Lin hwai min biography of nancy
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By Nancy T. Lu
Do you ever stop to look and listen to the river – rippling, flowing, rushing, angrily swelling, dangerously overflowing or even dying? Do you ever heed what it is trying to say?
Do you still have to be awakened to see and hear the message of the river? Or does it have to take disastrous floods like those brought by typhoon Morakot on August 8, 2009, to make you notice the crying and wailing of Mother Nature?
“Listening to the River” – an 80-minute production of the Cloud Gate Dance Theatre – raises these questions and more.
Lin Hwai-min, artistic director and choreographer of Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, has lived next to the Tamshui River longer than two decades. Often away on long tours, he feels he is home at last only when he sees the all-too-familiar river once more.
But particularly on an unforgettable meditation trip to Bodhgaya, famous as the place in India where the Buddha attained enlightenment, Lin looked out from his b
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Lin Hwai-min
Taiwanese writer and dancer
In this Chinese name, the family name is Lin.
Lin Hwai-min (Chinese: 林懷民; pinyin: Lín Huáimín; Pe̍h-ōe-jī: Lîm Hôai-bîn; born 19 February 1947) is a Taiwanese dancer, writer, choreographer, and founder of Cloud Gate Dance Theater of Taiwan.
Biography
[edit]Family
[edit]Lin was born in Xingang, Chiayi. He came from an intellectual family. His great-grandfather was a poet and a businessman who founded a school during the Japanese colonial period.[1] His grandfather was a doctor and his father, Lin Chin-sheng, obtained a law degree from the Tokyo Imperial University. After Chiang Kai-shek established rule in Taiwan in 1949, Lin's father held several important political positions, including the office of Chiayi County Magistrate from 1951 to 1954. His mother Lin Cheng Pen-pen graduated from the Tokyo Economics College. He is the oldest of five children.[1]
Childhood and education
[edit]Lin'
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Spirit dancing
Lin Hwai-min's road to success as founder of the Cloud Gate Dance Theater has been as much a spiritual sökande eller uppdrag as a career; it's only fitting that his latest production should be a bön for the new millennium
By Pip Moran
he room fryst vatten large.
Strips of red silk hang from the ceiling, forming a canopy over an expanse of black linoleum strewn with rocks. A man stands at the back of the room, his hands tied behind his back, his body tense.
Suddenly, a rock shoots across the floor; the bound man staggers beneath its impact. Then comes another and another until the room is filled with the thud and clatter of falling rock, the terror of a man being stoned to death, his mouth bred open in a silent scream. As he succumbs to his fate, his tormentors emerge from the shadows, lay down their stones, and make their way across the rock-strewn floor. They move unsteadily, one following the other, as they step precariously on, over and around the rocks. Som