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The value given the aesthetic codes also mitigates how women might be perceived and accepted as dalang.

      Taksu, the primary Balinese aesthetic, describes an elusive quality that a performer or performance has in order to be judged as good, meaning that the performer pleases his or her audience and the performance is therefore deemed successful. Taksu connotes a certain spiritual connection or even age because it is something accumulated over time, and as a performer practices and gains performance experience, the performer’s taksu develops. Having taksu is different from being a skilled performer—even a master might have an off night and a beginner might give a performance with strong taksu. Hobart (2003, 115) dubs taksu “the god of inspiration,” which provides the dalang with the power to execute the performance. Edward Herbst calls taksu the means by which the dalang is connected to the invisible world of the spirits: “Once the shadow puppet is in the dalang’s grip, his hands and arms serve as a connector, a lightning rod, through which the puppet’s character, voice, and spiritual life-force, taksu, enter the dalang” (1997, 61). In order for this connection to manifest and create taksu, there must be, however, a logical connection between dalang and puppet. This connection is described as masolah, or “characterization”—“masolah in its fullest meaning implies the inherent taksu ‘spiritual energy’ that integrates the state of a performer with the physical form of his own body, and/or that of a mask or puppet” (57). Pak Tunjung explained to me, “within a wayang kulit performance masolah is extremely important. It is the medium of action—the dalang must dance together with the character of the puppet. In Balinese wayang kulit, masolah provides the means for the message or meaning of the performance.”

      The realization of masolah, and the creation of taksu, depends on a logical connection between the puppet and the dalang. No connection, no taksu. Herbst describes several dalang finding difficulty with the animal characters in wayang tantri—because how can a human dalang become one with an animal character? In wayang “each character really must speak for himself, with no distance between dalang and puppet” (1997, 62). This creates difficulty for a woman dalang to have taksu because there is a greater social, vocal, and physical difference between her and the many male characters in the stories she performs. I had studied various styles of Asian performance while at the University of Hawai‘i and often played male characters. This experience helped me greatly in bridging the gender and cultural divide between myself and the puppets I held in my hand. A male dalang can play female characters and a woman dalang can play male characters. However, it is rare to see women characters in wayang—and perhaps the greater distance between puppet and character, which is an obstacle to taksu, is why.

      “Liveness” and “balance” are two additional aesthetics that are important to master for wayang kulit—the connection of masolah does not depend on voice alone. From the Balinese perspective the universe is made up of three key elements—fire, water, and air—which are constantly moving and changing. Some change is visible and some change takes place over such long periods of time that it is not readily apparent. The Balinese consider the presence of this kind of subtle movement—called kehidupan, or liveness—to be highly desirable within the performing arts because a static puppet or dancer appears dead. Kehidupan explains why most Balinese wayang kulit is still performed with an oil lamp even while Java and most of Southeast Asia now prefers the stronger light given by an electric lamp. The flickering flame from the oil lamp creates the appearance of constant movement and “life,” even while the puppets are not moving. Pak Tunjung reminded me about the importance of my wrist; he explained that I needed to keep the kayonan in constant motion. The kayonan puppet is large but is made of thin leather that quivers with a slight wiggle of the wrist. I learned that it is important to coordinate this vibration with all the movements of the kayonan; it must look alive.

      The ideal of balance, or the existence of two opposite yet complementary halves composing a whole, is a pervasive and long-standing foundation for Balinese culture and cosmology. Davies (2007, 21) asserts that balance is the primary criterion for judging whether something is beautiful, pleasing, or good—or in Balinese, becik. Balance in Balinese art forms is not just a matter of symmetry; it also depends on how the proportions relate back to both the human body and the cosmological configuration of the island. Balance, rather than finding expression through opposites, also recognizes a middle position between the two extremes, and much of Balinese ritual and performance strives to bring these extremes together in equilibrium. For example, temples are placed and designed in orientation to the ocean, mountains, and cardinal directions, linking sacred elements through position and proportion (James 1973, 145–48).

      Balance can be expressed through gender within Balinese performance. Many elements of a performance can be coded as masculine or feminine, such as different pairs of instruments or specific types of movements. A performance can also find balance within the gender of the performers or characters. The aesthetic realization of balance within the puppets is best understood within the categories of alus and kasar. Alus roughly translates as refined, and kasar is unrefined (fig. 2.4). Many different features of the puppets communicate the personality of their characters to the audience.¹⁹ Characteristics of an alus puppet include a smaller, slim body, a head that is tilted downward, small or narrow eyes, a small mouth, and a small nose. The puppet’s kinesthetic sphere of movement will also be smaller and more delicate. A kasar puppet is often much larger, has big, bulging eyes, a large open mouth with teeth or a tongue showing (or both), is looking straight ahead or upward, and has a wide stance. Kasar puppets move much more vigorously on the screen with large sweeping motions. Vocal qualities also follow the physical characteristics of the puppets. For example a kasar ogre would have a very rough, loud, and deep voice, while an alus god or hero would have a higher pitched, rhythmically slow, smooth, and melodic voice.

      Figure 2.4. The characters of Momosimoko (left) and Arjuna (right) demonstrate the difference between kasar and alus. Photo by author; puppets by I Wayan Tunjung.

      Many different features of the puppets communicate the personality of their characters to the audience. In his dissertation on Javanese wayang kulit, Jan Mrázek (1998) analyzes the wayang character as if it were a map because important details such as the face are crafted on a larger scale to provide greater detail.²⁰ Similarly, a map of a state often includes a blowup of important cities to show individual streets and landmarks. The dimensions of profile as well as their forward-facing position are mixed to contain as many details of the character as possible. The audience sees both shoulders, a side view of the head, both legs and arms, but the rest of the body is in profile. Within the categories of alus and kasar, the features can be mixed and matched and there are many shades of possibility in between the two poles. One feature cannot be read by itself but only in combination with all other features. The stylistic iconography is born out of practicality—there is a conscious effort to communicate with the audience as completely as possible.

      In Bali, however, gender connects to the available range of refinement; for example, an ogre would be kasar and a prince would be alus. Most women characters are limited to alus. In casting, women often play refined male roles in dance dramas and men monopolize the kasar ones. The scale of alus and kasar suggests why I was able to study and perform wayang kulit in Bali with little obstacle. I am female and often strove to act according to the codes of conduct for women in Bali (I dressed conservatively, did not drink alcohol in public, did not smoke, and so on). As a foreigner, however, I also had greater opportunity to occupy a kasar place and to effectively perform those characters. For example, most Balinese undergo teeth filing “to distance themselves further from the fanged animal world” (Emigh and Hunt 1992, 204). I had not undergone such a ceremony. A Balinese woman as dalang risked disharmony with the characters of the puppets according to the precepts of alus and kasar, a danger that I, as a foreigner, did not share.

      Within Balinese philosophy there is the idea of “Tat twan asi,” or “Thou art that,” meaning “that every individual potentially contains within himself or herself the entire universe” (Emigh and Hunt 1992, 203). In wayang,

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