categories of alus and kasar. Alus roughly translates as refined, and kasar is unrefined (fig. 2.4). Many different features of the puppets communicate the personality of their characters to the audience.19 Characteristics of an alus puppet include a smaller, slim body, a head that is tilted downward, small or narrow eyes, a small mouth, and a small nose. The puppet’s kinesthetic sphere of movement will also be smaller and more delicate. A kasar puppet is often much larger, has big, bulging eyes, a large open mouth with teeth or a tongue showing (or both), is looking straight ahead or upward, and has a wide stance. Kasar puppets move much more vigorously on the screen with large sweeping motions. Vocal qualities also follow the physical characteristics of the puppets. For example a kasar ogre would have a very rough, loud, and deep voice, while an alus god or hero would have a higher pitched, rhythmically slow, smooth, and melodic voice.
Figure 2.4. The characters of Momosimoko (left) and Arjuna (right) demonstrate the difference between kasar and alus. Photo by author; puppets by I Wayan Tunjung.
Many different features of the puppets communicate the personality of their characters to the audience. In his dissertation on Javanese wayang kulit, Jan Mrázek (1998) analyzes the wayang character as if it were a map because important details such as the face are crafted on a larger scale to provide greater detail.20 Similarly, a map of a state often includes a blowup of important cities to show individual streets and landmarks. The dimensions of profile as well as their forward-facing position are mixed to contain as many details of the character as possible. The audience sees both shoulders, a side view of the head, both legs and arms, but the rest of the body is in profile. Within the categories of alus and kasar, the features can be mixed and matched and there are many shades of possibility in between the two poles. One feature cannot be read by itself but only in combination with all other features. The stylistic iconography is born out of practicality—there is a conscious effort to communicate with the audience as completely as possible.
In Bali, however, gender connects to the available range of refinement; for example, an ogre would be kasar and a prince would be alus. Most women characters are limited to alus. In casting, women often play refined male roles in dance dramas and men monopolize the kasar ones. The scale of alus and kasar suggests why I was able to study and perform wayang kulit in Bali with little obstacle. I am female and often strove to act according to the codes of conduct for women in Bali (I dressed conservatively, did not drink alcohol in public, did not smoke, and so on). As a foreigner, however, I also had greater opportunity to occupy a kasar place and to effectively perform those characters. For example, most Balinese undergo teeth filing “to distance themselves further from the fanged animal world” (Emigh and Hunt 1992, 204). I had not undergone such a ceremony. A Balinese woman as dalang risked disharmony with the characters of the puppets according to the precepts of alus and kasar, a danger that I, as a foreigner, did not share.
Within Balinese philosophy there is the idea of “Tat twan asi,” or “Thou art that,” meaning “that every individual potentially contains within himself or herself the entire universe” (Emigh and Hunt 1992, 203). In wayang, the kayonan dance demonstrates balance between the different dimensions of the universe as it moves around the screen. The body of the dalang begins the performance by connecting to the physical and invisible worlds; enacting balance through motion. Movements on the left are matched with movements on the right, and there is also balance in how the kayonan moves between the top and the bottom of the screen. Pak Tunjung often adjusted my hand in order to facilitate this balance; I did not automatically create the same movement on the right and left but had to practice it again and again. When I first learned this section, often on the right side, the tip of the kayonan tended to slip too far down while on the left it stood up too straight. The next important motion of the kayonan dance I learned was to spin the puppet in the palm of my hand. Pak Tunjung demonstrated how I needed to set the point of the stick in the center of my palm while wrapping my fingers around the upper part of the stick. I needed to balance the kayonan in my right hand while using my fingers to make it twirl off toward the sides of the stage. During this twirling, I again used the cepala in my left hand to knock against the puppet box. All these elements needed to work together.
Most of my lessons were during the day, without an oil lamp. Finally, when we rehearsed with the lamp, I had to again learn how to adjust my body to complete the motions with something hanging directly in front of my face (fig. 2.5). I found that I needed to watch both the puppet in motion and the shadow being created on the screen. Twirling the kayonan near the lamp forced me to be aware of my body in relation to the puppet in a new way. The puppet’s motions were no longer just about the motions; I now needed to watch the result of those motions, and the shadow was the visible result of the invisible intention that resided in my body.
Figure 2.5. The oil lamp hangs in front of the dalang’s face. Photo by author.
As the dance of the kayonan is completed, the dalang and his assistants take out the rest of the puppets from the box and put them into their places around the stage. There is another section of the kayonan dancing before the puppet characters enter the scene and begin the story. The entrance of the puppets is called Alas Arum and is accompanied by music and a song. The length of the song can be adjusted depending on the number of characters entering. The version that Pak Tunjung taught me for Arjuna Tapa is:
Alas Arum
rahina tatas kemantian humuni
Every morning the gamelan music begins to play.
mredanga kala sangka gurnitan tara
The voices of the instruments are beautiful to hear.
gumuruh ikang gubar bala samuha
The sound of the crashing cymbals brings everyone together.
(Arjuna enters.)
Mangkata pada nguwuh seruh rumuhun
And the one with the thunderous voice progresses to the front of the line.
(Arjuna ties his sash and fixes his crown.)
Para ratu sampun ahyas asalin
The kings change into their grand clothes.
(Twalen enters.)
Lumanpaha pada hawan rata parimita
He that drives the chariot is without compare.
(Merdah enters.)
Arjuna is the first character to enter from the dalang’s right. Pak Tunjung demonstrated how I must combine singing, the motion of the puppet, and the percussion of the cepala in this short sequence. He taught me this section by taking my hand and allowing me to feel the movements in my body; he wanted me to sense the tension of the puppet on the screen. When Arjuna stopped moving, Pak Tunjung pressed down on my hand, pushing the Arjuna puppet into the screen, and then quickly he relaxed the pressure. Next he tilted my hand in order to make Arjuna look down. “Arjuna is looking at the place around him,” explained Pak Tunjung, “he is acknowledging the world that he has entered into.” Arjuna then slowly moved counterclockwise, to the right side of the screen. The characters who are the heroes of the
