The Rhythm Never Leaves
In November 2023, a court dancer from East Java changed my perception of being an artist forever.
A tall figure with long arms and legs, black curly hair with white strands, and a few missing teeth – my mother would have discouraged any interaction with Mas Alus. I could blame it on the trauma from what happened in 1998 between the Chinese and Native Indonesians. But I honestly think it’s the fact that Mas Alus is a non-conformist. The only things that seem to fuel him are his passion for dance, art festivals, and education, as well as clove cigarettes and black coffee.
The moment he moved his body, any first impressions I had of Mas Alus immediately shattered. What did my 26-year-old brain know compared to his 40 years of devotion to art? The moment he moved his body, Mas Alus turned from a man into a woman, an animal, a tree, and God, heaven and hell had never felt closer.
On a Wednesday afternoon in late November, I found myself standing in the basement of an arts venue in Queen Victoria Market, Melbourne. I wore a black tank top that I bought years ago for a Salsa dance class and a pair of black palazzo pants that I bought thirty minutes ago from Cotton On. I was simply adhering to an important housekeeping rule I learned in drama school years ago – always wear black or plain colours so we can focus on embodying different characters. I previewed the poster on my phone again.
Animal/God: Javanese-inspired Ecstatic Trance Workshop
Two months before, I was at the lowest phase of my life. Feeling like I wanted to die every single morning, I found solitude through an ecstatic dance community in Fitzroy. Without the expectation to impress anyone, I was able to release the accumulation of stress and anxiety in my body through dancing, in a state of flow that almost made me feel like an alien. By dancing with so much freedom, I was falling in love with myself again, and I thought joining this trance workshop would satisfy my cravings for more enlightening moments.
I greeted all the facilitators – a Malaysian trance researcher named Tony, an Indonesian shaman named Mas1 Agus, and an Indonesian court dancer named Mas Alus.
Mas Alus immediately bonded with me. We were bantering and laughing only ten minutes into our conversation, which made me feel comfortable in a new environment. After finishing the 4-day workshop, we agreed to meet up for morning coffee on Sunday at a cafe in Brunswick, only ten minutes away from where he was staying.
“So when did you start dancing?” I opened the conversation.
“Since I was 12, I knew that I loved dancing,” Mas Alus answered. “My father didn’t believe that dancing would bring me anywhere, and he insisted I become a mechanic instead. But I chose my passion. When I was in high school, I was already earning money from dancing and supporting my younger siblings. After that, I went to the best dancing school in Yogyakarta. My teacher was a student of Martha Graham. You know? The American dancer who had a great influence on modern dance? Oh, and also Pina Bausch.”
“No way, I love Pina Bausch!” I cut him off. “So you’re Pina’s secondhand student!”
Mas Alus looked amused. “Look, I am pretty bad at self-promotion. I just need someone to ask the right questions,” he said. “People can study figures like Martha, Pina, or myself, and write papers about us. As artists, we just focus on making art.”
“I am also crazy about art festivals,” Mas Alus continued. “Any income that I earned from my other gigs I would immediately invest in making art festivals. My artist friends back home would always complain about not having enough budget to make a good festival. So I challenged them. Give me whatever amount they could collect and I’d make it happen. I am so respected by my peers, nationally and internationally, that I could just convince them to help out. We ended up making festivals that were comparable to festivals with higher budgets.”
Mas Alus also shared that he got a divorce from his wife two years ago – a decision that brought him back to his hometown, away from the studio that he shared with his wife. “The studio has always belonged to her. I was only helping her build it,” he said.
“Do you miss her?” I asked.
“Do I miss her?” he repeated. “Did you know that my village had a high rate of childhood marriage?” I shook my head, although I wasn’t surprised at that reality.
“Weddings were the main source of the economy. You could get married and earn profit from it – the more you invested into the wedding, the more you’d gain in return. So kids would be married off right after they graduated from primary school or middle school. But how could you convince them there were other options to earn a decent income?
“So, one year, I decided to plan an art festival. I contacted my artist friends and invited them to my village. Throughout the festival, guests would buy food or rent motorbikes and accommodation from the locals, which drove more income in the village. The locals also received more exposure from the outside world, and what happened at the end? Eventually, more kids chose to get married after they graduated high school, and some of them even earned Bachelor’s degrees,” he explained.
“My wife and I built this together for ten years. So, do I miss her? What we had was more than just a marriage union, Vania.”
They built a new ecosystem, I thought in awe. “Is she a dancer too?” I asked.
Mas Alus nodded. “I never performed with her, except for this one time. I had to make sure that it was 100% perfect, and when we finally danced together, the audience was so moved that they cried. After that, an audience member invited us for a showcase in Europe.”
“You’re so fucking cool,” I said in disbelief. Mas Alus has not only travelled to Europe but also Africa, Asia, Southeast Asia, and Australia – all from his passion for dance.
“At the end of the day, I’m just a busker though,” he shrugged. “A poor one,” he laughed out loud.
While pursuing my creative endeavours, I quickly learned the creative scene could easily be another system in a system. I was hyper-focused on hanging out at the right places with the right people wearing the right costumes – too much attention on acting the part instead of being the part. My meeting with Mas Alus reminded me that nothing could bolster your practice if you don’t have the spirit or commitment to it.
“Once you start moving, the rhythm never leaves your body,” he said during an exercise at the workshop. “Trust that the rhythm is always there.”
In November 2023, a court dancer from East Java changed my perception of being an artist forever. Oh, he also gave me a good story to write about.
In Javanese culture, the term "Mas" is often used as a pronoun to show respect and politeness, especially when referring to an older male or someone with a higher social status.
really cool to be so close to this story :) Mas Alus is definitely one remarkable human.