Scene from Tan Lay Heong’s shadow play performance, conceptualised and performed to a private audience at Rimbun Dahan | Photo by Dee May Tan
So many questions
We were both given the gift of space to grow and play. Lay Heong, an artist from Penang, was here at this artists/writers residency to work on her contemporary shadow play.
At the end of her term here, she presented a piece, which she created during her time here. As an artist who typically uses waste material as her main medium to create, her inspiration to use dried leaves here at this residence were … well, organic.
In her ephemeral 15-minute performance, I felt so many emotions — hope, disgust, despair, fear, wonder, serenity. The set and props were later dismantled and returned to nature.
. . .
I was asking a few months ago by another performing artist about my thoughts on a recent dance performance, which was presented as a work-in-progress.
There was no right or wrong answer, she said.
I really couldn’t feel anything. I tried to, but it wasn’t for me. Yet, I’m sure the performances in lead up to the production of the piece had impacted many others. It’s just that we wouldn’t know; unless every audience member diligently wrote a testimonial for every piece of art they engaged with. But would that even be feasible? And would it remove a person from the performance through the compulsive nature of documenting it on their phones?
I believe when you can see yourself in the performance or in the narrative, as you might with a shadow play, where almost everything is black and white, it can make you feel full and almost levitative. Again, these types of effects and experiences can’t be quantified and measured. (I mean, you probably could if you were running this as a controlled psychological experiment, with surveys pre-, during, post-, and with those neuro patches in place. So, maybe one day theatre seats will be able to record such data. But then we’d go into a whole different discussion about privacy; and stealing someone’s private experience from a public performance to be turned into a cold, impersonal piece of information.)
And certainly, this type of impact, whether it’s a result of something that you or I create today or tomorrow, how would the supporters (and the negators) of the arts know of such impact?
How do you calculate the “impressions”,“click-throughs” and “return on investment”? How would you quantify the impact of a performance or a piece of artwork on a person’s life and her worldviews?
For some, and especially investors and consumers with a traditional mindset (though I would argue that consumers, too, invest with their dollar), such figures are necessary for them to justify — to themselves, their board, boss, friends, family — their “rational” investments or to even glance in the direction of the venture. (Although, as we’ve witnessed again and again, in stories of failed “logical” investments at the expense of entire countries, sometimes their predictions, based on whatever data they had, were wildly inaccurate. Because no matter how much data they boasted, at the end of the day, their decisions were merely predictions.)
. . .
Is it not enough to feel? Is it not enough to wonder that if you felt something, might some else, be it in your immediate community or halfway across the globe, feel that “something” too?
How can a person even measure the pass-along rate, the remarkability, the ripple effect of one performance on an audience member? And more so the impact within the artist herself?
The question might appear simple. But its answers, even if obtained, will be disputed. And the impact of engaging with a product produced by artists will continue to be nullified — by those who fear what the masses tell them is “illogical”.
