbike or exhaust-filled bus is healthy not only for the environment, but also for the rider! It feels good to be healthy! In Yogyakarta there is a new excitement in the young generation to ride bicycles, and it's becoming a trend. This is good. Young artists are designing their own styles of bikes- from extra-tall bikes to low-riders to bikes with extra large handles or added wheels. Our recent critical mass was inspiring- the variety of riders young and old who joined encouraged both participants and onlookers alike that the possibility of change in environment, for the better, is still possible. Ayo, naik sepeda!!!!! (Come on, let's ride bicycles!)

Oregon Country Fair

Two weeks ago, I had the fun adventure of participating in the 'Oregon Country Fair', a classic hippie gathering in the woods near Eugene, Oregon, boasting everything from live music, street parades, painted bodies, and some excellent performers. The first time I went to the Oregon Country Fair I was sixteen years old, and to me then it seemed like a utopia of rainbows and wacky performances, costumes and wafts of marijuana. At 26, after spending two years in Indonesia and prior time abroad as well, I find myself more skeptical of that 'hippie' stuff, in many ways I don't feel myself as connected to it as I might have in the past. In spite of that, I took the opportunity offered by my good friends Gary and Liza from Seattle to take part in their 'Mighty Tiny Puppet Stage' and create a performance to perform two times a day at the fair, in collaboration with my boyfriend Lilik, who is newly arrived in America for his first time from Indonesia.

Oh overwhelming!! In the end the preparation for the performance was a bit more than I had expected, given the fact that we'd only been in America for a short time, still juggling everything between cultural adjustment, family, friends and being back. That in addition to my continuous search for what kind of performance I do want to create. My performance over the years has been such a mish mash of so many different things, sometimes I don't even know how to pin it down anymore!!

The result of our search for an idea came to this: instead of being a basic 'puppet show', which I've strayed away from for a while in hopes of not getting locked into anything too specific, we decided to blend the world of Mr. Matterly, the famous green-headed know-it-all puppet from a previous show I did, 'The Secret Life of Isabel Jukes', with the world of the West Javanese mask dance I've been studying recently in Indonesia, 'Tari Topeng Cirebon'. This way, the audience would still have the visual eye candy of puppetry and masks, in addition to seeing something new and different, that of the dance, and perhaps even learn something about that place so far away that not many people, especially in America because it's so darn far, have even heard of!

The result in the end was great, at least we felt like it was! The audience seemed to be mesmerized, especially the children, with lots of questions to ask afterwards like: "How do you hold the mask on with your face?" (with my teeth), "Where is Indonesia?" (south of Malaysia, which is below Thailand, and spanning in an archipelago of islands to the east, above Australia...!), and even a flattering one or two: "Do you do this dance professionally?" (well, um, not yet, still learning, which is why I'm returning to Indonesia in November!) Among other things....

The more I do performance, the more I learn that every time is a new experiment. The performance I did with Lilik at the Oregon Country Fair was a completely new attempt, as I've yet to perform a lot of Indonesian dance, especially publically, or dance in general, although it's something I've always loved to learn and do. That, in combination with puppetry and exploring new ways to meld some of the many things I do love doing together into one, which is a challenging task, but definitely one that I want to continue to conquer. That, in combination with some of the amazing performances I saw at the fair (The Yard Dogs, Jason Webley, Gamelan X, a hilariously funny guy who called himself 'Donny Wu' with a New York accent and tried to preach his yoga philosophy to the audience, with products for sale and all...!), resulted to be a truly inspiring experience, both from my own efforts to explore what I do, and from seeing those of others and how they succeed.

Work In the Roof-tile Factory

When I first arrived in Jatiwangi I didn’t imagine I would find myself working in a roof-tile factory. In Jatiwangi I took part in the Jatiwangi International Performance Artist in Residence (JIPAR) 2006. Participants included artists from all over the world, including Greece, Germany, Australia, Finland and America. I arrived in Jatiwangi early, for a stay of six days, where I resided in the home of the Jatiwangi Art family, a family of four brothers, their lovely wives, children, mothers, aunts and uncles. From there I was taken on tours of the area of Jatiwangi and Jatisura, which is located in the Majalenka area of West Java, an area of spanning rice fields, far-off mountain ranges, and what I would soon come to know well, hundreds of roof-tile factories.

My first introduction to the roof-tile factory was within the Jatiwangi Art Factory itself. Run by some of the family members, the roof-tiles made traditionally by hand by a local staff of about 25 employees. From early in the morning until late at night, hundreds of roof-tiles are in the process of being made, formed from big chunks of clay, laid out to dry and at night stacked into a large brick kiln and burnt to form a nice, solid red clay roof-tile. At night you can hear the crackling of the fire, watching its hot orange flames stretch out to the sky.

Another tour took me to see the modern roof-tile factory. A large compound of sprawling buildings and security gates, large amounts of roof-tiles are produced and packaged every day. Inside the factory was a cacophony of dust, the constant sound of machines and large equipment being moved around continuously. Unlike the traditional factory which sells its roof-tiles locally in Indonesia to neighboring islands like Sumatra and Sulawesi, the modern factory, owned by a French company, exports as far as Italy, France, and America. Although the target daily production in the traditional factory is much less than the modern factory, the amount of staff in the modern factory almost seems less than in the traditional! With the machines doing all the work, less people are needed to do the job.

With a desire to know more about the experience of working in both of these factories, I arranged through the Jatiwangi Art Factory to work two full work days, one in the traditional factory, and one in the modern.

On my first day of work at the traditional factory, I awoke at 5:30am. Arriving to work at 6am on a borrowed bicycle, I was greeted by large smiles of curiosity from the other workers. I was put to work with the women, stacking newly pressed roof-tiles up on large drying racks made from bamboo, and moving the ones from the day before out into the sun from which they would later be taken to burn in the kiln. The smell inside the factory was of earth and clay. Several of the workers had brought their small children to wait while they worked, who played on handmade swings amongst the piles of clay. The sun shone through the wide open doors and dangdut, Indonesian popular music, played on the small radio. Within those eight hours, I was amazed at the agility of these people, their physical strength and ability to work so hard every day at something that is incredibly demanding physically, for a mere pay of 10,000 rupiah (a little more than $1) for one full day’s work. After only two hours, my arms were already tired, my back ached, I was hot and sweaty, but the momentum of everyone working together kept me going until the end. After work I was invited to visit each worker’s home, seeing the simplicity of the way they lived, meeting their children and families, and trying to imagine how their lives might be working hard every day just to manage to put food on the table for their families. What moved me was their generosity, openness, and the constant smiles on their tired faces.

The next day my body felt quite sore, my arms especially. But this didn’t stop me from getting up early once again, and heading to the modern factory to keep my promise of working there for a full day in comparison. Entering the modern factory is much different than entering the traditional. The chaos of sounds and movement of large machines has the ability to instantly throw you off. I was set up to work with a small group of people, both men and women, at the roof-tile forming machine, where clay was put in and formed roof-tiles came out in a long moving line. Each worker had his or her own specific task off cutting off the rough edges, repositioning the tiles, and at the end setting them one after the other on large trays. Once a tray was full it was moved to a drying room and immediately replaced with an empty tray. While it was the same kind of repetitive process as in the traditional factory, I found this work to be draining much more quickly. Not after twenty minutes of work I was already feeling quite lightheaded, difficult to concentrate, my eyes straining to focus on the fast-moving tiles going past me. How, I wondered, could these workers manage to do this every day? I think I would go crazy! But the more I talked with them, the more I understood that working in this factory was not a matter of choice, but a matter of survival. Every day these workers work from seven in the morning, until seven at night, often working overtime due to a high output rate for each day and a slow-working machine, getting paid a mere 25,000 rupiah (about $3) per day. Many of them took special medicine to reduce headaches caused by the fast-moving trays and loud sounds. They managed to survive the hard work by building friendships amongst themselves, making jokes and chatting as they worked. After six hours of work in the modern factory, I went home exhausted, going straight to sleep and trying to shake off the repeated sounds of machines in my head.

In a late-night conversation with some of the workers from the traditional factory, who worked to tend the fire of the kiln, I learned more about the pros and cons of both modern and traditional factories. One con of the traditional factory is the waste of wood used to burn in the kiln. The worker stated that they’re killing the forest to make roof-tiles, but can’t afford to put in a gas burner like those in the modern factory. He also pointed out that the roof-tiles that come out of the modern factory are much stronger, and will last longer than those of the traditional factory. However, life working in the traditional factory seems to be much healthier, with set breaks for eating together and resting every few hours, and no dependence on the non-stop moving machines as in the modern factory. Fresh air and sun came into the room, and the pace of the workers together was in sync and like one big family. Both factories did maintain a strong connection between all the workers, and a continual sense of togetherness and commitment to work based on survival. The traditional factory workers wage was lower, based on the fact that prices for materials to make roof-tiles have recently gone up, and it was all that the factory owners could afford to pay their employees. Higher pay depends on action from the government to take charge of laborers rights and honor the work that they do as essential to the economy.

Through my two days of work, I managed to get an idea of what life might be like for the people who work in these factories every day. However, my experience is still far from complete. I would have to work there for a year, living on the wages that the other workers are living on, going to work every day six days a week to really know what the experience of working in a factory is like. As an artist, I had the advantage of working in the factory as an experiment, not as a will to survive. However, what I have learned is still something that not many people have the opportunity or even the desire to experience, and for that I am thankful. The largest influence for me was the friends that I made and worked with in the factory, their kindness and understanding, their welcoming of me into their work environment, open sharing and continuous laughs and jokes that made my experience, despite the hard work, a pleasant one.

Tari Topeng Cirebon

Through time and exploration of different styles of dance and performance in Indonesia, I finally found my calling and passion of interest, 'Tari Topeng Cirebon', which means 'Mask Dance from Cirebon'. Cirebon, whose name is derived from the Sundanese words of "Cai" (or water) and "Rebon" (or "shrimp"), is a city on the north coast of the island of Java, approximately 297 km east of Jakarta, whose main production, hence the name, is fishing.
Tari Topeng Cirebon has been known to society since the 16th century, and possibly before that, although there is no written proof. The first person who made this dance become known throughout Indonesia was Sunan Kalijaga, one of the nine prophets, or Muslim ‘evangelists’ who brought the teachings of Islam to Indonesia. Sunan Kalijaga, who was the only prophet originally from Indonesia, was unique and perhaps the most effective, as he preferred to use alternative propaganda in spreading his teachings, using traditional Javanese art such as shadow puppetry, mask dance and music to reach the people, drawing from the stories of the Ramayana and Mahabarata. Around the 19th century, such dancers as Mimi Rasinah and Sudjana Ardja continued the preservation of this ancient mask dance, passed down through generations, making it further known through their gracefulness and devotion to this nearly lost dance performance form.
Tari Topeng Cirebon tells the life journey of a person in society through five different mask characters, Panji, Samba, Rumyang, Tumenggung and Klana. Accompanied by a gamelan orchestra, each mask symbolizes a different phase in one’s journey from birth to adulthood, expressed through specific characteristic movements of the dancer, a variation of rhythms, and often active participation of the audience. Considered a sacred ritual dance performance, Tari Topeng Cirebon can be experienced in an array of village ceremonies, including those highlighting worship of the ancestors, marriage ceremonies, harvest season activities, circumcisions, and important family and community gatherings. Vestiges or simplified variations of Tari Topeng Cirebon can also be seen today in new forms of dance, street busking performances, and certain small theaters in cities throughout Indonesia and the world. Still preserved principally by passing the lineage down from generation to generation, Tari Topeng Cirebon’s future existence will depend on the continuing interest of younger generations who are motivated to venerate their elders and traditional culture, a group that appears to be dwindling with time.