“The Emperor Destroys the Formations (皇帝破陣樂),” an ancient Chinese dance performed by Taiwan's Neo-Classic Dance Company, is a window on the distant past. Originally presented in A.D. 627, it was created to honor the emperor's war victory, the "formations" being the foreign army. Seen today, every movement of the dance gives substance to a time-honored, ancestral way of life. Four dancers stand in a square, their heavily robed figures anchored firmly to the earth, their feet in a solid, wide-open stance. Their gestures are elegantly simple: The head turns slightly and an arm is raised to the side, as if giving or receiving a command; a leg is lifted to waist level and brought down in a majestic stamp; the body leans forward in a modified lunge, suggesting both the thrust of a sword and a deep, stylized bow. The movements are slow and precise, requiring vigilance and concentration. The pattern is strictly symmetrical. No twists or curves upset the balanced motion. The dancers move in unison, with an air of controlled formality and moral decisiveness, their backs straight, their manners stalwart.
Like other dance rituals of ancient China, “The Emperor Destroys the Formations” had a strong ethical dimension. It symbolized the desire to bring order to human relationships and harmony to political and social affairs. Liu Feng-shueh (劉鳳學), who reconstructed the dance from ancient documents, explains that the distance maintained between the dancers, and the fact that they never touch, promotes the Confucian model of society. According to this system, each person should conform to a strictly defined role, based largely upon age and status. The rigorous design and disciplined tone of the dance suggest the staunch upholding of prescribed moral standards, as defined by the imperial scholars who put together this work. “Their system of creating dance was very closely connected to [Confucian] philosophy,” Liu says. Like Confucius, they saw rituals as a way to cultivate proper behavior, and thus considered them essential to a good education. As Liu explains, “You can dance to achieve harmony, to respect your elders, to respect other people.”
It is fitting that Liu was the one to reconstruct this dance-as well as a number of others from ancient China during her career. The strong ties to a Chinese cultural heritage can be found in her modern dance choreography as well. But Liu's connection with the past goes even further. If these reconstructions reflect ancient philosophy, they also reflect the presence and personality of Liu herself, as well as the role she has played for forty years as a dance educator, choreographer, and researcher in Taiwan.
Like the dancers in “The Emperor Destroys the Formations,” Liu is a solid, steadfast, sometimes imposing figure. Her carefully arranged hair, conservative attire, proper manners, and dignified bearing give the impression of one who knows precisely what her next move will be. And, in fact, every previous move has established her as a Confucian-like presence in the island's dance community. One long-time follower thinks of her as Taiwan's “grandmother of dance.” But the description given by one-time student Lo Man-fei (羅曼菲), now the dance department chairwoman at the National Institute of the Arts (NIA), is perhaps more accurate: “She is a mother figure, but also a father, a figure of respect and fear.”
Liu has worked long and steadily to achieve this position. Born in 1925, she grew up in far northern China near the Heilong River, an area then dominated by Russia. Her early schooling, including ballet training, was in Russian, and later, when Japan took control of the area, in Japanese. These years of influence under outside cultures were one factor that prompted her to take up a lifelong study of traditional Chinese dance, something she was never exposed to as a youngster. “It made me eager to know my own culture,” she says.
Meanwhile, Liu began studying modern movement at National Changbai Teachers College in northern China, where she majored in dance. Although she is drawn to the ancient forms, she says, she also relishes the unconfined creative possibilities of modern dance. Like many Chinese choreographers, as well as those in other non-Western countries, Liu has confronted the issue of old versus new. Which should be given greater attention-traditions inherited from one's own past or new expressions adopted from the West? From early on, her answer has been to pursue a dual experience, becoming a traditionalist and a modernist at the same time.
Liu's background shaped her personality in other ways as well. In her early twenties, she lost both parents during the Chinese civil war and had to flee her home. She left with only a small package of belongings. Over the next two years, she slowly made her way to Taiwan. “I learned I have to be strong,” she says of the experience.
Strength, stamina, and independence of character are well-known aspects of Liu's personality, and were no doubt an advantage in establishing herself in Taiwan. Before the 1970s, the environment for dance here was minimal. There were no professional companies and few college-level dance programs. Private studios generally offered a limited variety of training, mostly in ballet or a type of theatricalized and not very authentic folk dance. But Liu persevered in her love for dance, especially modern dance-almost unheard of in Taiwan at that time. While many others interested in modern techniques ended up switching to ballet or other forms that could more easily draw students, Liu stuck to her goals. “The early times were very difficult, but Dr. Liu never changed,” recalls Liou Shaw-Iu (劉紹爐), who studied with her in the late 1960s and later became a founding member of the well-known Cloud Gate Dance Theatre.
In 1954, Liu began teaching dance in the physical education department of National Taiwan Normal University in Taipei. There, she wielded her influence for thirty years, preparing others for careers as dance teachers throughout the island. She went on to receive further modern training at Tokyo Teachers University in the mid-1960s and in the early 1970s at the famous Folkwang School in Germany. In 1967, she established her own studio, which became the foundation for the Neo-Classic Dance Company.
Formed in 1976, the company became a showcase for Liu's classically influenced modern works as well as her ancient reconstructions. Other than Cloud Gate, founded in 1973, Neo-Classic was the only group at that time giving regular modern dance performances. In fact, Liu had started as early as 1967 giving showings of her choreography. “She was a pioneer in modern dance,” says protegee Lu Yuh-jen (盧玉珍), a Neo-Classic founding member. “Before Cloud Gate, there was nobody who understood modern dance like her.”
For many of her former students who now have dance-related careers, Liu represented their first exposure to dance as an art form. For NIA chairwoman Lo Man-fei, working with Liu opened up a channel that led to a committed career in the field. “[She offered] my first serious modern dance experience,” Lo says. “Before, what I had experienced was dance as entertainment, as something decorative. After I studied with her, I found that dance can be meaningful, that it has substance.”
Another of Liu's first-time students is Tsai Li-hua (蔡麗華), the artistic director of The Taipei Folk Dance Troupe, which since its founding in 1988 has made nine tours abroad. Under Liu's influence, beginning thirty years ago, Tsai developed a high regard for keeping alive traditional dance forms in Taiwan, and she learned that to be successful at her goals would mean hard work and commitment. “The reason Liu Feng-shueh is a role model for young dancers in Taiwan is because of her whole-hearted devotion,” Tsai says.
Liu passed on her commitment to dance not only through her many years as a teacher, but through several other prominent positions as well. From 1985 to 1988, she was chairwoman of the dance department at the National Taiwan Academy of Arts. And more recently, she took on the role of arts administrator, serving as director of the National Theater and Concert Hall from 1988 to 1990. After retiring from that post, she began focusing her energies on resurrecting her company, which had been largely dormant for some ten years.
Throughout her career, Liu has also doggedly pursued her scholarship. She began researching ancient Chinese dance as early as 1957. Much of her study centered on old texts from China as well a from the library of the Royal Palace in Japan, where she hand-copied 66 dance scores and 96 music scores preserved from the Tang dynasty. Later, she pursued work at the Research Center for Tang Music at Cambridge University. And in 1987, she earned a doctorate from the University of London, becoming the first person in Taiwan to hold a Ph.D. in dance. Reconstructing “The Emperor Destroys the Formations,” a two-year undertaking, was part of her dissertation work. She has presented nine other ancient dances as well, some from as early as the Chou dynasty (1122-256 B.C.), and is working on another. Earlier in her career, she also pursued independent studies on the dances of Taiwan's indigenous tribes.
Today, Liu continues to expand her research. One long-term project is a Chinese-language dance dictionary, which a group of former students are helping to compile. She also traveled last spring to Szechwan to study the culture of the Chiang minority tribe. Like her other academic projects, this may well lead to an inspiration for her modern choreography. She seems continually to be balancing these two interests, playing each off the other. “I've taken many roads,” she says. “Sometimes I teach, sometimes I research, sometimes I create.”
Recently, she added yet another dimension to her career, becoming something of a cultural ambassador. In February, the Neo-Classic Dance Company became the first officially sanctioned dance group from Taiwan to perform in mainland China. Although the company has toured abroad several times before, this trip marked a milestone in cultural contacts with the mainland, something which was forbidden only a few years ago. Liu was invited by the mainland's Chinese Dancers Association and received funding for the tour from the ROC government. In a six-week trip, the group gave performances and seminars in Chengtu, Canton, and Peking. Liu will follow through on her ambassadorship with a Neo-Classic performance this September in New York at the Taipei Theater, an ROC government-run center set up to promote cultural exchange. Her group will be the island's first modern dance company to perform at the two year-old theater.
Liu's many accomplishments have come about through a carefully paced career. She sometimes plans years ahead, according to some of her students, often in ten-year increments. “She knows what kind of goal she wants and will achieve it step by step,” says Neo-Classic founding member Chang Chung-shiuan (張中煖), who started studying with Liu at age six. Chang, who has a doctorate in education and teaches in the recently opened graduate program at the National Institute of the Arts, has found Liu's life-long resolve a great inspiration in her own career. She remembers being impressed to see her teacher, already in her sixties, heading off to London to finish her doctorate. Says another long-time company member, Tseng Ming-sheng (曾明生), “Her students respect her because she keeps going, keeps going, keeps going.”
Many students also admire Liu's ability to focus on her work, even if it means she might go without sleep or a social life. “She would always tell us how she was struggling with a piece-that was my first experience of an artist trying to create something,” Lo Man-fei recalls. “She is an artist with integrity. Those people were not easy to find, especially in the old days, especially in dance.” By the same token, Liu prefers to keep her art above promotional or financial considerations, something which Chang Chung-shiuan also credits to her independent nature. “She doesn't want to ask for money, even though in her position, she could get a lot,” Chang says. “Maybe it's because of her background; she feels you have to really take care of yourself.”
The respect that Liu has gained from her students is perhaps what best illustrates how she fits squarely within the Confucian tradition. Some of those students have gone on to stay with her for many years. For example, Tseng Ming-sheng, who also teaches at National Taiwan Normal University, has worked with Liu for eighteen years; and Lu Yuh-jen, also a researcher with the Council for Cultural Planning and Development, for nineteen. Others count more than twenty years. These long-time followers dance with Neo-Classic for nothing more than a token performance fee, and they even take on administrative duties. Many other former students who are not with the company also continue to help. They pitch in with everything from costumes to publicity and ticket sales. Liu herself admits that she has little inclination for promotion, fund-raising, and other matters essential to a dance company. Because of this, she says, much of her success is due to the help of her students.
But being one of Liu's students isn't always easy. Probably much like the early Confucian dancers who performed “The Emperor Destroys the Formations,” her students must quickly get used to a strict sense of discipline. The way they describe their experience with this dance is similar to the way they describe working with Liu. Because the dance is full of subtle, hard-to-memorize movement variations, done at an almost meditative pace, it requires intense concentration. “This piece is the only one that makes me really nervous,” says Shih Kun-chen (施坤成), one of the younger dancer in the company. “If you make just a mall mistake, everyone can see it.” Liu, however, has noticed that such exacting requirements can also mean a positive experience for the dancers. “At first they can't bear to do it because it's so slow,” she says. “But afterwards, they feel very calm and dignified. They feel they've achieved something.”
Liu's requirements as a teacher can also be very exacting. Her dancers have many stories to tell about her strictness and disciplinary methods. Many students, especially the older ones, remember being barred from class as punishment for arriving late. Lo Man-fei recalls once when the entire class was locked out. “We couldn't go in, but we didn't dare leave,” she says. Through the door, they could see Liu calmly proceed on her own in the empty classroom.
During class, Liu could also be hard on her dancers, demanding full concentration and always pushing them to do better. Even when teaching modern works, she assumed the approach of a traditionalist. Tsai Li-hua remembers being taught a new movement phrase, and being told to go home and repeat it one hundred times. And Tseng Ming-heng recalls Liu's reaction once when he wasn't dancing up to standard: “Ming, you are like a criminal!” she yelled at him. Tseng and several other senior Neo Classic dancers have now taken over much of the classroom instruction that Liu used to handle, leaving her to concentrate on rehearsing new works and making decisions for the company. The older dancers say that the younger ones, the “grandchildren generation,” a Chang Chung-shiuan calls them, have a much easier time. Yet they also seem very aware of Liu's dominating presence. “I'm afraid of her-of her seriousness,” admits Shih. “When he says anything, she always looks very serious.”
But Shih finds that Liu's serious nature helps him to improve his dancing. Others have also grown to appreciate her strictness, realizing that it taught them what it takes to achieve their goals. Many of her former students, says Tsai Li-hua, have adopted the same kind of approach as teachers. “The way he required her students to be perfect all the time was a good influence on me,” Tsai says.” Now I expect my students to be perfect.”
Much as the Confucian scholars who created “The Emperor Destroy the Formations,” Liu seems concerned with developing not only her students' dancing, but also their characters. “She is strict about training and about moral concepts,” says Lu Yuh-jen, “and also about daily habits.” For example, Lu remembers she herself once had a habit of complaining too much; to help her overcome it, she says, Liu would “punish” her by instructing the other dancers to ignore her complaints. But Lu is quick to point out that her teacher can also be generous. At one point, she even contributed to Lu's financial support when she was studying abroad. “In daily life, she can be very helpful,” Lu says. “I really cherish the help she gave me.”
The dancers, in turn, assume responsibility for various chores in the company, even mopping the floor. This is less true now, however, than in earlier days, when funding was particularly scarce and the company was less professionally organized. The dancers themselves seem to accept this approach as a way to learn a sense of maturity. “I feel I grew up in this company,” Tseng says. “I was not just learning dance. I was trained to do many things, take care of props, clean house.”
The older dancers, says Lu Yu-jen, are expected to be good role models for the younger ones. And everyone, she says, learns to be responsible to the company as a whole, not only to themselves as individuals. She says Liu even prefers not to see any love liaisons develop within the company, since these could detract from the ability to cooperate as a group. “If you have a couple in the company,” Lu explains, “they will form another group, and they'll take care of each other rather than the whole company.”
People who are not involved with Liu, says Lu Yu-jen, may feel the bond that Neo-Classic members have toward the group is overbearing, or that their teacher's strong personality has too great an influence over them. “People on the outside think we look at her as a god,” Lu says. “But that's not true.” Their dedication, she explains, has another dimension, inspired more by Liu's example than her personality. “We are devoted to dance rather than devoted to her,” she says.
By the same token, Liu's students respect her strict teaching style because she applies the same rigor to her own life. “She is very self-disciplined,” Lu says. “She demands a lot of her students, but she also demands it of herself.” When Liu herself is asked what she most wants to give to her students, she quotes a Chinese proverb: “To set an example by my own actions.”
Many of Liu's students have found her to be a strong stabilizing influence. Just as she is steadfast in reaching her goals, she seems steadfast about maintaining a sense of calm in her life. She herself finds this necessary for her work: “Calmness allows me to think about things,” she says. “In a peaceful environment, I can create.” This calm perseverance has become a source of reliability, something that others can count on. Liu's commitment to dance, her attitudes toward life, her strong personality, even her carefully coifed appearance seem unchanging factors in chaotic, changing times. “Everything about her is very proper,” says Lo Man-fei. “It's proper and it's always the same. No matter what changes in the world, she will always remain the same.” ■