12 October 2013
Bhutan

Project creator/conductor - Aaron Carpene

Stage director - Stefano Vizioli

Project coordinator - Preston Scott

Buddha meets Hercules

Buddha and Hercules, 2nd Century AD

Some people are scratching their heads over the idea of performing a Baroque opera in the middle of the Himalayas. I must admit, it is a little unusual, not the kind of thing that happens every day especially when you consider that opera is an expensive art form and it is in this case aimed at an audience that has never seen an opera before. You could argue that the money be better spent, that the West goes its way and the East the other ... or rather in this internet age, that we all keep hurtling towards a generalized uniformity of identity at the expense of individual or ethnic identities that will become either quaint or nostalgic has-beens.

What will be lost is destined to be ... but I think money and energy need to be spent to celebrate at the same time our glorious life form as human beings, that which brings us all together under the same umbrella, and also our uniqueness, as individuals or collective groups.

I was most surprised to discover the other day that, in a certain sense, this project has an astounding precedent to be found in the ancient civilization of Gandhara around the 1st and 2nd centuries AD. Gandhara was a region that extended between north-west India and Afghanistan. At this point in history, thanks to the conquests of Alexander the Great some 300 years prior, a community of Greeks settled here and introduced their Hellenistic culture.

Up until this moment, the figure of Buddha had never been represented in sculpture or painting. The Greeks however brought with them their art of sculpture and in one of the most amazing expressions of syncretism, they produced what are thought to be the very first images of Buddha. Anyone familiar with Greek sculpture will immediately recognize the attention given to the human form, the way the clothes drape over the body and the Greek facial and hair features that betray their origins.

Looking at the image at the top of the post, the strangely natural juxtaposition of Hercules and Buddha, quintessential expressions of the West and the East, is a true inspiration for this project.

Buddha from the 1st century AD, Gandhara

Impermanence

Only the stone carcass remains of what was once a majestic Himalayan fortress that towered on a mountain spur domineering the confluence of two rivers. In two days a devastating fire tore through the timber structures while a helpless community watched and saved what precious relics they could. 

A harsh example of a theme central to Buddhist thought and spirituality, the impermanence of life.

My first encounter with impermanence from a Buddhist point of view was in Washington DC, Summer of 2008. In that year, Bhutan was the guest nation of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, and all aspects of Bhutanese life, from cooking, woodworking, dancing and singing, playing and praying was rallied together in a showcase that more than delighted the visitor.

One of the activities was the creation of a mandala. Two or three monks sat around the designated area with fists clutching a few grains of coloured sand that was dexterously trickled, grain by grain, to form the intricate geometrical and pictorial designs that made up the large sacred circle. Fifteen days of patient work was needed for the assembly, after which it was proudly held up to the admiration of onlookers. A person from the crowd enquired if the artwork was for sale, and to their surprise they were informed that it wasn’t. Once completed it was to be thrown into the river: such is the way with sand mandalas. The disappointed bidder, certain of its commercial and artistic value, was astonished that such painstaking work was with one toss returned to a primordial chaotic state.

The gentle monks - if bemused they were masters of composure - explained the true nature of their creation, a metaphor for the impermanence of life, that nothing is forever and everything in nature is subject to change.

We all know about transience in our everyday lives. A flower that is picked and placed in a vase soon looses its verve, the petals start to drop or it withers and shrivels before our eyes. Our dismay at mortality is tempered simply by obtaining another flower. On a vaster scale, much less easy to elaborate, is the loss of a Bhutanese Dzong, a lamentable disaster that pierces the very heart of a society to which it represents more than just a topographical landmark, and to the occasional traveller who has seen them, a feeling of shock and distress, a sense of loss to all humanity, if Bhutanese art and architecture can be counted as one of it's most beautiful creations.

For the visitor in Bhutan the long and winding drive from the capital Thimphu towards the east presents an astonishing variety of panoramas, from the majestic views of the Himalayan peaks towards Tibet to the sub-tropical lower lands of Wangdue Phodrang where mango and banana trees grow amidst rice paddies. After the clear terse air of the higher altitudes, the warm and humid climate in this area reminds you that the hot plains of the Indian subcontinent are not too far away.

The road winds gently down along the Punatshang Chuu river reaching a corner from where the first sight of the Wangdue Dzong opens to the spectator. Strutting a narrow mountain spur it dominates the rugged mountainous terrain. One can easily understand why it was founded in 1638 by Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyel. According to legend it was named after a young boy, Wangdi, whom he met playing by the river. Its role was military and strategic in hindering invasion of from the South and controlling the routes to Punakha, Trongsa and Thimphu.

Entering into Wangdue dzong for the first time three years ago, I was immediately struck by its peculiar atmosphere, quite different from the regal Punakha Dzong or the busy administrative centre of the capital’s Trashichho Dzong. In the first large courtyard, I was greeted by silence and emptiness and the only immediate apparent life forms was a magnificent rooster and a couple of hens. It was clear that this building was much the same as it had been for many many years and the sensation of a direct contact with the past, not yet altered by restorations, gave the building a sense of charm and fascination.

The second courtyard astounded, for it showed the legendary and virtuosic craftsmanship of carpentry techniques particular to the Bhutanese. Dzongs, like many other traditional buildings, use no masterplan during the construction phase; a high lama establishes the structure and its dimensions by means of spiritual inspiration. The complex woodwork is assembled without nails, wooden beams are cut to size and interlocked to produce the sturdy structure required for protection and shelter. The dzong is then painted and decorated according to specific traditional parametres, transforming the building into a colourful statement of Buddhist symbolism.

The dzong performs a dual function in Bhutanese society. It is both the political administrative centre of a region as well as the spiritual centre. The buildings around the first courtyard are normally reserved for the town’s municipality while the inner courtyards embody the spiritual activities. It is the part which fits the description of a monastery, inhabited by monks who perform their services in its sacred temples. The silence of the dzong was broken by the occasional group of young monks who appeared in their deep red robes and added to the spectacle of colour.

On June 24^th 2012, all this disappeared in a raging fire. Two things positive eventuated, there were no victims and, thanks to the restoration work that was already in progress, most of the precious sacred objects had been stored away in safety or were able to be saved before consumed by fire.

Impermanence implies a cycle of creation and destruction, life and death. Surely the end of things leave their mark in our hearts and memories, but we turn the page and look forward to the renewal of that which is lost. 

Restoration work, January 2012

© photos by Aaron Carpene

Storytime

The story of Acis and Galatea is one of the many episodes from the poetic masterpiece Metamorphoses. It was completed in AD 8 by the poet Ovid and is a description of the world from the creation to the deification of Julius Caesar. It's recurrent and constant theme is Love, in all its manifestations. 

The touching account of Acis and Galatea's doomed love is related by Galatea herself, and we the readers are eavesdroppers as she confides in her best friend, Scylla ... the future monster of the strait of Messina!

Enjoy the passage from Book XIII in the translation by Anthony S. Kline.

Bk XIII:738-788 Acis and Galatea

Scylla combs Galatea's hair while she tells her moving story.
Salomon-Solis Illustration Cycles 1557-1591

    Once while Galatea let Scylla comb her hair, she addressed these words to her, sighing often: ‘At least, O virgin Scylla, you are not wooed by a relentless breed of men: and you can reject them without fear, as you do. But I, whose father is Nereus, and whose mother is sea-green Doris, I, though protected by a crowd of sisters, was not allowed to flee the love of Polyphemus, the Cyclops, except through sorrow’, and tears stopped the sound of her voice. When the girl had wiped away the tears with her white fingers, and the goddess was comforted, she said: ‘Tell me, O dearest one: do not hide the cause of your sadness (I can be so trusted)’ The Nereid answered Crateis’s daughter in these words: ‘Acis was the son of Faunus and the nymph Symaethis, a great delight to his father and mother, but more so even to me, since he and I alone were united. He was handsome, and having marked his sixteenth birthday, a faint down covered his tender cheeks. I sought him, the Cyclops sought me, endlessly. If you asked, I could not say which was stronger in me, hatred of Cyclops, or love of Acis, both of them were equally strong.

    Oh! Gentle Venus, how powerful your rule is over us! How that ruthless creature, terrifying even to the woods themselves, whom no stranger has ever seen with impunity, who scorns mighty Olympus and its gods, how he feels what love is, and, on fire, captured by powerful desire, forgets his flocks and caves. Now Polyphemus, you care for your appearance, and are anxious to please, now you comb your bristling hair with a rake, and are pleased to cut your shaggy beard with a reaping hook, and to gaze at your savage face in the water and compose its expression. Your love of killing, your fierceness, and your huge thirst for blood, end, and the ships come and go in safety.

    Meanwhile, Telemus the augur, Telemus, the son of Eurymus, whom no flight of birds could deceive, came to Sicilian Mount Aetna, addressed grim Polyphemus, and said: “Ulysses will take from you, that single eye in the middle of your forehead.” He laughed, and answered: “O most foolish of seers, you are wrong, another, a girl, has already taken it.” So he scorned the true warning, given in vain, and weighed the coast down, walking with giant tread, or returned weary to his dark cave.

    A wedge-shaped hillside, ending in a long spur, projects into the sea (the waves of the ocean wash round it on both sides). The fierce Cyclops climbed to it, and sat at its apex, and his woolly flocks, shepherd-less, followed. Then laying at his feet the pine trunk he used as a staff, fit to carry a ship’s rigging, he lifted his panpipes made of a hundred reeds. The whole mountain felt the pastoral notes, and the waves felt them too. Hidden by a rock, I was lying in my Acis’s arms, and my ears caught these words, and, having heard them, I remembered:’

Bk XIII:789-869 The song of Polyphemus

    ‘Galatea, whiter than the snowy privet petals, 
     taller than slim alder, more flowery than the meadows,
     friskier than a tender kid, more radiant than crystal,
     smoother than shells, polished, by the endless tides;
     more welcome than the summer shade, or the sun in winter, 
     showier than the tall plane-tree, fleeter than the hind;  
     more than ice sparkling, sweeter than grapes ripening,
     softer than the swan’s-down, or the milk when curdled,
     lovelier, if you did not flee, than a watered garden.
    Galatea, likewise, wilder than an untamed heifer,
    harder than an ancient oak, trickier than the sea;
    tougher than the willow-twigs, or the white vine branches,
    firmer than these cliffs, more turbulent than a river,
    vainer than the vaunted peacock, fiercer than the fire; 
    more truculent than a pregnant bear, pricklier than thistles,
    deafer than the waters, crueller than a trodden snake;
    and, what I wish I could alter in you, most of all, is this:
    that you are swifter than the deer, driven by loud barking,
    swifter even than the winds, and the passing breeze.

    But if you knew me well, you would regret your flight, and you would condemn your own efforts yourself, and hold to me: half of the mountain is mine, and the deep caves in the natural rock, where winter is not felt nor the midsummer sun. There are apples that weigh down the branches, golden and purple grapes on the trailing vines. Those, and these, I keep for you. You will pick ripe strawberries born in the woodland shadows, in autumn cherries and plums, not just the juicy blue-purples, but also the large yellow ones, the colour of fresh bees’-wax. There will be no lack of fruit from the wild strawberry trees, nor from the tall chestnuts: every tree will be there to serve you.

    This whole flock is mine, and many are wandering the valleys as well, many hidden by the woods, many penned in the caves. If you asked me I could not tell you how many there are: a poor man counts his flocks. You can see, you need not merely believe me, how they can hardly move their legs with their full udders. There are newborn lambs in the warn sheepfolds, and kids too, of the same age, in other pens, and I always have snow-white milk: some of it kept for drinking, and some with rennet added to curdle it.

    You will not have vulgar gifts or easily found pleasures, such as leverets, or does, or kids, or paired doves, or a nest from the treetops. I came upon twin cubs of a shaggy bear that you can play with: so alike you can hardly separate them. I came upon them and I said: “I shall keep these for my mistress.”

    Now Galatea, only lift your shining head from the dark blue sea: come, do not scorn my gifts. Lately, I examined myself, it’s true, and looked at my reflection in the clear water, and, seeing my self, it pleased me. Look how large I am: Jupiter, in the sky, since you are accustomed to saying some Jove or other rules there, has no bigger a body. Luxuriant hair hangs over my face, and shades my shoulders like a grove. And do not consider it ugly for my whole body to be bristling with thick prickly hair. A tree is ugly without its leaves: a horse is ugly unless a golden mane covers its neck: feathers hide the birds: their wool becomes the sheep: a beard and shaggy hair befits a man’s body. I only have one eye in the middle of my forehead, but it is as big as a large shield. Well? Does great Sol not see all this from the sky? Yet Sol’s orb is unique.

    Added to that my father, Neptune, rules over your waters: I give you him as a father-in-law. Only have pity, and listen to my humble prayers! I, who scorn Jove and his heaven and his piercing lightning bolt, submit to you alone: I fear you, Nereid: your anger is fiercer than lightning. And I could bear this contempt of yours more patiently, if you fled from everyone. But why, rejecting Cyclops, love Acis, and prefer Acis’s embrace to mine? Though he is pleased with himself, and, what I dislike, pleases you too, Galatea, let me just have a chance at him. Then he will know I am as strong as I am big! I’ll tear out his entrails while he lives, rend his limbs and scatter them over the fields, and over your ocean, (so he can join you!) For I am on fire, and, wounded, I burn with a fiercer flame, and I seem to bear Aetna with all his violent powers sunk in my breast, yet you, Galatea, are unmoved.’

Bk XIII:870-897 Acis is turned into a river-god

    ‘With such useless complaints he rose (for I saw it all) and as a bull that cannot stay still, furious when the cow is taken from it, he wanders through the woods and glades. Not anticipating such a thing, without my knowing, he saw me, and saw Acis. “I see you,” he cried, “and I’ll make this the last celebration of your love.” His voice was as loud as an angry Cyclops’s voice must be: Aetna shook with the noise. And I, terrified, plunged into the nearby waters. My hero, son of Symaethis, had turned his back, and ran, crying: “Help me, I beg you, Galatea! Forefathers, help me, admit me to your kingdom or I die!”

    Cyclops followed him and hurled a rock wrenched from the mountain, and though only the farthest corner of the stone reached him, it still completely buried Acis. Then I, doing the only thing that fate allowed me, caused Acis to assume his ancestral powers. From the rock, crimson blood seeped out, and in a little while its redness began to fade, became the colour of a river at first swollen by rain, gradually clearing. Then the rock, that Polyphemus had hurled, cracked open, and a tall green reed sprang from the fissure, and the mouth of a chamber in the rock echoed with leaping waters, and (a marvel) suddenly a youth stood, waist-deep in the water, his fresh horns wreathed with rushes. It was Acis, except that he was larger, and his face dark blue: yet it was still Acis, changed to a river-god, and his waters still retain his former name.

The Story of the Dramnyen

Six and half strings

- the story of how one of the strings of the Bhutanese lute was shortened.

The Bhutanese Drangyen, or lute, has the unique distinction of having six and a half strings referred to as drays, which produce seven different scales.

Ap Dawpey (85), master traditional musician shared an oral story of how one of the strings was lowered.

Long ago, they lived seven dakinis. Every spring they would descend down to earth to bathe in a pool of water in the middle of a lush meadow bordered by snow peaked mountains.

A young shepherd, an orphan who lived nearby, used this idyllic meadow as pasture for his sheep. 

One day, after taking a nap under a willow tree, the shepherd awakes only to find a find a lute on the ground next to him.

Rubbing his eyes in disbelief he plucks a string and a beautiful melody flows forth. He plucks more strings and is enthralled by the music.

Meanwhile, the seven beautiful angels were enjoying their bath and playing happily in the water nearby.

The shepherd is excited with his new toy and immediately rounds up the sheep to take them home to the barn. On the way he passes by the pool and notices the seven beautiful women bathing in the pool, but he shows no interest in them.

After putting the sheep in the barn, the shepherd goes up to the attic of the barn and hides his new possession. Every night he would climb up to the attic to play the lute at the stroke of midnight.

The youngest angel decided to allow the orphan boy to keep the lute on the condition that he was not to play the instrument or show it to other people under any circumstance.

She told him that every night he was to play for her. He could beckon her by strumming the lute, that would be her a cue to appear to him in the attic of the barn.

So every night the young angel would sneak down and spend the entire night listening to the young boy play the lute. At the sound of the rooster crowing, the angel would disappear.

As the story goes, the blessings of the lute made the poor boy rich. He became as rich as the king in his valley and he kept the contract with the young dakini.

In the same valley but on the other side of the river, lived a powerful king who fathered the most beautiful women in the kingdom. His youngest daughter was said to be his favorite. Every night the sound of the lute flowed into the air and the wind carried the melodies gently to the distance kingdom. Soon the music enveloped the princess and she became obsessed with it and would spend the whole night listening to the music.

On her 21^st birthday, the king wanted the musician to play for his daughter and sent his men across the river to search for the musician, which they did.

Soon the king had a bridge built over the river, and the princesses started visiting the musician. She called him uncle.

The princesses also arranged an archery match for the man who loved to sing and dance. The princesses were so curious that they inspected his house, opening and closing the door several times, and noticed a lute behind the door.

The princess was delighted and in her joyful mood, she strummed the strings of the lute and the dakini appeared. In dismay, she realized the presence of other people the dakini immediately, cut all seven of the strings of the lute and then she disappeared.

That night, at the stroke of midnight the shepherd picked up his lute to play and noticed that the strings had been cut and he became anxious.

After that evening he started to become poor and in a short time he had nothing. He realized what had happened, so the next spring he hid in the meadow and waited for the dakinis to take their bath.

When they appeared, the young man confronted the youngest angel and pleaded, “please fix the strings,” to which she replied no.

The young boy was adamant and continued to please with the dakini who reasoned, “If I had not cut the strings that day, I would have died from all of the impurity caused by betrayal.”

He persisted, and so finally the dakini, consented to string the lute again but this time she lowered one; to remind him of the breach of trust.

The story of the Crocodile

All the old lutes in the country have a crocodile carved as the head. Ap Dawpey explained the reason why traditional lutes have this animal.

In the old days all lute players went insane. No one knew why, so they consulted Sha Gyalp (King of the East).  

According to Bhutanese myths each direction has a king whose responsibility is to protect the kingdom.

For example, the king of the east is known as the Sha Gyalp’s and it is said that his voice is so powerful that every time he speaks it destroys nything that came its way. As a result, he had to remain silent till he discovered that he could convey his information through the lute.

So the Sha Gyalp uses the Dramnyen to relay his messages, even though he is neither a great musician nor a singer.

Through the lute, the Sha Gyalp explained that the melody of the lute had attracted demons.

Like the people, the demons also became enthralled by the music and they would come up as close as the knees of the lute players.

Since they were invisible, the lute players never noticed but because of the negative energy they brought anyone in their proximity would go insane.

 As a remedial measure, the Sha Gyalp instructed that all lute were to have the head of the crocodile with horns and beaks as a figurehead to ward off these negative forces.

This way, even if the melody of the lute attracted demons, the sight of the crocodile would keep them at a safe distance.

Today we find many of the modern lutes carved with heads of different animals. Bhutan’s master traditional musician Ap Dawpey is concerned and remarked, “The carpenters who make these modern lute’s must be educated on the history of the lute.”

Contributed by Tshering Tashi

The Mystery of the Sacred Scrolls

Tshering Tashi reports from Bhutan on the mysterious disappearance of unique and priceless sacred scrolls containing rare traditional song lyrics and mask dance instructions. Tshering is well-known as the co-author of 'Bold Bhutan Beckons' together with the Hon. Tim Fischer, the former Australian Deputy Prime Minister, and Ambassador to the Holy See. 

«The statue of Zahbdrung Jigme Chogyal-the patron of classical music in Bhutan. Photo: Ugyen Wangdi

Agay Dhendup is revered as the father of zhungdra or classical music.  His grandson, Zhabdrung Jigme Chogyal (1862-1903), who became the patron of this genre, is credited with its popularisation.

Unlike traditional lyricists and dance masters, Agay Dhendup took care of having his lyrics and guidelines for mask dancers written down in two separate manuscripts.  These documents were kept in Talo village in the Punakha valley.  As they were rolled, they are known as the shogdril.

The villagers of Talo consider these two scrolls sacred and a treasure of the village.  For a long time, the villagers looked after the 100-year old manuscripts.  These two documents may be the only of its kind and today they are missing.

History

Like many treasures in the country, the scrolls have also been kept out of the general public view, but many elders of Talo admit to seeing it.  One of them is Ap Dopay (80), the premier zhungdra expert.

According to him traditionally the Tse-poem, or lead female singer, had the responsibility of looking after these two sacred documents.

Since the lead singer was from his family, they looked after these historical documents for many years, in accordance with the tradition; while the ownership always rested with the monastery.

Few years ago, breaking from tradition, the custody of the scrolls was reverted to the monastery. Although it was registered as a property of the monastery, Ap Dopay now fears that these documents may no longer be there.

The Scrolls

When the manuscripts were in his family’s possession Ap Dopay, 80, said he tried to study it, but found it hard to decipher the script, as it was written in Umi or classical Tibetan text.

Both manuscripts were written on daphne paper using traditional ink.  The scrolls are rolled and placed in bamboo for safekeeping.

Like other elders in the village, Ap Dopay believes that Agay Dhendup did not personally write the lyrics or the guidelines.  They believe that he dictated it to his clerk.

Who was Agay?

Agay or grandfather Dhendup was the maternal grandfather of the mind reincarnation of the Zhabdrung.

He was a lyricist for most of the Bhutanese classic songs.  He also composed several mask dances that are still performed exclusively by Talops and only in Talo.  He lived in Talo monastery, which was the seat of his grandson.

 The Patron

Zhabdrung died when he was 41 but, during his short life, managed to propagate his grandfather’s songs and dances. “I won’t live long but the zhungdras will carry on my legacy,” Ap Dopay shared a quote of Zhabdrung.

There are oral stories in Talo of how Zhabdrung Chogyal in his Sung Chenm or last word, instructed his younger brother Mepham Kuenga Dra to perform the dances composed by their grandfather every year during the festival of Talo.

In the small circle of zhungdra lovers, the mind reincarnate is credited for strengthening the foundations of classical music laid down by his grandfather Agay Dhendup.

The Mystery

When asked about the whereabouts of the scrolls, Ap Dopay confidently said it is somewhere in the village, but definitely not in the monastery, where it should be. “The custodian will only step forward, if the government announces some incentive,” he said.

He said that, about 10 years ago, one of the villagers brought one of the scrolls of Agay Dhendup to him in Thimphu.  It was in bad shape with many holes in it.  The villager felt that he was in a position to help repair it.

The scroll was the one with the guidelines for mask dancers.  Ap Dopay said, with the help of a Dzongkha expert, they managed to decipher part of it, which was about the entitlements of the dancers.

He was surprised with the amount of details and thought gone into preparing such a document.  For example, the scrolls mentions the atsara or clown be given x number of pork fat slices, and x amount of rice.

Ap Dopay tried to get help to conserve it but got sick before he could.  When he consulted his astrologer, it was pointed out that the source of his sickness was the old document.

Adhering to the astrologer’s advice, Ap Dopay, whose situation was worsening, and fearing dire consequences, immediately sent the scroll back to Talo village.

Zhungdra

Following the will of the patron of the classical music, Agay Dhendup’s songs and dances are performed every year during the annual festival of Talo.  People, who have witnessed it, say it is the finest of the genre.

The Talops have become custodians of these songs and dances.  Generations have been performing these compositions and yet struggle to perfect it and find it hard to comprehend its depth.

Ap Dopay has been supervising these dances for as long as he can remember.  He has taken personal responsibility to orchestrate them, and ensure that no external influence or alteration is made to these dances.

It is apparent that the shogdrils are not only the treasure of Talo but also a national treasure.  Collective effort must be made to locate these two important manuscripts before it is too late.

Contributed by 

Tshering Tashi 

The Hon. Tim Fischer and Tshering Tashi co-authors of 'Bold Bhutan Beckons'. Picture: JOHN RUSSELL

The Old Main, University of Texas in El Paso 1917

The El Paso Connection

Whenever I speak of Opera Bhutan and the collaboration with the University of Texas in El Paso, people are always amazed and intrigued at how three Cartesian geographic coordinates that are Rome, Bhutan and El Paso could have any relation whatsoever to each other. But this is one of the fascinating aspects of this project, that it has succeeded to bring together the most unlikely elements, each one so different from the other but through this project will demonstrate the ability to work together.

Coming back to El Paso, to solve the mystery as to how this city nestled in the mountains of the Chihuahuan Desert in far west Texas on the U.S.-Mexico border fits in to the Opera Bhutan project, I quote from the UTEP – University of Texas in El Paso - introductory booklet:

“UTEP was founded in 1914 as the Texas State School of Mines and Metallurgy, and the inspiration for its architecture is credited to Kathleen Worrell, wife of the School’s first dean, who was fascinated with a photo-essay on Bhutan that appeared in the April 1914 issue of National Geographic magazine.

The bridge leading to the Paro Dzong
National Geographic, April 1914

The article, titled “Castles in the Air”, recounted the travels across Bhutan of British diplomat and engineer John Claude White. Accompanying the article were 74 of White’s photographs – among the first ever published of the ancient and isolated kingdom.

Persuaded by his wife that Bhutanese “dzongs” would be a good fit for his mining school’s setting in the foothills of El Paso’s Franklin Mountains, Dean Worrell had the first campus building , Old Main, constructed in this style in 1917.

The Pedestrian Overpass, UTEP

Since then, nearly all UTEP buildings have followed this theme, creating an unusual degree of architectural coherence on a U.S. university campus, and offering a glimpse of the beauty and serenity of Bhutan itself.

… Inspired by its architecture, UTEP has greatly strengthened its ties to Bhutan during the past two decades through initiatives that foster understanding and appreciation of the Bhutanese people, culture and traditions.

… The University sponsors bi-annual “Bhutan Days”, which bring performers and artisans from Bhutan to the campus to interact with UTEP students, faculty and staff, and members of surrounding communities.

… UTEP’s special relationship with Bhutan has become more than just our architectural history and narrative. It is deeply embedded within the hearts of all who learn, teach and visit here.”

The Old Main, May 2012

The Opera Bhutan team is very proud to be a part of this amazing bilateral reality in El Paso and we are looking forward to our continuing collaboration with our Texas friends.

Aaron Carpene and Stefano Vizioli at UTEP, May 2012

Bhutan meets Italy

Some thoughts from Opera Bhutan's director, Stefano Vizioli, on sacred ceremony connections between Bhutan and the Mediterranean. See below for English translation!

Stefano Vizioli in discussion with an Atsara at the Trongsa Tsechu 2010

L’esperienza bhutanese per me è stata molto forte non solo per le novità incontrate in questo periodo di studio e analisi di una cultura cosi lontana dalla mia, ma anche e soprattutto per delle misteriose analogie con la mia storia e cultura italiana: il primo shock è stato sicuramente durante i tsechu di Trongsa, queste danze ieratiche, quasi in trance, ipnotizzanti hanno rinviato la mia memoria ad alcuni rituali della Sardegna, ci sono alcune figure che si chiamano Mamuthones, con maschere nere, coperte di pelli e con assordanti campanacci appesi, atte all’allontanamento delle potenze negative e invocanti la benedizione sul raccolto e sulle greggi. Queste maschere che rappresentano le forze della terra e degli antenati, esorcizzano quelle del male si muovono con passi cadenzati, ritmici tutti uguali, e insieme i campanacci dei Mamuthones e le loro facce nere creano uno stato di inquietudine e di disagio.

Mamuthones

La prima volta che le vidi ero bambino con i miei genitori in Sardegna dove mio padre insegnava all’università e ho avuto moltissima paura.. un senso pànico mi pervadeva i sensi.. La maschera nera che portano i Mamuthones è un mezzo di possessione, è il collegamento tra l'uomo  e dio, ed è tradizionalmente di pero selvatico perché quest'albero era sacro a Dioniso e a Persefone.

Eccitato all'idea di saperne di più su questa figura di maschera nera bhutanese ho chiesto informazioni al mio amico Kenpo Tashi , lui stesso danzatore a suo tempo  e autore di un meraviglioso e illuminante libro e guida alle cerimonie sacre bhutanesi "Invoking Happiness". la presenza di questa maschera nera appartiene al rituale detto "Bardo Cham", una danza nata intorno al XIV° secolo: 

Bardo Cham

questa danza descrive il giudizio a cui si sottopone l'anima del trapassato ed è incentrata sulla lotta tra il Dio Bianco Lha Karpo e il Demone Nero Dre Nagpo che lottano per il destino dell'anima e per il responso finale. Il demone nero indossa una terrificante maschera nera su una veste altrettanto nera sovra la quale stanno diversi pelli di capra o yak del medesimo colore e il tutto è ricoperto di campanacci: l'inquietante suono di questi bronzi sul corpo del ballerino che danza dapprima ieraticamente poi in modo sempre più frenetico e aggressivo terrorizza il pubblico presente al rito.

Bene -  ritrovare quasi la stessa figura in Bhutan è stato shockante : in uno dzong nel centro del paese asiatico, ad  una distanza geografica, temporale e culturale infinite, Dre Nagpo, demone coperto di pelli con campanacce  e il volto pietrificato nel tempo mi riportava velocemente a casa e mi faceva rivivere le mie paure di bambino.

My travels to Bhutan have been hugely inspiring and stimulating not only for the new discoveries in a culture so distant from my own but especially for the mysterious analogies with the history and culture of Italy. The first surprises arrived during the 5-day sacred ritual performances – the tsechu – of Trongsa, a small town in central Bhutan where I had the fortune of witnessing this unique festival in December 2010 and January 2012. These sacred and majestic dances, performed in a trance-like state, hypnotizing in their continual whirling and blurring of colourful costumes, transported my mind to Sardinia and some of the traditional ritual performances characteristic of this Mediterranean island. They feature a certain masked character called ‘Mamuthones’ that don black masks and are covered in the fleece of black sheep over which are draped numerous loud and clanging pastoral bells that serve to drive away negative forces and invoke the blessings upon the harvest and the herds. These masked figures, representing telluric forces and the ancestors, move together in a procession, their terrifying black faces generating an atmosphere of disquiet and unease as if we were in the presence of supernatural and demonic forces, and linked to the mystery of the afterlife.

Bardo Cham

Anxious to discover more about the identity of this black-masked Bhutanese figure, I discussed it with my friend Khenpo Phuntsok Tashi, himself a former tsechu dancer and the author of a wonderful and informative guide to the sacred festivals in Bhutan, ‘Invoking Happiness’. The appearance of this masked figure occurs in the Bardo Cham – The Intermediate-state Dance, that originated in the 14th century. The dance describes the judgement of the newly-deceased. The White God Lha Karpo and the Black Demon Dre Nagpo exert their influences over the destiny of the soul. The Black Demon wears a terrifying black mask, black garments, with wild long black animal fur and a string of bells that cross his chest. The sound frightens sinful persons during the fast-paced and agressive dance.

The first time I saw them I was a very young boy with my parents in Sardinia where my father taught at the university in Cagliari. I remember feeling terrified and I was overwhelmed by a sense of panic. The black mask that the Mamuthones wear reflects a state of being possessed. It is a link between man and god and was traditionally made from pear wood as this tree was sacred to Dionysius and Proserpine. 

And so, to discover almost the same masked figure in Bhutan completely shocked me: in a dzong in the middle of the Himalayas at a infinite temporal and cultural distance, Dre Nagpo, the demon covered with black fleece and bells, whose face was petrified in time, transported me back home to relive my childhood fears.