Suhaili Micheline revisits her experience choreographing Pendatang Pampers.
Pendatang Pampers was made to explore the interaction and vulnerability between bodies and masculine energy in a space. Scenarios of the individuals’ journey in experiencing their ego and fears were expressed in written form and then translated into movement exploration. Words like “I don’t know”, “I don’t have time”, “I need time” and “I’m sorry” are some examples. The dancers had deep discussions about the individual’s natural response in dealing with confrontation. They then proceeded to improvise body responses when spoken to or physically manipulated in space.
This ultimately got us to see the raw truths and “what-ifs” of the dancers whenever they were stuck in a stalemate in life or in a relationship, which eventually resulted in what the audience witnessed during the performance. Ideas generated by each dancer then turned into solos, duets and trios, achieving little intimacies of self-discovery suddenly interrupted by others bursting into the space.
This structure reflected the ups and downs of going through life’s journey, whether it’s confronting a breakup, an episode of depression, or a conflict. The work also questioned how men deal with the expectations ingrained by a patriarchal society, rooted in culture and tradition. It also engaged in the lesser known conversation about masculinity: of male limitations, the pressures of the need to play the saviour, and how showing traditionally feminine traits such as sensitivity and emotionality is deemed to be undesirable.
The beginning of the work used a musical excerpt from the classical ballet Swan Lake and played on its highly structured formations. The dancers traveled in a grid-like sequence. Each dancer had a specific walk that remained the same throughout, until they reached the end of their trajectory and toppled over into a pile, one on top of another. This resembled the one-dimensionality of life’s journey on earth, ending in death. I have used classical music in most of my previous works; this time it was delivered with the twist of diapers and a showcase of interesting human behaviour and personae. The idea of the beginning section was simply to welcome the audience, but also to stereotype men and their ego via quirky gestures, baby pacifiers, colourful Uniqlo socks, ties, bows, and suspenders. The dancers were like a bunch of ostentatious, weird creatures assembling on stage, as if they were performing a secret ritual where they were each trying to outrank the other.
Although I did enjoy the idea of working with diapers, I soon found it tricky to invest in new diapers for almost every rehearsal. Since we were still only in the midst of exploring most of the movements, we instead explored the idea of babies through belly rubs, mouth farts and “baby boss” gestures, which in hindsight was a nod to all-too-familiar male mannerisms, often used as a means to hide their vulnerable spots or to show approval.
Further exploration and devising focused on pride and ego, where we attempted to ascertain what drives the ego. Is ego altogether bad or is it just a subconscious mechanism trying to protect the individual? And if pride were a conscious decision, which of the two would be the lesser evil? One that seeks to protect or one that seeks to establish dominance and bragging rights?
It has been a quite a journey for me to reflect upon the creative process of Pendatang Pampers. The photo below reflects the thoughts I felt when revealing my work—recklessness, anxiousness, and wondering if I had taken unnecessary risks. Perhaps this is the feeling most artists have towards life. It’s frightening. I had written similar things before when journaling about my previous works. There’s so much you can say and put into detail about how you make the work presentable, but you need to take that first step without knowing why. Everything only becomes clear in hindsight. So every time I watched Pendatang Pampers in performance, I started seeing more of my own blind spots and my old patterns, and maybe some new ones too.
Furthermore, in seeing through the eyes of my dancers, I began to relate their stories to myself and discovered myself anew. Towards the end of the process, the work even got me to feel more real—more human. I think the finished work reflects that too. The humorous play at the start of the work, my usual “fantasy fix”, slowly crumbles into a mess of human emotions at the end.
This adventure of creating Pendatang Pampers was a curious personal exploration for me. I salute my dancers—the depth of conversation with them, in both words and bodies, made me more content and certain with the uncertainties of art and life.
Featured photo: [Top to bottom] Joshua Gui, Lu Wit Chin, Tristen Zijuin, Steve Goh, Pengiran Qayyum and [right] Ng Yann Chwen in Pendatang Pampers, The Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre, January 2020. © Ariff Aris