Sun, Dec 08, 2002 page17

• Dancing into the light

  Sometimes a perceived limitation can allow for limitless creativity. Such is the case with a group of blind men an women studying modern dance

  • By David Momphard / STAFF REPORTER
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  Liu Mao-ying (劉懋瑩) feels his way to the third-floor studio, folds a red-tipped cane and places it on a shelf. Slipping off his shoes and making his way onto the padded floor, he pushes a button on his watch -- "five forty-nine," an electronic Chinese voice announces -- time for dance rehearsal. For the blind performers of the upcoming 6th Sense in Performance Art festival (第六種官能表演藝術祭) only a few weeks remain before showtime.

  The dancers are all associated with the Taiwan New Bodo Arts Association for the Visually Impaired (台灣新寶島視障藝文協會). The five-section piece they're working on, titled Naked Eyes (裸體的眼眸), is an exploration of each of the senses and quite unlike any traditional dance piece. Although their efforts will culminate in a public performance, the rehearsals have not focused on producing a polished showcase, but rather been a process of personal discovery -- both for the dancers and their choreographer, Emilie Hernandez, a French dancer who has spent the past four months both staging the production and encouraging a freedom of movement in the dancers that they might not otherwise explore. "The blind have an intuition like an animal or a child," she says. "They cannot be affected by people's face judgements or exterior appearance."

  Personal space

  

  Lee Hsin-bao (李新寶) is off in his own corner during warm-ups. He trained in dance briefly before going blind and demands -- and commands -- his own space. Most of the group of seven are content to keep their movement within arm's length, but Hsin-bao is leaping. His movement is fluid, crisp and certain. As he dances, sweat colors his green shirt grey and a smile stretches the width of his face.

  A few in the group are uncomfortable and timid. Their dancing is reserved and their participation in the choreography is willingly limited. None of the dancers have been blind for life and several can see bright light and even shape, but ironically those that are totally blind are freer in their movement. What they all share is an intense concentration of where they are in space. The music provides not only the basis for the dance but lets the dancers know where their audience is.

  When warm-ups finish it's time to begin rehearsing one section of the piece: touch. Elastic cords are stretched across stage and what looks at first like a series of guide ropes become part of the dance when the cords are stretched, twisted and intertwined before snapping out of sight, allowing for a segue into the next section.

  

  Hernandez is strict. In every section of the piece, she encourages the dancers to express each of the senses as they perceive them, but insists that no one veer from what's been choreographed. "They cannot copy the teacher's movement. They understand movement from inside," she says of the group, most of whom have never seen modern dance. "The result ? is like a bare fruit without the peel."

  The fruits of their efforts aren't lost on Hernandez. "I receive their skills, their intuition ? how they overcome life's difficulties and continue to communicate with the sensory world," she says.

  Choreography consists of first talking about the music and the timing of the dance, then doing the movement in tandem with each dancer, front to back, hands clasped, pushing and pulling limbs and torso. "[What's] important is ... to search for balance, to touch and transform it into dance movement," says Hernandez, who has begun filming a documentary of the group's efforts.

  

  One dancer does not understand a leg movement and Hernandez demonstrates it as he feels her legs with his hands. A sighted assistant helps by occasionally clarifying Hernandez' Chinese. Others practice their parts on their own or in pairs.

  "Is it like this?" Mao-ying asks while working on a part that has him shrouded in a curtain. He's been completely blind for 10 years but began losing his sight early in his youth. His brother shares the same congenital condition. He's known all his life that he would lose his vision and is remarkably independent for having prepared. He's unmarried but claims that he and Hernandez are falling in love. He's also a jokester -- a natural performer with charisma to spare. "I like dance ? really like it," he says. "The feeling it gives me is like riding a motorcycle."

  Artistic merit

  

  His talents aren't limited to dance. Next month he will travel to Hong Kong to perform a one-man play written and directed by playwright Wang Mo-lin (王墨林). He performed the show to full houses in Taipei this past September. But Mao-ying insists that his artistic merits be judged on their own and not as those of a blind man. "We don't want people coming to performances because we're blind. We do what we do because we've trained our bodies and our heads to do it," he says slapping his bald head. "We may not be professionals, but our performances have a special quality to them."

  His sentiments are shared by another group member, Liao Tsan-cheng (廖燦誠). Liao lost the vision in his right eye in 1981 and went completely blind 12 years later. He was then and continues to be a calligrapher, writer and artist by trade. "I once wrote an article about how calligraphy and the music of dance are alike," Liao says. "Now I use the movement I know from brush strokes -- movement that is a part of my body -- in my dancing."

  For Hernandez, the collective skills the group brings to the studio are the essence of the dance. "Their movements in real life -- to find their road, to avoid obstacles, to hear a voice that can help them -- are not recognized as real knowledge," she says. "But if this strong intuition is expressed through dance, it can be a way to make a connection with well-seeing people and have their special abilities be heard."

  

  Face value

  "Eight fifty-six," someone's watch announces, rehearsal is nearly finished. After a quick debriefing about tomorrow's rehearsal, everyone packs up their belongings and moves for the door. The next few minutes are spent in confusion over whose shoes are whose, with Hsin-bao slipping into a pair of white women's dress slippers. "Shoes are shoes," Mao-ying says. "Just find a pair that's comfortable."

  The laughter he provokes belies something poignant; in a world based on appearances and a culture in which "face" is all-important this group stands apart. They don't care what car you drive, what label you're wearing or if your furniture is from Ikea. Their first impressions come from your voice. They can hear emotions often masked by the face, know if you're smiling when you speak, how old you might be, how tall you are and where you're likely from -- many of the things those with clear vision can see and often much more.

  "Blind people are maybe stronger than those who can see well because illusions disappear with the loss of the eyes," Hernandez says.

  With one hand on the shoulder in front of them and one hand outstretched, the group shuffles out of the studio and downstairs like an abstract octopus. On his way out the door, Mao-ying quietly reminds whoever is listening: "Don't forget the lights."

  Naked Eyes will be performed at the Huashan Arts District Fruit Wine Hall on Friday, Dec. 20 and Saturday, Dec. 21 at 7:30pm. The venue is located at 1 Pate Rd., Sec. 1, Taipei (北市八德路一段一 號). Tickets cost NT$150 and are available at the venue or by calling (02) 2558-1081 ext. 18.
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