On her first day to work, Liu Min was stopped at the gate by the
guard.
That was an autumn day in 1999 and the guard at the People's
Liberation Army (PLA) Academy of Art would not believe the
beautiful woman with a ponytail was a senior colonel. It took him a
call to find out that the person in military uniform with insignia
of two patches and four stars was the new deputy dean of the dance
department.
It took her colleagues much longer to gauge the potential of the
former queen of dance. People simply could not imagine that a star
on the stage could morph into a competent administrator. "They
thought I was there to grab a senior but comfortable position," Liu
reminisced.
For the first 20 days, she was not given an office of her own.
Then came the time of humiliation: In a formal meeting when she was
introduced to all the teaching staff of the department, she was
greeted not by applause of welcome, but by cold indifference.
What could she do? Could her elegance and glamour win them
over?
It might work for a while, but to win respect, Liu Min needed
something solid, something that could squash all murmurs of
jealousy and distrust.
She was given the task of preparing dancers for the upcoming
Taoli Cup national competition. The academy had not won a single
gold medal in the previous 15 years in this or any other national
dance contest and teachers were embarrassed to wear their army
uniforms at functions participated in by peers from other
schools.
Liu Min was one of the gold medallists during the first Taoli
Cup in 1985. Now she was faced with a challenge more daunting: to
channel her energy and talent to a younger generation and act as
the "wind beneath the wings" of future dancing stars.
She changed the methodology from process-oriented to
results-oriented and during the next months drove herself so hard
that her health suffered.
On the night of the grand finale, her husband called her from
Hong Kong, where he worked, and gingerly asked her about the
contest result: "Did you win one gold medal?"
"Try a higher number," answered Liu.
"Two? Three?"
After several misses, she conceded: "We won seven gold awards,
six in performance and one in choreography."
From then on, her peers have looked at her admiringly. She was
not just competent; she was as brilliant in the classroom as she
was onstage.
Taking Beijing by storm
Liu Min was born and grew up in the eastern province of Anhui.
After attending a local performing arts school, she arrived in
Beijing at the age of 20. "I was determined to excel. I'll take the
Beijing stage, I told myself," she recalled.
And excel she did. In 1979, she performed three works in the
celebration of the 30th anniversary of the founding of New China
and received one gold medal and one silver medal.
In the mid-1980s, she won gold medals in various national
competitions for five consecutive years.
Liu still considers the early years of her career "the most
sparkling moment of my artistic life." She has essayed roles from
classic Zhu Yingtai the butterfly lover, Wang Zhaojun the
autocratic lady who was married off to a nomadic king, Wu Zetian
the Tang Dynasty (AD 618-907) empress to modern ones like the
mother of Yellow River and the tragic Xianglin wife from Lu Xun's
tale.
But the fondest memories are reserved for three roles in the
earliest phase of her career: Zhang Zhixin, the woman who
sacrifices her life for speaking the truth during the dark days of
the "cultural revolution" (1966-76), Chen Tiejun, the revolutionary
martyr who marries her beloved before they are executed for their
ideals, and an army nurse taking care of her fianc who loses his
eyes in military action.
"These roles seem to be political in nature, but the way the
choreographer and I interpreted them, we effectively humanized
them. For example, I downplayed the political part of the story,
and highlighted the heroines' emotional attachment with their
family members," Liu analyzed.
At the end of each performance, there were three ovations.
Audiences clapped their hands in tears. They waited for her at the
stage door. More than thrilling them with her pyrotechnics, she had
touched their heartstrings.
"Dance is a cruel art form. It is the only art where one starts
by being measured for physical perfection," she said. Fortunately
she was born with an impeccable physique - long arms and legs and a
long neck, a graceful figure and a striking, yet expressive
face.
Liu Min infused her solid techniques with emotions. But the
highest world of her art, as she muses, is when she loses herself
in her roles and forgets about her dance movements. In that state,
she may veer away from the choreographer's routine and get into a
spontaneous mood.
"Were the choreographers unhappy with me for what I did? No,
they offered to list me as a co-choreographer," she laughed.
Because of her tendency for spontaneous creativity, she never had
an understudy when starring in dance dramas.
Role change
The road from a star dancer to an administrator was not easy.
Liu Min recalled an incident when the Academy's students won
accolades and the teachers were wiping their tears in a dark
corner. "Tears streamed down my cheeks, too. It was a feeling I
never had before," she revealed. "To be a teacher is to give
silently, to yield the limelight to a younger generation. But I'm
proud to be one."
To broaden their horizon, Liu Min took her best dancers on tour
to Europe. In 2000, they performed in six European countries; and
in 2003 a 3-month tour of France racked up a total of 60
performances. Last year, 20 shows were given in Germany, Belgium
and the Netherlands.
Meanwhile, awards have been piling up, with a total of 17 first
prizes in the last five years. Liu, dean of the dance department
since April 2002, admits that the academy is now the envy of the
nation's dance community. "I had to take a later flight after we
were lavishly lauded at a major competition so that others wouldn't
get embarrassed," she laughed.
"I'm fair. Actually I'm more than fair when scoring
contestants," said Liu, who sits on many judging panels. "I tend to
give lower points to my own students to avoid conflict of
interest."
Liu Min is strict with her students. She demands discipline. But
she is against the old idea of cramming knowledge down the throats
of students. "You have to convince them, and for that to happen you
have to communicate with them."
And for communication, she has a knack. She does not like to
pontificate, but has a natural eloquence that befits a talk-show
host. To get welfare benefits for an ordinary staff member, she
would talk to all the officers with voting power and plead with
them. "I never debased myself when I edged onto the cutthroat CCTV
Spring Festival Gala or when I got my promotion. But now that I'm
the guardian of my team, I have to protect my team members'
interests."
For her crowning achievement, Liu Min was promoted to the rank
of a general, the only dancer to be so honoured. In China, military
ranks are conferred upon all who serve in the military, including
non-combat personnel, and Liu has worked within the military system
ever since she joined the Zongzheng Song and Dance Troupe and is
very proud of her service, especially when performing for troops
stationed in remote areas.
"She holds very high standards and seeks perfection," comments
Umit Ubul, a rising dancing star of Uygur ethnicity at the PLA
Academy of Art and winner of two big awards. "But on the other
hand, she treats us students like a mother."
(China Daily April 3, 2006)
