Noh is the art of walking

I’m digging deep to articulate what I really feel to be at the heart of Noh Theatre. There is a suspension, a stilling of emotion, an economy with the understated flamboyance of the costumes, the elegance and expression of the masks, and the steady descent and elevation.

Noh is the art of walking. 

There is mystery in the soul of Noh; this is Yugen, the shadow, the dark poetic heart, the mystery and beauty of colour and singing.

The kata of the Noh actor is a meditation; it signifies that all that follows will be abstraction, and the rigour and beauty of this are critical to its unperturbed manifestation of turbulent spirits and suffering humans.

Noh is a highly codified, extraordinarily artistic and moving spectacle.

To sit in the audience of a Noh play is to enter a mesmeric ritual, where time and space become fluid. The overall effect is dreamlike.

The usual or expected mode of drama manipulates time and space in order to unravel a complex tale, one event after another.  This is not the dramaturgy of Noh. 

The Noh play is not structured on the premise of conflict but rather on a sought-after spiritual resolve. The masks are spirit beings, ghosts, ancestors. The drama is created by the tension as the ghost, or demon, is expiated from this world. 

The presence of spirits and ghosts is conducted under ritual. Once ushered into our presence, they must be cared for, given the time and space to play out this final act in their cycle of suffering. The ghost will haunt no more, and the spirits can return safely, having done what they came to do.

The passing of time is suspended, sped up, or put on pause. The essence of this is upheld by the degree of abstraction and expressiveness of that which is at its centre, the mask.

The mask is the centre of Yugen.