Monday, April 26, 2010
Anjali's Response to April 2010 Assignment: Window to a Widow
Untitled from Post Natyam Collective on Vimeo.
password: widow
This is "Window into a widow" ---the April assignment reflecting upon a woman's journey from downtrodden widowhood to being rescued and empowered by a group of courtesans. Very abstract and only a nugget of an idea....
what does the white scarf symbolize?
how do you read the shedding of this scarf and focus on her hair?
what more could happen with this hair and how the hair is shot?
Could the hair scarf initially be projected upon during a live performance?
Would a wig of long black hair be an interesting option under the veil and might it be cut on stage?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sandra's Response to April 2010 Assignment
Sandra's Response to April 2010 Assignment from Sandra Chatterjee on Vimeo.
password: going
This is an abstract study, still quite raw, that reflects my response to the story and the instructions to Anjali's assignment. I worked with a sense of journey, which, if it communicates, would be interesting to develop.
Feedback questions:
1) Do you feel that the study fulfills the assignment?
2) Having read the assignment and the story, is a connection recognizable?
3) What do the cuts/edits in the video communicate to you?
4) Any suggestions for developing the idea?
5) Other thoughts?
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Shyamala's Response to April 2010 Assignment
]wrist[ runaway from Shyamala Moorty on Vimeo.
I recommend watching it first before you read about it below.
Password: wrist
Cynthia and I were talking about Anjali's wrist projection and I was inspired to combine it with some of the ideas in the silks from my last study. This time I just wrapped myself in the silks, sari-like, rather then having them hang from the ceiling as they typically are (because of the chuni part of the assignment).
I imagined doing the piece live and asked Sangita to film it. Once we saw the first take, we realized it could be pretty magical on film, so I adjusted some of the elements to make it more for the film, rather then a document of what the audience would see live. For example, I was using foot stamps for the rhythmic build but they didn't even register on film so I took them out and did quicker distortions in the torso instead. I still hope to explore the live possibilities.
Questions:
1. Describe your experience watching this and how you interpret what happens?
2. What ideas do you have to develop this, either live or on film?
3. Any other comments?
Other thoughts: Although you can't tell, the cloth is white and extremely long and leaves long trails around me. From the front my face is shrouded by the veil, and it reminds me of the work of this artist: http://www.simeen.net/ If you get a chance take a look at her work and see if you might have more ideas for what else we might do with the cloth, with or without the projection.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Cynthia's Response to April 2010 Assignment
video password: "sand"
I was walking along the beach in Santa Monica pondering this story of the Rajput widow-turned-courtesan when the ground collapsed under me and I fell about a foot and a half onto the sand. To my amusement, I noticed that the seawater had carved out miniature “cliffs” that looked oddly similar to the desert in Rajasthan. I decided this meant I should use the beach as a stand-in for the desert where I imagined the courtesan had lived as a child.
Text adapted from and inspired by Veena Talwar Oldenburg's article, "Lifestyle as Resistance: The Case of the Courtesans of Lucknow." Feminist Studies 19 (2): 259-87. Music by Zakir Hussain.
FEEDBACK QUESTIONS:
1. Do the text and the visuals evoke enough of a sense of the underlying story? Is any of it confusing?
2. Do you see any relationship between this video and past studies from our long distance process? Does that spark any ideas about how the video could be integrated into collaborative live performance or installation?
3. Other comments?
THOUGHTS FOR FURTHER EXPANSION:
It strikes me that this story from Veena Oldenburg’s article has connections with our work with SAN because both involve domestic violence...I wonder whether this may help us connect our interest in the courtesan with our community work?
I didn’t quite manage to integrate the required chuni into my study, but perhaps it could be brought in like this: I thought of projecting this video on the body of a woman dressed as a courtesan. (She would have to wear white or something light-colored for the video to be seen.) Perhaps it could even be projected on my back before I turn around to perform my solo, “hidden tamarind”?
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Anj's Creative Assignment for April
Informed by the following text, create a dance that depicts the transformation of a downtrodden widow in mourning to a woman empowered by taking charge of her life as a dancing courtesan. Incorporate a long veil or chuni as a prop that depicts the woman's hair into the dance as well as some sort of rhythmic element that builds to a climax at some point during the exploration. You do not have to incorporate any of the text but you may choose to.
Shy:
quotes from courtesans in the 70s from Veena Talwar Oldenbrg in her article "Lifestyle as Resistance: The case of the courtesans of Lucknow, India"
1. Story of young widow running away to join the courtesans:
"I was married when I was ten. My natal family was Rajput, my father and uncles owned fifty acres of irrigated land; my mother did not have to work too hard because we had two servants who did most of the household work. I had attended three years of school but I barely knew how to recognize the letters that spell my name. My gauna ceremony occurred just three months after menarche. I remember being taken to my husband's house with my dowry and plenty of gifts for my in-laws. My father sent several sacks of wheat, sugar, lentils, and other produce from the farm because I was married to a young Rajput boy whose father had gambled away most of their wealth. That summer [I960] there was a very big flood, which washed away the mud huts in the village, the livestock, and our food reserves. While my husband was out with his brothers trying to salvage some of the food stored in earthenware jars, he slipped and fell into the water and three days later was dead after a severe bout of cholera. I survived but I often wished I were dead. The local Brahmin said that my ill-starred presence had brought flood and death to the village. My jewels, clothes, and the few silver coins which I had hidden away were all forcibly taken away from me, and I became a widow in white who did all the nasty, heavy chores for the household. I was fed scraps when I cried out in hunger. You talk about the laws that were passed by the British to prevent child marriage, you talk of the rights we won when the Hindu Civil Code [I956] was passed but I sneer at all that. I had no recourse to the laws, or to lawyers, only to my wits sharpened by adversity. I first tried to get back at them with sly acts of sabotage. I did the washing up indifferently, leaving a dull film on the metal platters and the pots. For this my mother-in-law thrashed me. I would sneak into the kitchen when my sister-in-law had finished cooking and add a heavy dose of salt to the lentils and vegetables. I would hide my smile when I heard the yells and abuse heaped on her by the menfolk. She caught me one day and thrashed me soundly until I howled with pain. Her husband came home and gave me another hiding. Life was unbearable but I was trapped; there was nowhere that I could go. My parents, who had come
for the funeral to our village, were distressed but they did not offer to take me back because they still had my younger sisters to marry. Fights, violence erupted all the time. My sister-in-law kept wishing me dead. When it was discovered that I stole money, to buy snacks from the vendor, they threatened
to burn me alive. I wanted to run away but didn't know where I would go, except to the river to drown myself. Finally when an itinerant troupe of entertainers was encamped in our village I saw the performance and thought I would secretly apply to work for them, just do their housework or something. They agreed to shelter me after I told them my troubles and showed them the bruises on my body. They smuggled me out of that hell, gave me bit parts in their dramas, and finally brought me to the lap of Bibi Khanum [another tawa'ifl in Lucknow, and I have never looked back. I had no option but to run away. Tell me, sister, what would you have done in my place?"
Shy:
quotes from courtesans in the 70s from Veena Talwar Oldenbrg in her article "Lifestyle as Resistance: The case of the courtesans of Lucknow, India"
1. Story of young widow running away to join the courtesans:
"I was married when I was ten. My natal family was Rajput, my father and uncles owned fifty acres of irrigated land; my mother did not have to work too hard because we had two servants who did most of the household work. I had attended three years of school but I barely knew how to recognize the letters that spell my name. My gauna ceremony occurred just three months after menarche. I remember being taken to my husband's house with my dowry and plenty of gifts for my in-laws. My father sent several sacks of wheat, sugar, lentils, and other produce from the farm because I was married to a young Rajput boy whose father had gambled away most of their wealth. That summer [I960] there was a very big flood, which washed away the mud huts in the village, the livestock, and our food reserves. While my husband was out with his brothers trying to salvage some of the food stored in earthenware jars, he slipped and fell into the water and three days later was dead after a severe bout of cholera. I survived but I often wished I were dead. The local Brahmin said that my ill-starred presence had brought flood and death to the village. My jewels, clothes, and the few silver coins which I had hidden away were all forcibly taken away from me, and I became a widow in white who did all the nasty, heavy chores for the household. I was fed scraps when I cried out in hunger. You talk about the laws that were passed by the British to prevent child marriage, you talk of the rights we won when the Hindu Civil Code [I956] was passed but I sneer at all that. I had no recourse to the laws, or to lawyers, only to my wits sharpened by adversity. I first tried to get back at them with sly acts of sabotage. I did the washing up indifferently, leaving a dull film on the metal platters and the pots. For this my mother-in-law thrashed me. I would sneak into the kitchen when my sister-in-law had finished cooking and add a heavy dose of salt to the lentils and vegetables. I would hide my smile when I heard the yells and abuse heaped on her by the menfolk. She caught me one day and thrashed me soundly until I howled with pain. Her husband came home and gave me another hiding. Life was unbearable but I was trapped; there was nowhere that I could go. My parents, who had come
for the funeral to our village, were distressed but they did not offer to take me back because they still had my younger sisters to marry. Fights, violence erupted all the time. My sister-in-law kept wishing me dead. When it was discovered that I stole money, to buy snacks from the vendor, they threatened
to burn me alive. I wanted to run away but didn't know where I would go, except to the river to drown myself. Finally when an itinerant troupe of entertainers was encamped in our village I saw the performance and thought I would secretly apply to work for them, just do their housework or something. They agreed to shelter me after I told them my troubles and showed them the bruises on my body. They smuggled me out of that hell, gave me bit parts in their dramas, and finally brought me to the lap of Bibi Khanum [another tawa'ifl in Lucknow, and I have never looked back. I had no option but to run away. Tell me, sister, what would you have done in my place?"
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