Taiwan Today

"We don't really under­stand modern dance," confesses a young woman from Taichung in central Taiwan. "Spain has flamenco dancing, and ballet, disco, and jazz are also all West­ern dance forms. In China, we have traditional folk dancing and some special styles, such as ribbon or sword dances. But modern dance doesn't have any­thing to do with Chinese culture at all."

Thanks to a group called Snow Dancer, this perception is changing. Now in its seventh year, the performing arts company uses modern dance techniques to retell in graphic motion popular episodes from Chinese history, mythology, folk tales, and poetry.

"For example, we choose love stories that the Chinese know just as well as Westerners know Romeo and Juliet," explains Sun Ching-ying, founder of the group. "The stories are ac­cessible to everyone, but they are imag­inative and elastic enough to be retold beautifully in dance."

A particularly popular creation by Snow Dancer along this line is its vivid retelling of the tale of Liang Shan-po and his sweetheart Chu Ying-tai. Because of the young scholar's poverty, the girl's father refuses to let them continue seeing each other. Liang eventually dies of a broken heart. Soon afterwards, Chu's father arranges for her to be married. On the way to the wedding, she insists on a final visit to Liang's grave. As she kneels at the tomb, a sudden storm shakes the earth with thunder and lightning. All at once, the ground opens at her feet, and without hesitation she leaps in to join her true love. Afterwards, two butterflies can be seen constantly frolicking together over the grave—two happy souls now united. The story is clearly a natural subject for modern dance.

Sun says her choreography is in­spired by the Chinese culture and the complexities of Chinese character. "We can't just do away with Chinese tradition," she says. "All modern dance has its roots in ancient dance styles. Folk tales and mythology are still relevant. We can draw inspiration from them, and we can then produce imaginative and original dances that deal with modern, everyday life."

In fact, it was the frenetic pace of life in Taiwan that first stimulated the found­ing of Snow Dancer. Although rapid economic development has given the island a runaway economy, Sun says that many of its citizens have developed a self-serving attitude that has "alienated their natural character." A devout Taoist, she believes such a utilitarian, spiritless society is dangerous.

"Material needs—owning cars, owning real estate—have taken a new precedence. I created this group to help satisfy people's spirits, which are now empty. People need spiritual sustenance and emotional warmth to avoid feeling alienated and isolated."

Sun's choice of "Snow Dancer" is based on the Tao, the "Way" of Taoist philosophy. Snow changes and is purified by a natural process. It melts, becoming a liquid, and then evaporates into a colorless, odorless, and tasteless gas rich with potential for becoming snow once again. This cycle of transformation is one of renewal. It is a symbol of purification through change. Sun says that the pro­duction of an artistic work must also be a process of purification, both for the dancers and the audience.

"Each art form is a path to truth," she says. "There is no good art or bad art—that's a matter of individual taste. What art communicates is what's important. There's a deeper meaning behind the form." Art is therefore a necessary aspect of life, for it reveals, raises new questions, and trains the eye to be more perceptive.

"Truth can be found in everyday life," Sun says. "You just have to notice it. You must look beyond the surface of things to find truth, to find the purity."

Sun's views are translated into tell­ing action in such pieces as "Chung Kuei Gives Away His Sister," which was per­formed in a recent series of dance concerts. This well-known Tang Dynasty legend illustrates the complexities of human character. Chung Kuei, a promising young scholar, passes the lower-level exams and goes to the capital to take the highest-level civil service examination. As part of the exam, the top candidates take a final oral test in front of the emperor.

In this case, only because of Chung Kuei's incredible ugliness, the emperor has the unfortunate scholar's name re­moved from the list of successful candi­dates. Stripped of his due honor after completing years of arduous preparation, the despondent Chung Kuei kills himself (an especially dishonorable act because it deprives his parents of their son). Tu Ping, Chung Kuei's best friend, gives him a proper burial, ignoring the disgrace that comes with his action. To show his gratitude, Chung Kuei returns briefly to the world of the living to give away his sister in marriage to Tu Ping.

The simplicity of the story masks deeper comments on the relationships between human beings, whether of 10 centuries ago or today. Chung Kuei was rejected on superficial grounds and, as a result, the emperor loses an exceptional official. Chung Kuei has better luck after death. The Ruler of the Underworld recognizes his worth and makes him a powerful master of ghosts.

"It's a reminder that you must not forget the interior of things, which is the most real part, the essence," Sun says. "If people judge only on appearance, they invariably regret it later."

A second dimension to the story is its emphasis on the strength of true friendship. "Chung Kuei and Tu Ping are an example for us to follow today. That kind of devotion, one which cannot be stopped by death, is rare in the modern world."

"The Festival of Pouring Water," another of the five pieces Snow Dancer presented during a recent tour, was in­spired by a popular holiday celebrated in Thailand on the third of March by the lunar calendar. In the "3-3 Festival," people spend a whole day carrying containers of water with them and merrily splashing their friends and neighbors. The act blesses others with good luck, for it is symbolic of washing away evil and cleansing the soul. "Therefore, even if somebody gets a whole jug dumped on him, he won't get mad," Sun says.

Thai dances tend to focus on the movement of the hands, and Sun emphasizes this in her choreography of this piece. The dancers studied tapes of performances from Thailand, helping them to blend a distinct Thai feeling into their movements. "The flowing actions of the festival—the pouring and splash­ing of water—are ideal for dance inter­pretation," Sun explains. "If the dancers truly manage to capture the spirit of the festival, people really connect with each other in the group. It's magical to watch."

"Moving Clouds," first performed in 1984, is another dance piece of stun­ning beauty. Female dancers replicate the art of Chinese calligraphy by per­forming in gowns with eight-foot "water sleeves." With graceful arm motions they imitate the dynamic movement of brush strokes. The dancers call up the tranquil and meditative atmosphere of pupils studying calligraphy under a master. The piece manages to praise calligraphy as art, art as dance, and the crea­tion of art itself.

Certainly the most innovative dance in recent performances is one known as the "Dance of the Seven Drums," which is based on a poem written by the Han Dynasty scholar-poet Fu Yi. He describes an evening when he saw young dancers of amazing skill and dexterity performing an entire dance on the tops of drums. Each drum had a different musical pitch, and the dancers' feet pro­duced compelling music. After reading the poem, Sun was inspired to create a new work.

"Fu Yi translated the dance into poetry; now we are translating the poetry into dance." Rather than employ drums with different musical pitches, the dancers vary their foot movements, producing syncopated rhythms. The past is transformed into modern dance.

Sun Ching-ying's own past is thoroughly intertwined with dance. She began studying ballet in fourth grade and eventually graduated with a degree in dance from the Chinese Culture University in Taipei. She founded Snow Dancer only after 10 years of considering the idea of creating a dance company.

Drawing from her Taoist beliefs, Sun has allowed a free and uninhibited spirit to permeate her choreography, gradually producing a style that is identifiable as Snow Dancer's own. From the outset of the company, she has used simple events and stories to summon up complex emotions. Her dances give traditional legends and episodes modern resonance and contemporary cultural relevance.

"The Boat Came from Far Away" is a good example of this process of cultural rebirth. One of the selections in Snow Dancer's initial repertoire in 1983, the dance actually has no story line. It simply depicts four peasants rafting along a river, propelling themselves with long poles. The stage is bare and the only props are two bamboo poles, much like the sets for traditional Peking opera. Yet the dancers succeed in creating a river out of nothing and evoke images of breathtaking scenery. With imaginations caught up in the undisturbed beauty of the scene, audiences are transported back to the simplicity and quiet content­ment of traditional China.

Dancer George Wang, 24, recalls his feelings of wonder when he first worked with Sun on this piece: "She taught me how to imagine a long river, high moun­tains, and the vast expanse of mainland China. She made me expand my mind beyond the limited feelings of being on a small island like Taiwan." He found this evocative creativity, coupled with deep mental concentration, to be a new approach to dance. "I'm less inhibited now, both in dancing and in the real world," he says.

Wang also claims that the influence of Taoism on Sun's choreography has had a positive influence on his everyday life. "I never did anything really bad, but I always used to show up late for rehear­sals. I'm always on time now—and with­out effort."

Despite Sun's determination and Taoist sustenance, the original founding of Snow Dancer took considerable effort. "There is a relevant saying in our country," Sun says: "If you want to go bankrupt, be an artist."

Because Taiwan has not yet adopted the Western practice of corporate sup­port of the arts as a means of building a firm's public image, local performing groups are almost entirely self­-supporting. Dancers work for little money, or sometimes none at all. "The best dancers in Taiwan go abroad," Wang explains, "where they can get a higher salary."

The lack of support has put local art­ists at a disadvantage, even in compari­son to other Asian nations. "Dancers are very unlucky here," Wang continues. "The Philippines is not politically stable and the people aren't rich, but they still have a national dance company. We don't. "

Wang's own struggle to be accepted as a dancer is typical. He grew up in the southern city of Kaohsiung, where the prospect of becoming a dancer was even more remote than in cosmopolitan Taipei. When, at 15, he began searching for a studio to take lessons in modern dance, he discovered another pitfall—the students were all girls. He finally found a co-ed studio (twenty-five girls, two boys) where the teacher accepted him without tuition.

Five years ago, Wang attended his first performance of Snow Dancer, and saw Sun dance for the first time. He was riveted by her powerful yet serene dance style, and hoped one day to work with the company. Last year his dream came true.

Even though the now disbanded Cloudgate company first began cultivat­ing the dance scene a decade ago, Sun and the Snow Dancer troupe face a difficult path ahead as they try to educate local audiences further in the lyrical and uninhibited movements of modern dance. Being a dancer is still considered a marginal pursuit. "Even today, when I meet people for the first time, I'm hesi­tant to tell them what line of work I'm in," Wang says. "When I talk to my brother and sister back in Kaohsiung, I explain, explain, explain... I say dance is beautiful. But they ask, 'When are you going to look for a real job?'" Like Sun Ching-ying, at this point Wang can only take refuge in the serenity of the Tao and the inherent joys of dance.