A collaboration between Berlin-based choreographer Meg Stuart and Yogyakarta artist Jompet Kuswidananto turned grief into an artistic expression for the senses.

Premiering at the Europalia Festival in Brussels in January last year, Celestial Sorrow made its Indonesian premiere recently for a two-day show at the Salihara art community center in South Jakarta on Sept. 7 and 8.

Celestial Sorrow combined dance, vocals, live music and lightshow in an experience that played with the senses, making it feel like a part installation-part performance art showcase.

Audience members walking into the venue would first see the installation part, which consisted of numerous light bulbs suspended from the ceiling, bright enough to illuminate but dim enough to set the tone.

Five people were involved in the performance; three performers and two musicians.

The three performers –– Jule Flierl, Gaëtan Rusquet and Claire Vivianne Sobottke –– turned around ever so slowly during the beginning, as if they were scanning the audience.

Gradually the lights dimmed, and the smell of incense started to permeate the air, evoking a sense of mystery and a hint of the otherworldly. Perhaps, it was this connection that could be made, the incense, the hums and gasps that one would associate with temples and the celestial beings watching over them.

Sorrow lends itself to prayer, of course.

As the lights turned brighter, the dancers started a more rushed routine that at the same time reminded one of a trance, with even the DJ and guitarist –– Berlin-based Mieko Suzuki and Yogyakartan Ikbal Simamora Lubys –– joining in.

Despair: 'Celestial Sorrow' premiered at Brussels' Europalia Festival in January last year before making its Indonesian premiere at Salihara.

Eventually, the lights went out again, until the room was plunged into darkness and silence, leaving the audience with only their thoughts as companions. Breaking the silence were the performers as they talked of photographs and their memories, good and bad and everything in between.

Celestial Sorrow ran the full gamut of human emotions –– sorrow turning to naked and vulnerable grief, comedy stemming from the surreal, and the almost transcendental connection between man and the powers above.

Rippling bodies crashed into each other, in an erotic but not titillating way. If some felt uncomfortable in the display of visceral, almost primal emotions, then that would probably speak of the work’s connection.

Celestial Sorrow was the kind of work that connects with an audience intensely through the senses. One could smell the incense, hear the chants, and watch as the lights reveal different scenes of humanity.

Though the no-photography rule might have been because of the adult-oriented nature of the work, no Instagram snippet could do justice to the work; the personal connection was needed to fully experience it.

That being said, there was imagery that made a much more visible connection between the audience and the work itself, such as one performer calling out desperately in grief to the audience to help her, or the location-specific interaction lampooning Jakarta’s status as a sinking city slowly being abandoned by its government.

Perhaps, the most unexpected bit was when amid the darkness, multicolored lights began making their way onto the stage and the opening notes of Betharia Sonata’s 1987 hit “Hati Yang Luka” (The Wounded Heart) started playing.

The sight of three Germans singing a sappy song that was banned by the Soeharto-era Information Ministry for literally being too “whiny” while pulling a miniature truck was certainly quite the experience, regardless of one’s artistic taste.

Kitschy: The work involved a wide range of theatrics, including a sing-along of Betharia Sonata’s 1987 hit “Hati Yang Luka” (The Wounded Heart). (Courtesy of Laura Van Severen)

Yet the New Order-era song spoke of a larger connection between Celestial Sorrow and Indonesia’s past pains and sorrow, left behind as the pages turn.

Speaking to The Jakarta Post before the first show, Jompet said that Celestial Sorrow was born from unfinished business, which could be construed as historical, political or personal.

“Each of us has different references and contexts. I myself like to talk about Indonesia’s unfinished business in history, which deals with issues like violence and trauma stemming from dictatorship,” he said.

“In the end, it doesn’t only refer to one geopolitical context. It’s not only about Indonesia, but rather the personal traumas as well.”

Meanwhile, Stuart added that ultimately, the work was on the things left unsaid and repressed, either in relationships or not being empowered.

“This theme of unfinished business is sort of this dive into the micro on the very sensitive and subtle soundwork, which is in correspondence with the installation of the lights. It’s kind of bringing up what doesn’t want to be seen and heard in the darkness, and letting it be transformed through the light,” she said.

Both Stuart and Jompet found it hard to describe Celestial Sorrow in words, and Jompet admitted that they were still seeking their own definition of the work.

“The idea is still too abstract to be represented by one or two sentences, and by showcasing the work in numerous places, this will help us understand what we are doing,” Jompet concluded.

Like the strange dance finale that involved the use of feather dusters, perhaps the work dusted off the trappings of the old world and allowed us to connect on a celestial level with our pasts, be they angelic or demonic. (hdt)