bend or break

On Saturday evening the program took us to see a 杂技表演 (acrobatics performance) at Chaoyang Theater. It was both mind-blowing and incredibly nerve racking; I watched as not one, not two, but eight motorcyclists raced around a single metal sphere in near dark, saw a man jump rope on the outside of a spinning wheel thirty feet in the air, blindfolded, and stared, horrified, as five girls made a human tree, bending their bodies in ways I can't comprehend while using only their mouths to hold onto a stand. I don't think my hands have ever sweat so much, nor have I ever experienced so many strong, conflicting emotions all at once. Seeing humans defying the laws of physics left me in awe, but at the same time feeling concerned for their safety and imagining the torturous training the performers must have gone through to get where they are prevented me from enjoying the show as much as other people might have. Many performers were much younger than me, and looked as though they could have just started high school. I can't help but wonder what their lives are like. When did they start training? Was it their idea, their choice? What would happen if they got hurt? How much of the profits do they actually get? What happens if you don't want to pursue it anymore?

Then, in class we discussed the movie Farewell my Concubine for Monday's lesson. My suitemates and I watched the movie together to get a better grasp of the story. It begins with a troupe of boys, all of whom were abandoned, who are training to become professional Beijing Opera performers. Their living conditions are horrendous, and under the instruction of a cruel master they are often beaten, tortured, and abused. Forgetting a line, for example, could result in a whipping; not being able to do a split naturally means you sit against a wall and have your legs spread wider and wider until you can. It's all for the sake of potentially reaching stardom. Watching this movie, I couldn't help but think back to the acrobatics show.

Then, on Monday afternoon, we had a teacher who himself was a master of Beijing Opera come and teach us how to paint the face of the Monkey King. We partnered up and got to paint each other's faces. (I did Amy's, far left, and she did mine, far right). The 老师们 also participated, it was great! The teacher was patient and good-natured; he took great care while painting my friend Nathan's face as a model for the class. Then, towards the end, when we thought we had finished, one of my friends added a heart to my forehead and a few other students' -- including Nathan's--for laughs. I felt a little hesitant to soil the face I'd just spent half an hour painting, but said nothing. We then discovered we weren't quite done yet, and upon seeing us the teacher did not think it was funny at all. I was pretty taken aback at how serious, and almost sad, he became, and he explained that adding this small change completely altered the persona and status of the character. He proceeded to wipe the heart from Nathan's forehead and paint over it. Soon after he became his cheery self again but I couldn't help but feel guilty, especially because the thought that it might not be a good idea to let my friend do it had crossed my mind earlier. I saw pieces of the characters from the movie in this teacher and again thought back to the story and the years those boys spent learning the traditions of the opera and how ingrained its practices were. I understood the teacher's reaction.

A lot of things-- the face painting, the lesson on Farewell my Concubine, the acrobatics show, came together in a way I never expected this week. In some ways the unimaginable training that proceeds the Chinese Opera and other performing arts is not surprising, as the theme of immense pressures manifests itself in nearly all aspects of Chinese society from education to work to filial piety; just how far can people bend?