Author and choreographer Muna Tseng (NYC) will construct a portrait of myth, object, and dialogue with real and imagined ancestors in It’s All True / Grandfather. Taking Tseng’s paternal grandfather as a departure point, the work spans over 300 years and examines East-West legacy, gender, personal identity and aspirations, cultural alienation and assimilation.
BAC Space Resident Artist
Muna Tseng was born and raised in Hong Kong. In Canada she began her modern dance training at age 13 with Magda and Gertrude Hanova, disciples of Mary Wigman and with Heather McCallum who worked with Anna Halprin.
Invited to New York by Jean Erdman after graduating from University of British Columbia, Tseng was a principal dancer in Erdman and her husband and mythologist Joseph Campbell’s Theatre of the Open Eye from 1978 to 1985, inherited many of Erdman’s seminal roles, dancing to originally commissioned music by John Cage, Teiji Ito, Lou Harrison, Louis Horst.
She founded Muna Tseng Dance Projects in New York City in 1984, has created over 40 productions and performed in over 30 cities and festivals in 15 countries.
Awards include the NY Dance and Performance Bessie Award for choreography/creation of SlutForArt with Ping Chong (1999); repeat choreographic fellowships from both National Endowment for the Arts (1988 and 1987); the New York Foundation for the Arts (1991 and 1987); Meet the Composer Choreographer/Composer Project Grants (1992, 1991, 1989); and many commissioning grants from New York State Council on the Arts.
Honors include "Artist of National Merit" from The Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC., "Best Choreography" for The Silver River in Philadelphia's 2000 theater season, and "Distinguished Service in the Arts" from New York City Council President Andrew Stein.
BAC Story by Karen Shimakawa
June 15, 2017
How do we know what is true, and why does it matter? In her new work in progress, It’s All True / Grandfather Muna Tseng is exploring these questions as she pieces together the remarkable life of her grandfather Toy Dong, a Chinese American merchant and the prodigious patriarch of a family that included 3 wives and 19 surviving children, and spanned an ocean and two centuries.
But rather than attempting straightforward biography, Tseng is crafting a wry commentary on “authoritative” accounts of Chinese migration, a reverie on (personal and ancestral) memory, and a meditation on loss. There is the “official” version as recounted by Bill Moyers (including the legacies of 19th-century Chinese exclusion and anti-miscegenation laws); the “official” archival documentation including birth certificate, tax returns, property deeds; the personal relics (photographs, forgotten objects and hand-me-downs) that bear traces of the lives that once animated them; the meticulously numbered account of the births of sons and daughters; and the stories recounted by those wives and offspring, translated and reinterpreted across time, space, and generations. And more: Tseng asks, how do these personal stories take shape against an unremitting backdrop of racist yellow-face images of scheming, sadistic villains and lazy coolies that have fueled the popular imaginary of what a “Chinaman” is or does? She explores the entanglement of these histories in the reconstruction of Toy Dong’s life.
With the help of collaborators Chanterelle Ribes (who portrays beautifully the fungible “ingénue” New Wife du jour) and Perry Yung (whose haunted, haunting shakuhachi pierces the layers of distanced historical accounts with a sonic “now” that can be jarring and affecting), the three performers improvise their way backward in time, toward the constantly receding figures of the globe-trotting entrepreneur Dong and his wives.
“Isn’t that hilarious?!” Tseng giggles mischievously as we listen to a snippet of faux-oriental pop music, played under projections of equally kitschy images of “Chinese-ness” gleaned from the internet: glamorous Shanghai cigarette girls from ‘30s advertisements, cartoon drawings of chubby Chinese babies, textbook illustrations of neoclassical English gardens, Pipo Nguyen-duy’s ironic self-portraits (Confederate soldier, rough-riding Teddy Roosevelt, etc.). Almost all the images and sounds Tseng chooses are “fake” — popular imagery hijacked here to tell a personal story. An established dancer-choreographer, Tseng is striking out on a new path, combining movement and visual elements with scripted text and narrative. Throughout the piece, she steps in and out of the role of director/choreographer, narrator/interpreter, and character. The movement, she says, gives her a sense of freedom and playfulness. After all, given the futility of trying to recover a definitive account of Dong’s life, what else is there to do but assemble one?
Tseng’s “playing” in the BAC studio is precisely that labor of assemblage: popular, fictional, personal, speculative, and somatic ways of “knowing” combine to create a portrait of this 19th-century Chinese American “modern man” but also of Tseng herself: the one who longs to know the mysterious grandfather who is unknowable and intimately present in/as her embodied self. “That’s history for you,” she notes near the end of the piece, followed by an exasperated (or is it irreverent?) “Ha!” She throws up her hands and dances it out, as the blinds of the Cage Cunningham Studio open and bring us (back) to the world of the living.
Karen Shimakawa is the Chair of Performance Studies at NYU Tisch School of the Arts, and an instructor in the NYU School of Law. Her research and teaching focuses on Asian American performance and critical race theory. She is the author of National Abjection: The Asian American Body Onstage and her current research focuses on the ethics and aesthetics of discomfort in performance.