of the nation, and the natural creativity of Balinese artists. Some forms become popular and remain as new “traditions,” while others may exist for only a brief moment. In Bali, art forms exist and move along a dynamic scale between religious and secular, or kaja and kelod (indicating the mountain and the sea respectively). Constant adjustments within arts reflect Balinese cosmology, which favors balance and harmony, or rwa bhineda. The relationship is circular—“while the performing arts themselves are also subject to social change, acts of performance are simultaneously employed to further the understanding of what constitutes harmony in the modern world as well as restore it” (Diamond 2012, 92). Tradition changes to mirror a continuously evolving society.
Since the start of the twenty-first century, the idea of tradition has undergone several notable changes in Bali. Tradition as vital to Balinese societal well-being came sharply into focus after the bombings in a Kuta nightclub on October 12, 2002. Many writing for the press and within the government felt that the Balinese had suffered this calamity because they had wandered too far from traditional values, religion, and culture and that in order to both heal and move forward the Balinese must look to the past. This return to the past has been dubbed ajeg,1 a word that is difficult to translate directly, but now the emphasis on balanced harmony stresses stasis rather than fluid change. Ajeg Bali has been invoked in order to justify architectural styles, religious imperatives, gender relations, political movements, and recently the term is used in discriminatory actions against the large number of immigrants from other parts of Indonesia who are looking to share in Bali’s thriving economy. Ajeg is not so much a longing to return to the past but rather a desire for stability in an era of rapid change. Tradition, then, becomes a litmus test for and marker of that stability. Of course, not all Balinese subscribe to the ajeg Bali doctrine, and I did not directly encounter the term in relation to wayang kulit during the course of my research. However, it is necessary to mention it here as part of a larger conversation within Balinese society as it struggles to maintain unique identity and values against many different forces including tourism, Indonesian nationalism, globalization, and modernization.
Traditional performance provides the Balinese a means for situating themselves in relationship to the world. Performance is often synonymous with culture in Bali. Angela Hobart offers the typical view of wayang kulit as tradition:
It is the most esteemed and conservative theatre form and hence its dramatic and aesthetic principles link it to other dance-dramas, statues, reliefs, and traditional painting. Of these the shadow play is regarded as the original form. Through these various manifestations the villager is able to probe and analyze his assumptions of self, in a world which is increasingly affected by modern trends, while retaining his human dignity. (1987, 14–15)
In practice, wayang kulit as tradition means that each performance follows certain conventions and structures.2 At night, Balinese wayang kulit is performed against a screen made of white cloth that measures about six feet across and is outlined in a red or black border.3 The dalang, or puppeteer, brings his own screen to the performance area, where the sponsoring family or village has either constructed a booth or erected a stage for the performance (fig. 2.1), and a frame is built out of bamboo for the dalang to affix his screen and hang his lamp. The dalang sticks his puppets into or leans them against the banana logs along the bottom and sides of the stage. Although electricity is sometimes used, an oil lamp that hangs right in front of the dalang’s face is still the preferred method of illumination. A microphone now is commonly affixed to the lamp to amplify the dalang’s voice. Four gender wayang, small metallophones, typically accompany the performance, although some genres of wayang will use a larger gamelan ensemble. Musicians and assistants sit behind and to the side of the dalang while most of the audience watches the shadows projected onto the other side of the screen. Each of these elements is symbolic: the screen is the world; the puppets are all the physical and spiritual things that exist in that world; the banana log is the earth; the lamp is the sun—it allows there to be day and night; the music represents harmony and the interrelationships of all things in the universe; and the dalang, invisible behind the screen, resembles a god presiding over everything (Hobart 1987, 128–29).
Figure 2.1. The assistant hangs the screen in preparation for a wayang kulit performance. Photo by author.
Wayang kulit is often described by other scholars, as well as many of the Balinese I met, as a microcosm of Balinese society, culture, and ideals, because a wayang kulit performance instructs its audience on matters of morality, politics, and philosophy. Wayang kulit also functions as a form of offering to the gods. Balinese Hinduism divides the world into three parts: the lower realm of “bad” spirits, or demons; the middle realm that we live in; and the upper realm of the “good” spirits, or gods (Lansing 1983, 52). Balinese cosmology does not privilege gods over demons in the same way Christianity does, because there is no struggle for one side to eventually win out over the other. Instead there is a recognition of the importance of both kinds of power; much of Balinese religious activity, including wayang kulit, is centered on bringing these opposing forces into balance. Anthropologist Stephen Lansing explains how wayang negotiates religious forces within Balinese society:
To create order in the world is the privilege of the gods, but the gods themselves are animated shadows in the wayang, whom the puppeteers call to their places as the puppeteers assume the power of creation. . . . puppeteers are regarded by the Balinese as a kind of priest. However, they are priests whose aim is not to mystify with illusion, but rather to clarify the role of illusion in our perception of reality. As Wija [a well-known dalang] explained: “Wayang means shadow, reflection. Wayang is used to reflect the gods to the people, and the people to themselves.” Wayang reveals the power of language and imagination to go beyond “illumination.” To construct an order in the world which exists both in the mind and, potentially, in the outer world as well. (1983, 82–83)
It is important to remember throughout my account of wayang that it maintains this complex nature: the puppeteer is understood to be speaking for the gods and to the gods; he also functions as a kind of god himself because he has called the world of shadows into being.
Becoming a Dalang
The dalang is the ultimate performer because he4 is the one that manipulates the tradition within a wayang kulit performance and ensures that all the elements of the performance work together. He is the playwright, actor, director, orchestra conductor, musician, singer, producer, and priest all combined into one artist. He needs to be an expert in Balinese philosophy, religion, politics, and myth, as well as a talented storyteller and comedian. The dalang’s skill as a performer, together with his knowledge and perceived wisdom, make him a respected member of Balinese society. It takes a lifetime to master the art of wayang kulit, and a respected dalang is always seeking to improve his knowledge or skill.
In the past, only the son or grandson of a dalang could study wayang kulit. The knowledge about the performance passes down from one generation to the next in many formal and informal ways. For example, Nandhu, my teacher’s son, often sat nearby or on his father’s lap during my lessons. He was just a toddler but had paper puppets and a few small leather ones to play with. In general, children or others are not allowed to touch the “real,” or sacred, wayang; they can only be handled by a dalang or a student, usually an adult, of a dalang. Nandhu learned about the performance through watching his father, through play, and by telling stories with his father. Sometimes an eager youngster might be taken in by a dalang who is not his father, and the student becomes like a son to his teacher and is called anak murid, or child-student.
A major evolution in the process of becoming a dalang has been through the opportunity to study wayang kulit at the Sekolah Menengah Karawitan Indonesia (SMKI), the high school for the performing arts, and at the Institut Seni Indonesia (ISI), the
