PANJI MAGIC

Going with the flow       

            

As an event it was spectacular; as dance it swirled past the barriers of culture and language. As theatre it was emotional, the quality international.  

But few shared the moving experience. The location was the small Panji Museum set among paddy in Tumpang village, East Java; maybe only 150 in the audience.

The museum includes a replica of the 1,000-year old Candi Jolotundo, the royal bathing pool on sacred Mount Penanggungan about 100 km north west.  

Choreographer Matheus Wasi Bantolo arrived at Tumpang from Central Java just a few hours before he and 25 local and visiting dancers were to perform Panji plays at a local festival.

“At first I decided to stay on the stage,” he said. “Then I wondered how to use the foreground, to get closer to the audience.  I thought it might make the show more dramatic.”

Indeed.  Bantolo started his Kidung Kayungyun masked dance at the water’s edge then moved into the shallow pool fed by a mountain stream.

Bantolo said the Javanese title was difficult to translate but implied being “ensnared by personal feeling like love or revenge …I developed it from a contemporary mask performance we staged earlier in Singapore and Thailand.”

In an master stroke Bantolo scooped out a long fishing net on his left, then another from the right while singing and accompanied by a gamelan; it looked like a Biblical tableau of casting nets to feed the multitude. Even without flapping fish it was a powerful image.

The Panji Museum is being developed by Malang entrepreneur Dwi Cahyono, 51, (right)   

to promote Indonesian culture and history focusing on Central and East Java.  Displays start with an archaeological dig and lead through reality and myth to the present.  

Indonesians seldom queue outside museums so Cahyono has added a swimming pool and picnic ground only accessed through the artefact-filled auditorium. Visitors get shanghaied by history like air-travellers ambushed by duty-free shops while heading for the boarding gate.

Some of Cahyono’s ideas were gleaned during a 2016 tour of New Zealand.  This included the National Museum Te Papa, and director Peter Jackson’s Weta Workshop in Wellington used to make props for the Lord of the Rings films.

The Panji themes are universal; think Romeo and Juliet. Boy Panji Inu Kertapati, Prince of Jenggala, meets girl Dewi Sekartaji princess of the Kediri Kingdom.  He’s already booked but guess what - they tumble into love.

Crisis! Dewi disappears on their wedding day - did she know of the Other Woman, get cold feet or spirited away by a foe?  

Panji sets out to retrieve his True Love.  He confronts rivals, fights assailants and triumphs as befits a gallant. This gives space aplenty for sideways romps into intrigue, faith, politics, threats, moral and gender issues and what it means to be human.  

Spoiler alert: Dewi transforms herself into a man Panji Semirang. Will her lover be duped? Think Rosalind in As You Like It.

Panji stories allegedly originated in East Java but are found throughout Southeast Asia. In Thailand they are called Inao. Nationalists claim this shows Java is the origin of much Asian art rivaling India, the source of the epic performance poems Ramayana and Mahabharata.

“Culture should be central if international relationships are to be improved,” said Bantolo, lecturer at the Institut Seni Indonesia (ISI - Indonesian Arts Institute) in Solo. Also known as Surakarta the city is near Yogyakarta.

“Some mask dances are nearly extinct; maybe fifty per cent of Indonesians don’t know the culture.  We are trying to conserve and revive and make the stories more popular through contemporary choreography. But kayungyun remains the base.”

ISI has set up a Centre for World Dance Studies to promote masked dancing and attract overseas students. Bantolo has performed in the Netherlands, Britain and Germany, and been a guest lecturer at Michigan State University.  He plans to enrol for a PhD at Royal Holloway, University of London next year.

“Our take of the Panji tales isn’t simply a love story between Panji and Dewi, though that’s been the standard interpretation,” he said.

“Rather we always keep an eye on what we feel is the story’s higher humanity. So throughout our creative process we hold onto the cultural symbols reflected in the Panji narrative.

“These include keblat papat, the Javanese interpretations of the four cardinal points and associated elements to maintain harmony and balance. Then there’s the interplay of the macro-cosmos and micro-cosmos, agrarian culture, and the arts of carving and painting masks; all are sources for our creative ideas.

“The challenge is to reflect these ideas differently - as a cultural dialogue. The dance movements are drawn from the court styles of the Keraton Surakarta (Solo Palace Court) and the Pura Mangkunegaran (Sultan’s Palace).

“Our innovations include sharing masks between multiple dancers. The story is told through tembang (sung poetry) and monologues. It’s a mix of theatre, opera and dance.”

Bantolo, 43, was brought up in a liberal Catholic family of creatives which let him choose a career. His grandfather was a dalang (puppet master). He was playing in the gamelan at ten.

He said an early reference to masks in performances appeared in an 11th century manuscript from the royal court of Jenggala. (The short-lived kingdom was probably located at Sidoarjo near Surabaya).

“To mask can mean to hide one’s face or wear a different face, an imitation,” he said.

“A mask can represent a certain personality, a community or the values of a cultural system. By wearing masks,rather than hiding we expose and explore something about the reality of the human condition.

“I want the world not just to enjoy and respect our creativity, but to understand what’s behind our culture and the way we think and feel.  Indonesians are close to nature and the universe.  We have so much to share.”

(First published in Inside Indonesia 23 December 2017: http://www.insideindonesia.org/essay-masked-but-not-hidden

NUR'S CIREBON MAGIC

Dancing for Islam                                                          

Cirebon dancer Mimi Dewi Savitri died as the last century vanished into history. But her art survives. She was 82 and had been performing till ten days before her passing.

Her granddaughter and legatee Nur ‘Nani’ Anani wants to leave this temporal existence in much the same way – and preferably on the stage. She says this cheerfully. When you have yet to complete four decades on this earth the final curtain seems far away.

“I have much to do in maintaining and demonstrating Indonesia’s traditional culture,” she said. “Fortunately it’s still alive and in good health, though no thanks to the regional government which does little to support the arts.

“When I say this they get angry and I’m not popular. If we had to rely on politicians the arts would not survive. Fortunately some people still like our work - in fact interest is strongest overseas.”

 Nani, whose full name is Nur Ananai Maman Irman, spoke to The Jakarta Post in Wellington after a solo performance at the Indonesian Embassy.

She was in a contingent of 50 creative Indonesians in New Zealand for a course in arts management organised by the Auckland University of Technology. This included a tour of facilities in the South Pacific nation’s capital.

The NZ government offers artists and producers subsidies, courses and awards to encourage participation and growth in all disciplines.

In January Nani will be in the US on her third visit, then again later in the year. Emil Kang, Executive Director for Arts at the University of North Carolina said the dancer would be on campus for a season on sacred /secular boundaries in Islam.

“We are using Sufism as our lens in four non-Arab Muslim-majority nations (Indonesia, Iran, Pakistan, and Senegal) as a way of debunking false notions of a monolithic Islam,” he said.

 “Nani will participate in workshops, classes and conversations on religious studies, Southeast Asian studies and costume design, and dialogues in our center for Muslim civilizations.   

“We are keenly interested in having her share the balance between the preservation of tradition and modern day relevance, and understanding the gray areas of cultural versus religious traditions.”

Nani has also danced in Japan and Europe at venues like the Frankfurt Book Fair adding mystique and movement to events which would otherwise be static.

Nani’s performances set up the audience to expect difference.  Elaborately and colorfully clad with an ornate and regal headdress she mounts the stage as though on a casual stroll, but then kneels and faces away from the auditorium.

For a few minutes of silence all that can be seen is her back wrapped in splendid batik.  She says she is contemplating, entering the spirit of the character she’ll portray.  The mask she later dons has been infused with magic by its long-gone maker.

Some masks she uses have no holes for eyes making the dancing even more difficult.

The gamelan begins. Curious melodies that swirl like moving water, never stopping long enough for a take-home tune as in Western music. It’s not just a dance, but a ritual “between God and earth.”

“I’m the seventh generation of artists and started the dance exercises when I was three,” she said later, not to brag but as a matter of fact. “I didn’t come from a rich family.  We had to borrow and get donations so I could go to university in Bandung.

“Dancing is something I have to do and want to do. It is my choice and joy, but also a compulsion.  The spirits of my ancestors are here. They must be kept alive for this and future generations.”

Not all in her family agree.  Those who follow a more austere version of Islam from Saudi Arabia disapprove of women on stage and claim that the ancient arts are idolatrous. 

Some dances are considered erotic; Westerners would find this difficult to accept as there’s nothing bawdy or revealing, though red in the costume indicates “the madness of desire”.

Nani, who is now divorced, said she is more flexible in her beliefs.  She cites the Walisongo (nine saints) who brought Islam to Java as acceptors of indigenous arts who didn’t try to stamp out ancient beliefs.  These included dances celebrating weddings and harvests – and to guard against supernatural forces.

Supporter Daniel Haryono sometimes asks her to perform at his Ullen Sentalu Museum of Javanese Arts and Culture in Yogyakarta. This draws around 15,000 visitors a month; less than ten per cent are foreigners – a number he’d like to see increase. 

His museum specialises in preserving ‘intangible heritage’ such as folklore and music along with the artefacts normally found in collections. 

“Nani is one of the most successful performing artists in the country,” he said. “She is keeping the traditional dances of Losari in good health.”

Losari is an old village outside Cirebon and closer to Central Java and its influence, particularly the Prince Panji stories which feature in Nani’s dances. She runs her Purwa Kencana studio with about 80 students. 

She said the style of dance, costumes and masks differs from those in West Java. The movements are also said to be more agile, though such comparisons are best left to the keen eyes of choreographers.

 “Losari style is different from Cirebon mask dancing in every way – history, choreography, costume, music and presentation,” she said.

“The dance of King Bandopati Klana reflects aspects of human nature like egotism and arrogance, illustrated by the color red and the mask’s bulging eyes. The message is that these aspects of human nature are not morally good and should not be imitated.

“The Losari mask dance styles were created by the local Prince Angkawijaya about 400 years ago to spread Islam. So this is what I’m doing while preserving the skills of my Grandmother and all her ancestors.”

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(First published in The Jakarta Post 4 January 2017)

TOPENG RETURNS TO CANDI JAGO

Masking Culture

Psst! Feel like a shot of East Java culture laced with local flavors? Not interested? Aduh! OK, how about an international poetry festival?

Tell you what, give it a go and you can have both for the price of one. In fact, we can do better and make it all free. That’s an offer no-one could refuse.

On Saturday 7 April three busses will leave the central East Java city of Malang and head for Tumpang, about 20 kilometers distant, on the slopes of smoking Mount Semeru, Java’s highest mountain.

Here the travelers will be the first to see the performance of a new mask play devised by author and artist Bambang Adrian Wenzel (pictured above) and his friend, dalang (puppet master) Soleh Adi Pramono.

The play is called Kunjoro Karno, and it will be staged on the remains of Candi (temple) Jajaghu, also known as Jago.

Jajaghu is believed to have been built in the mid to late 13^th century, probably to contain the ashes of Wisnuwardhana, the fourth king of Singosari during Java’s Hindu-Buddhist period. The carvings appear to depict scenes from the epic play The Mahabharata, and are the source material for the mask theater.

The Mahabharata originated in India. The stories were composed about 3,300 years ago and later absorbed into Indonesian culture.

Sadly the temple is in poor condition. Many treasures have been plundered or mutilated and the weather has savaged what the vandals have overlooked. It’s officially protected. This means the site has been ringed with ugly fences, but it also has well-manicured lawns.

Ignore the modern additions and you’ll find Jajaghu retains a powerful sense of pre-Islamic culture that Bambang hopes will be revealed to a sensitive audience.

He has been visiting the temple regularly during the past six months sketching many of the figures and researching the stonework scenes that will form the play.

“The performance will be mid-afternoon when the light is right and people can take photos,” Bambang said. “There’ll be no artificial lighting and the only sound system will be the dalang’s microphone. About 15 people will be taking part.

“We’ll also have a gamelan orchestra. I want people to get a sense of the past and the rich, but little known culture of East Java through tari topeng (mask dances).”

East Java’s mask tradition goes back at least 1,000 years. Written records are few. There are variations in stories and dances from district to district. This is not a situation where you can retreat to the original text for reassurance.

The ancient stories, which were performed in wayang kulit (shadow puppet plays) as well as tari topeng, became popular during the Majapahit Era (14^th century), the so-called Golden Age of Java.

When Islam gained ascendancy the remnants of the Hindu families moved to Bali, which they already ruled. With them went most of the dances – and masks. But pockets of the old culture remained in East Java. The stories were embellished and took on local flavors.

Genuine masks are made from a local softwood using hand tools. As the mask was carved, so the history of the craft and the stories were slowly worked into the wood by hand. The mask really becomes the character in the hands of the dancer.

Few centers in Java apart from Yogya have enough overseas visitors to support cultural events and pay the artists. This is particularly so in East Java, despite a wealth of attractions.

The upside is that places like Tumpang haven’t become tourist sinkholes with hustlers hawking overpriced plastic imitations of hand-made artifacts.

Unlike the original performances that often lasted all night, Kunjoro Karno will take less than 90 minutes. Audiences will get the chance to buy local foods and ride in dokar, the pony traps used for public transport.

Bambang hopes the Saturday afternoon performances (free entry during the first three months) will become a regular event, drawing visitors.

He’s not just referring to foreigners. Young Indonesians often shun the traditional arts in favor of Western-entertainment. The shorter, more modern performances may help revive interest.

Certainly the first audience should be appreciative and enthusiastic, mainly artists involved in the four-day International Celaket Cross-Cultural Festival. These are the people who will be bussed to Tumpang.

After the Tumpang event poetry readings (with translations), music and dance will be held in three locations in central Malang, in the kampong just off the main road to Surabaya.

“We chose these streets because we want to take cultural performances out of the big halls where the elite go, and give access to the arts to ordinary people in the places where they live,” Bambang said.

“Celaket was one of the first kampong built in the centre of Malang. Celak is Javanese for being close. There’ll be translations of poems that aren’t spoken in Indonesian.”

The event is part of another festival, the peripatetic Second International Poetry Festival (the first was ten years ago) that will run from 1 to 13 April in Magelang and Pekalongan (both in Central Java), then Surabaya and Malang.

Apart from the street shows 30 Indonesian poets and 17 from 11 overseas countries will take part in performances and workshops at the State Islamic University. Other sponsors could not be found.

“If it had been a pop music festival we might have had more luck,” said organizing secretary Aga Herman ruefully, tearing up his projected Rp 600 million (US$ 68,000) budget.

So the visitors will be paying their own fares and won’t get performance fees – but will be given accommodation. The Malang students, academics and artists making it happen are all volunteers, determined to maintain East Java culture and make it accessible to the world, even when corporations and governments are indifferent.

The festival theme is: ‘What’s Poetry?’ Here’s one answer: ‘The expressions of people who care’.

(First published in The Sunday Post 1 April 2012)

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