Resilience is a beautiful word to contemplate on in our work as artists but also in relation to the condition of being human in general. It reflects complexities of joy and suffering most of us try to balance somehow.                 To recover, to spring back, to adapt. 

The inevitable need to be resilient could not be more accurate for the locality I am writing from: I have been living in Sri Lanka for almost two years now, where next to the pandemic we have gone through an intense economic and political crisis this year.  It has been astonishing to witness how creative people get with little means and collectively. And it is here where I would like to begin on reflecting on the relation between everyday life and resilience.

I find it impossible to separate matters of daily realities, my artistic work and strategies: what I am concerned with in each one directly influences the other. When I think about resilience in my life I can not ignore the life challenges my family had and that growing up under difficult conditions, not building resilience as a survival strategy, was never an option –  we simply had to. 

As a young dance teacher my mother migrated from Sri Lanka in the 80es due to a raging civil war in her home-country. My sibling and I were only brought up by her, while she worked a variety of jobs and built a dance school in Berlin entirely from scratch and by herself, which she has kept afloat now for 35 years. One has to be extremely resilient and passionate to be doing all of this at once. And it is here where I have most likely gained the foundation of my own resilience: in her resilience of sustaining the school and the Tamizh community of and around it. My father, from Germany, is a musician – brilliant – but struggling with severe mental illness and alcoholism and so his music was and is something he enjoys in solitude. An audience is a nightmare for him, while my mother strives with it. But for both my parents their practices were something they turned to for joy and spirituality. So I always experienced that having a creative practice in life helps us to be resilient in our everyday life within a system, that does not really take our creative and spiritual needs into account, or acknowledges creative practices as an important form of knowledge, intelligence and hence contribution to society. Most love it in some ways or another – music, movies, culture, etc. but the road for professionals for basic acceptance of our positions in society is rough. Inevitably, having such parents (working outside any official funding structure or support from an elite), I had to be resilient but also was extremely inspired by them. As artists we get to explore not only our crafts, but also our humanity and are given unique possibilities to grow as people first and foremost. I will refrain from going into detailed hardships of my upbringing in this writing, but when I think about having resilience in the arts, I truly experience that it goes both ways: I gain resilience in daily life through having an artistic practice, but also gain resilience in my work through the experiences of daily living in our society and what is required to keep on going: as life meets us with cruelty and bliss alike. Generally, coming from a working class background in Germany and working in the arts, where there is an extremely small percentage from such a family background entering this field, especially with a migrant background, I do not think I could have even made it through art school and its inherent, mostly unspoken codes: we learn early on about the varieties of social codes, how to cope with them and to adapt to partake in various groups.

I have been engaging with and committing to Bharatanyam dance now for 29 years. I do not remember a time the dance was not with me, having started my training at the age of four in the school of my mother. After many years of hard training, studying, performing, teaching and a vibrant community life (in no way free from heartbreaking internal conflicts), there came a time when I began to feel uneasy about some questions I had to the dance: about its ancientness, its predecessor, how we got here, its modern staging, its glamour and in particular the reasons for the assigned attributes of classical and traditional. These questions began for me around the age of 17, but it took more time to understand and mature with these questions through the study of the dance’s history, colonization and the broader post-independence national projects of cultural revival in South Asia. Through this process it became clear to me that my inquiries were important for my personal growth as an artist. Only years later I would understand that approaching dance not only through its training, theory, music and mythology, but also through a critical lens, context and philosophy gradually developed into the building of decolonial strategies. This was in particular hard and lonely to do from the diaspora: on the one hand having my community clinging on to an understanding of traditions as static ancient practices in order to keep and pass on the culture (a common diasporic approach) and on the other hand a German contemporary dance scene having difficulties to grasp what I am dealing with and why it is relevant at all – why don’t I just dance contemporarily and do whatever I want oh so liberally?!  This was not an option for me, as part of my work is a critique towards Western universal progressiveness and I didn’t want to walk away from the

                          lineage of my art practice, which doesn’t originate in the West.

Hence I strongly believe in practising a different approach. As difficult as this is – it is a political standpoint. I do not believe that one person can decolonize something in one lifetime or that we necessarily can or should go “back” to a more “authentic” version of the practice of this dance (Bharatanatyam) in particular. Hence I like to use the wording decolonial strategies, as this indicates a methodology and approach, rather than a goal. To go through this entire process takes many years and personally I understand it as something to which I dedicate my work in general, which is why my pieces are often connected to each other, as they build on each other.  In the production oriented field of the performing arts such an approach requires a good deal of resilience. This approach of allowing creative work to organically unfold and grow, enables me to stay on this path, which is inspired by one major aspect: it is not about me and bigger than me alone. And that gives me resilience. Acknowledging the need to adjust or reposition when something does not work or needs to be re-considered (also artistically) is very important to me, keeping myself reminded that it is about being part of a larger discourse – and that keeps me going.

Coming from the Tamizh diaspora in Germany and working in Europe, a big part of my work is how to share these inquiries. How I present them in terms of staging has become crucial, as it is challenging to share it with an audience, who perhaps would simply like to see the dance in its glory. In my work I ask what dance is for the internal experience of the dancer, but also for the viewer. There is an inherent aspect of the dominant importance given to dance as a visual experience: and it is here where challenges of gaze, exotification and representation come in. But rather than challenging that fiercely, I like to think of poetic ways of asking the viewer to engage with the dance. Having tried out more politically challenging aesthetic strategies in my mid-twenties, I soon felt that I am not so interested in that energy. Pressing socio-political questions took me on a journey to explore questions of visibility and invisibility. But rather than incessantly pushing a dancing body into a spotlight and the philosophical implications that come with the idea of a spotlight (once we are empowered/represented – what is the spotlight moreover as an aesthetic of modern staging?), I was interested in what happens if we explore the poetic potential of the invisible, absence and in-betweenness. Eventually this has turned into an artistic practice over the years: when we don’t see, we listen and we listen perhaps more carefully. And so I began to explore the sonic aspects of dance, Bharatanyam, through a listening practice. It asks what dance is, when we can get over what it represents. It allowed me to tap into its sensory cosmos. Even though it really took quite some years to figure out these strategies, away from a more confrontative response to being othered, this process has turned into something much more valuable for me: an artistic practice, through which I explore how to balance out where the visual limits and reduces us to moving bodies being visually categorized and judged. What was truly liberating was to not stagnate on the issues of an exoticising gaze, but to find artistic tools and to move on to the poetic potential of dance that has given me resilience: as racism is not an issue I create, I simply do not want to allow for it to limit my artistic work, as next to my critical inquiries, dance is also a very spiritual and holistic medium for me – in very undogmatic ways -, as well as a life philosophy. And it is important to me to not allow racism to take that away from me and from those open to engage with it. And this again is a political standpoint. There are always people who are not ready

                                             to just witness and be with our dances

without an explanation to justify them and our presence. I have had hurtful experiences of people cornering me regarding matters of my identity, not only as it is very trendy currently, but I also rather get the impression of a self-praising energy in the current climate in the performing arts driven by activism. I fully support its core principles, as they too drive a lot of my work, but I observe a dangerous new dynamic today: if the field was excluding us before, now, it is telling us who we are, how to perform our identities and pressuring us to explain ourselves within our dance works. And in doing so,

                                          they take the dance away from the dance

and hence from us. And as dance is an ephemeral medium that has great potential to explore that which goes beyond language, which is what I am interested in, I do not want to reduce every work to explanations on my identity. There are always other situations and media I can turn to for this, such as writing, which I am happy to do. In one of my pieces for example I contextualized my personal experience with the dance form through the spoken word, which I am glad I did and would do again if it makes sense for the piece. But again, I refuse to do it in each and every piece, over and over again from scratch for each new context. I talk about this a lot to fellow artists and they very often share similar or the same thoughts and experiences, but since this is how we are invited into the field today, some see no other option. And this is why I believe we are far away from equality. White choreographers are not asked to explain themselves over and over again in each new context. It is us who have to be articulate and aware, to be vulnerable in public over and over again, exploit our privacy and get little chance to be taken seriously as crafts people and thinkers. And I find my resilience here by not giving up my artistic integrity to fit in better. This can be at times lonely, but in the last years it has given me really the chance to grow and develop as a choreographer, find out what works and what doesn’t for me and find the right spaces, people and communities who welcome and practise such or similar approaches. So, out of a difficult situation, something wonderful can blossom and when patient enough, I almost always experience an arrival on grounds I resonate with, where I am not approached with a condescending tone. And while speaking up and confronting is an important strategy, I also learned to trust my intuition and allow myself to walk away without discussion. Because matters of my identity are not always up for discussion, especially when I feel that the other person has no capacity for open listening and only expects me to speak in their frame of thinking or language. There is enough conflict and racism I have to face in life and I also have to preserve my energy, especially having given much time and energy to a rather confronting approach to dealing with ignorance in the field.

The following quote by the exceptional choreographer Chandralekha are lines I have been referencing for years and they don’t cease to be relevant:

 

“I have increasingly been disturbed by current Western critical opinion which so effortlessly

glamorizes and valorizes Eastern ‘traditions’ in an uncritical manner entirely from an

orientalist’ and patronizing perspective. For us, in our Eastern contexts, both our

‘traditionality’ and our ‘modernity’ are complex and problematic areas which are not abstract

theoretical categories but real everyday concerns – both of life and of performing arts.” [1] 

Even today,  I too  am continuously astonished by both the ignorance towards other cultures, the complex realities of our lives and now as well the confident arrogance of white people announcing themselves as our saviours while lecturing us – again – but now in a politically “correct” way, which, in my opinion is shockingly narrow. Perhaps this kind of entitlement is just so deeply embedded in the Western culture. Thankfully one also meets wonderful people with sensitivity, humility and a basic humane respect and it is those I like to give more attention to. In this way one shifts the power-dynamics: appreciation, acknowledgment, recognition or even simply agreeing or disagreeing is not only a one-way road. I have my own autonomy and agency to decide the same for myself in regards to the field and feel in no way obliged to obey expectations I do not agree with or find problematic. And to balance this out well, can be extremely empowering. While I have absolutely nothing against sharing intimate looks into my biography and contextualizing my identity in broader society, when confronted with it in every work context, it just gets exhausting! When we were dismissed to the margins before – now we are reduced to a trendy fetish. And while there is a great momentum for opening the field up to other cultural perspectives, which I commend and I surely also benefited from in some ways, there is also the  equal danger of  stagnating on issues of representation and not allowing us to do the choreographic work, which inspired us to be choreographers in the first place. I often get the impression of expecting unquestioned praise for fighting for our representation and challenging a white gaze, whilst still patronizing us, deciding what is valuable art and what isn’t solely from their perspective.  This simply is and can not remain enough if they truly want their art and academic fields to be as international and inclusive as claimed. It is one step of many, many more to go.

In the light of all this as described,  it has been of crucial importance for me to find spaces, work contexts and educational institutions that are transparent and allow for and offer an interdisciplinary approach to art, as reflections and considerations of this nature require one to look beyond ones own discipline; spaces that give room for learning and listening both ways and are open to take accountability when making mistakes. In interdisciplinary and artistic research environments one also gets the chance to explore the connections and relevance of dance in a broader context, to exchange, as well as to have the opportunity to choose specific media suitable for different inquiries. Though not free from challenges, I feel fortunate to have found and been part of such institutions and work environments, which also do not practise authoritarian hierarchies, but allow for artists to have a voice and partake in the curation of their programs. In that way such spaces offer a two-directional way of learning and hence also a communal spirit. Apart from that, I strongly believe in artist-run initiatives, which I think are the most resilient response to discrimination, exclusion and reductive trends in the field. Having grown up as part of the Sri Lankan Tamizh community in Berlin, I have experienced early on the power of community and grass-roots organization. And as much as we also should be given a place in the (cultural) centers, I remain inspired by the possibilities of smaller contexts and even the margins: visibility and the option to be in the center is important, but part of our decolonial work is also questioning the concentration of power in these centers.  I do not really want to participate in all of it all the time for the sake of visibility and consequently compromising my principles and values. And the most powerful way to remain on this path is to have alliances – like-minded colleagues, friendships and cultural workers, as well as staying focused on the bigger picture. And while of course bigger productions and theatres are always an exciting option, in this extremely precarious field being flexible is a must for me in order to survive in the field in the first place, in terms of artistic freedom and income. And this flexibility becomes a form of resilience.

Not having resonated instantly with the mode of production in the performing arts, the journey of finding my practice with a  focus on artistic practice and research as a foundation, which manifest in different ways and with different thematic focuses in pieces, allowed me to find an approach to dance making, that feels more organic and sustainable to me personally. Though it requires lots of time and patience, it sets a nourishing ground for the making of a work, as well as offering regularity in everyday life. And through that the confidence in one’s own doing and intentions grows: no ignorant comment, dismissal, gratuitous preaching or narrow-minded review can take that away.

This is where I arrive at an understanding that I am not interested in only making work for a white audience or gaze, because what I deal with does not concern white people alone. I am neither willing to give up the poetic and ephemeral nature of dance and take that experience away for PoC’s and those witnesses, who  do not meet works from another cultural background with suspicion. My work is also for them and for myself of course. Hence it is very crucial that I do not work in Europe alone (apart from diasporic contexts) and stay connected to local scenes and artists in South Asia. As a critical artist one is dealing with an othering Western gaze on the one hand, but also a conservative gaze through a distorted history from within our own rows – whether in the diaspora or our ancestral homes – they equally have to be addressed and the focus on a white gaze alone distorts this reality. I am grateful that the scene in Sri Lanka has welcomed me for years now and also for having the opportunity now to be enrolled in a research program at the University of Peradeniya. Doing this is extremely meaningful for me and gives me room and a community where this dance practice is more at home. Also having colleagues in India and going there when I can, which I plan to do more. Being connected with like-minded fellow artists here and in the diaspora is one of the greatest sources of resilience for me. And though I name  countries here as nations, culturally they are not at all separate entities: there is an interconnected web of cultural and spiritual practices, historically linked, which have migrated and influenced each other in South- and Southeast Asia over centuries. As much as I completely believe that we should protect the distinctness of local contexts, away from nationalist thinking, part of the work is also to acknowledge our common histories and practices and how post-independence nationalism depicts and divides these. And this too accounts for us brought up in diasporas bringing these practices with us. And I really miss this contextualization in the post-colonial discourses in Europe.

Diasporas are complex and they vary. Some are rather like bubbles, others are connected with each other and also to their homelands. My experience as a Sri Lankan-Tamil-German person is not the same as a Turkish-German person, or an African American person. Not everybody has the option to be connected to their ancestral homes and I feel grateful that I did from early childhood on. This reality, again, is missing entirely in many conversations around diasporas in Europe, which are often narrowed down to one singular isolated phenomenon. Contextualizing both the local and global, being committed, humble and respectful towards the subject matter translates into a further strategy of resilience: a trifold approach to accountability.

                 Firstly, always holding myself accountable, meeting my own work and intentions with a critical eye and acknowledge mistakes or what does not work. I believe one has to start with oneself and can only grow then, which really is “simply” inner work. And to have long-term collegial relationships for dialogue and feedback really helps with this. This sets a foundation to now address external issues.

                Secondly, holding accountable colonialism, the continued post-colonial condition, which capitalism is built on and the remaining problematic othering of ‘other’ cultural aesthetics in the performing arts, while the West ignores their own need for historic contextualization of their contemporaneity, claim for universal progressiveness and objectivity.

                 And lastly, the look into our own rows, nationalist misuse and distortions of “ancient traditions” and post-independence cultural propaganda perhaps as a response to colonialism, but in its strategy largely benefiting the upper-class high societies, while marginalizing local minorities. And further the assimilation of Western classical aesthetic ideologies into the local arts, wiping out many unique qualities (an example would be the micro-tonal scales in Carnatic music, karnāṭaka saṅgītam, reduced to equal tempered scales).

As a practitioner the hardest part is that one is not dealing with theories alone, but  practices, which is at the same time what I enjoy.  For me it is a decolonial approach to knowledge systems in itself, as it questions the production of knowledge and what is considered knowledge in the first place. But it takes again time and patience to allow for these aspects to meet and be balanced.                                           

                                            Patience being a major force for resilience here.

All that I described has been an extensive yearlong process of staying with the trouble and it remains so. But I have found myself in a new chapter in recent years, a new beginning inspired by all the unique and beautiful possibilities that the arts can offer. And they also inspire to remain resilient. Away from being in constant direct reaction to racism, the cosmos I have dedicated already almost three decades to, opens up even more, revealing things I yet want to learn, explore as well as meeting and exchanging with other practitioners. To focus on that is a political standpoint, a response to racism and strategy of resilience.

I would like to end with perhaps more obvious but nevertheless important strategies for resilience: caring for loved ones and for someone of another species – why focus on humans alone? – as well as practising self-care: for me this means to retreat, attending to my body through a body practice, be in nature, walk, eat well, cook, which I equally like to do for and with others, as I do for myself. All these are different forms of meditation to help to restore the energy needed to face the complicated field of art. And though community is often given much importance, I also really like to do these things alone, away from chatter, to centre the mind.                          

                                                          Silence is a vital source.

And lastly, as sentimental as this might sound – but I simply can not leave it out – a major form of resilience for me is                 

                                                      love:

                                                      love for the dance, 

                                                      love for colleagues,

                                                      friends,

                                                      for those before us,

                                                      with us now

                                                      and yes,

                                                      also being in love,

                                                      having tremendous powers to help us through feeling 

                                                      frustrated,

                                                      alone,

                                                      defeated,

                                                      hopeless towards our own species 

                                                      – how can we be so 

                                                      remarkable and foolish, 

                                                      empathetic and violent as beings at the same time? –

                                                      And so I truly feel that loving 

                                                      and being loved is the greatest strategy 

                                                      to be and stay resilient

                                                      to keep on going.