Beyond the Sea

Old-style theaters where Beijing Opera was performed before the 1950s were called xiyuanzi, which literally means “opera courtyard”. Facilities in a xiyuanzi were rather simple. The stage was square, with three sides extending right into rows of seats for the audience. At an early date in the Qing period (1644-1911), xiyuanzi was called “tea courtyard”. At the time, audiences paid for the tea but not the opera they watched. For customers, their main purpose in coming to the “tea courtyard” was drink tea, whereas watching an opera was sort of incidental. In the Qing period, a show in a xiyuanzi could last as long as 10-12 hours, all in the daytime. Customers also paid for snacks such as sunflower seeds and roasted peanuts. Tea charge was not charged until before the start of the last but one item on the day’s theatrical program. A striking feature of xiyuanzi in old Beijing was “hot towel throw”. Waiters, shouting “here comes the towel”, would throw steaming towels to audiences, with great accuracy. Waiters accepted tips and never haggled over their size.

“Tea courtyards” were later called xiyuanzi, or old-style theater. In the period of the Republic of China (1911-1949), they became known as theaters, and the stage was patterned after stages in the West. Xiyuanzi, which was a traditional architectural style, was smaller than a typical Western theater in capacity, but what audiences heard in a xiyuanzi was original singing of actors and actresses, free of a loudspeaker.

In the middle and latter periods of the 19th century, as Beijing Opera gained popularity, the number of xiyuanzi in Beijing increased, and most of them were located in a flourishing commercial district south of the Qianmen Gate Tower. Viewed from above, the district is situated on the city’s north-south axis.

The stage in an old-style theater was not big. Stages were first paved with wooden planks and later covered with carpets. This was to make sure that actors making summersaults would not hurt themselves. At the stage front were usually erected two columns on which were written words in praise of a troupe performing at the time.

In the rear of the stage hung an embroidered curtain, which was the private property of the leading actor of the day. The curtain bore patterns of flowers and birds, in a style compatible with the leading actor. Seeing the curtain, audiences knew who was going to play the lead.
(To be continued)

source: Peking Opera, pulished by China International Press

In Sang Jijia’s latest choreography work As if to Nothing there is nothing to link it with the Tibetan background of the dancer/choreographer.

Rather, the work is full of urban tensions. Accompanied by the electronic beats of Hong Kong’s avant-garde musician Dickson Dee, a group of dancers perform from behind a window, while a video artist records and projects distorted images of the dancers on a large side screen.

But some frames in the projection are absent, in a reference to one’s memory that is sometimes clear, sometimes incoherent, according to Sang, who says the work is based on the concept of memory.

“I never try to underline my ethnic background in my works,” says the 36-year-old. “Sang Jijia, the person, is the most important in my works, while any other categorization is secondary.”

The first and probably only professional Tibetan modern dancer and choreographer, Sang has performed his works throughout the world. He says the greatest influence of Tibetan culture on him is that he continues to lead a herder’s life, moving from place to place.

An artist in residence of the BeijingDance/LDTX, Sang also works closely with the Guangdong Modern Dance Company and the City Contemporary Dance Company (CCDC) of Hong Kong. He is also often invited to choreograph by international troupes.

However, as a child, Sang never dreamed of leaving his home and becoming a dancer. Had he not been selected by the Minzu University of China to study dance at the age of 13, he would probably have been a lama today.

Born in the Sangke prairie south of Gansu province, Sang spent his childhood herding and chanting Tibetan Buddhist sutras. The older of the family’s two sons and the one better at the Tibetan language, he was expected by his parents to join the nearby famous Labrang Monastery and become a monk.

But fate had other things in store for Sang. In 1986, some teachers from the Minzu University of China went to his hometown to recruit minority children to study ethnic and folk dance. Many of China’s well-known minority dancers started their careers the same way.

Sang had never been trained in dance, except for the guozhuang Tibetan folk dance that every Tibetan knows. He was selected because of his physique, flexibility and sense of rhythm.

“At that time, I thought studying dance would be like playing games, which sounded okay,” says Sang.

But it was not quite what he expected. Knowing not one word of Putonghua, Sang had to start from the very basics. He had to compete with many others who had already been trained in dance. It even took him some time to get used to practicing in shorts, which nobody does in his hometown.

As a student of ethnic and folk dance, Sang studied not only Tibetan dance, but also those of more than 20 ethnic groups. Through effort and practice, the gifted Sang mastered all the different dance styles, and in 1992 appeared on the CCTV’s Spring Festival Gala, the most popular TV program in China.

The same year, he also completed the requirements to join the Minzu University of China as a full student. However, he began to feel more and more constrained by his major - ethnic and folk dance - and faced much criticism for violating the rules whenever he tried a little personal expression in his dance.
 
Around that time, a performance by the Guangdong Modern Dance Company, China’s first modern dance group that was founded in 1990, opened up another world to him.

“I was attracted to the freedom of modern dance. When I saw the performance, I thought, I wanted to dance like that,” he says. “I felt that to continue my study of ethnic and folk dance would be a waste of time.”

In 1993, when Sang was still a freshman, he quit school and joined the Guangdong Modern Dance Company, beginning a journey that would take him to the world stage.

He won the gold in the men’s section of the Paris International Modern Dance Competition in 1996, and was named “the star of the next century” by Guangdong province in 1997.

In 1998, he received the Asian Cultural Council scholarship and the American Dance Festival scholarship, and went on to study in New York City for a year.
 
Once again, he found himself in an unfamiliar world, just like when he came to Beijing as a child. In New York, he spent the mornings attending English classes, the afternoons studying dance, and evenings watching performances.

“I’m not afraid of a strange environment. Rather, I like to be in a place where I don’t know anything,” Sang says. “This helps open my eyes wide, sharpens my sense of smell, and makes me more sensitive to experience a different world.”

The one year in New York also made him more determined to continue with modern dance. Before that he had been a little unsure as modern dance was understood by so few people in China, but the dance performances that he saw in New York revealed the power of this art form for self-expression.

After returning from the United States, Sang joined CCDC in 1999. He left in 2002 again, to join the Rolex Mentor and Protg Arts Initiative Program, where he studied choreography under renowned choreographer William Forsythe in Germany and stayed with the Forsythe Company as choreographer and dancer until 2006.

Modern dance may have taken Sang farther and farther from his home - his parents and kin have never really understood what he is doing - yet the link between him and his home is always there.

Wherever he is, he chants Tibetan Buddhist sutras, and celebrates the Tibetan New Year. A few years ago, Sang shot some videos of Tibetan folk dances while on vacation. He says he will probably edit them into a documentary.

While in Germany, he choreographed a dance called Reflection of Another, using Tibetan folk songs as the accompanying music. He was interested in discovering new aspects of the music as pointed out by dancers from other countries who had never heard the music before.

However, he has been cautious in his use of elements of Tibetan culture.
“Tibetan culture has become somewhat fashionable in recent years, but I’m afraid of that,” he says. “I love my people, so I feel a responsibility not to misuse Tibetan culture. I might include more Tibetan elements in my works in the future, but not for now.”

Sang came back from Germany to China in 2006. He says he never wanted to live abroad for a long time. Now, he spends most of his time in Beijing and Guangzhou, and on the road touring. His works have been recently performed at the American Dance Festival and Fall for Dance Festival in the US, and Dancing the World in the UK, to name just a few.

“Although there are cultural differences, I do believe that dance is a global language,” he says. “When people express themselves through a body language, they can communicate without verbal explanations.”

Source: China Daily, Mu Qian