The work commemorates a dark chapter of Taiwan’s history. The Mudan Incident in 1874 saw dozens of Ryukyuan soldiers, from modern day Okinawa, massacred by a group of indigenous Paiwan men after being shipwrecked on the southern shore of Taiwan. While some eyewitnesses and authors claim the Paiwanese attacked the foreign men out of a perceived threat, it led to an especially oppressive chapter for the native population: colonisation by the Japanese—who used the massacre as pretext for invasion of the southern coast. 

Before the work begins we enter to the sound of crashing waves. A single dancer lies in the foetal position on the floor, clutching a bundle of red cords coming from the wings. A voiceover asks us to take a breath, to imagine the winds coming in from the coast before exploring this ‘wounded’ land. The dancer tightens her grip and is slowly dragged away. The crashing waves have now been replaced by heavy drones and bellowing foghorns as images of dark ocean waters project onto the back cloth.

The dancers are burdened in their movements, shoulders are hunched forward as feet trudge onwards, they carry an unbearable weight. Using a large piece of driftwood, dancers are lifted and sometimes catapulted about as the seas get choppier. There’s a great deal of tumult, yet Madiljin keeps the dancers in a state of constancy. Even following exhilarating passages of acrobatic lifts and high energy movement, the dancers will always find themselves together again. Huddled and ploughing onwards with trudging feet and bowed bodies. We get a real sense of perseverance, that their journey is never quite complete. Despite the chaos they remain resolute in their exhumation of the troubles of the past.