The renowned choreographer Dedy Lutan recently presented his latest work, Hutan Pasir Sunyi, or The Silent Sand Forest, at Galeri Indonesia Kaya in the Grand Indonesia shopping center in Central Jakarta.
The performance opened with a woman lit by a spotlight, emerging from
the darkness. Then, two men in loincloths — one older and thoughtful,
one younger and unbridled — entered the venue while a young girl,
resplendent in a traditional Dayak costume of beaded sapei inoq shirt
and ta skirt, danced solemnly and precisely across the stage.
A group of stone-faced men, apparently elders, entered and took their
seats up front as the action unfolded below. More women clad in similar
costumes came on stage, all holding elaborate feather arrangements in
their hands as they danced.
Soon, a group of outsiders, all women, bearing machetes and clad in
what looked to be simple leather costumes, stood up from their seats in
the audience and went to challenge the feathered dancers.
As the young man ran up the stairs of the amphitheater, whooping amid
the adults and many children in the crowd, the women waged a stylized
battle that culminated with the woman in silhouette staring down the
outsiders, who turned their machetes on themselves.
The troupe — elders and warriors alike — then began orbiting the
younger man, sweat streaming down his face, before conflict turned to
stasis and the performance ended.
Dedy, the nation’s foremost choreographer, has spent decades visiting
Dayak communities in the remote forests of Kalimantan, meeting dance
maestros, learning their rituals and then staging their dances in
Jakarta — after performing his interpretation for the local community,
of course.
He says that dances such as Hutan Pasir Sunyi are not examples of art for the sake of art: they have ritual importance as well as beauty.
“Creating a dance needs lengthy and solitary contemplation,” Dedy said. “It’s never been an instant and quick process.”
Galeri Indonesia Kaya, which offers free exhibits about Indonesian
culture, lies just opposite the Blitz megaplex — an odd juxtaposition of
storytelling venues.
The gallery’s 150-seat amphitheater, however, makes for a surprisingly intimate performance space.
Source : Tempo
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