"Vulgar." "Disrespectful." "He'd be a better fit at Brown." These were just a few of the grumblings I heard at last week's inauguration ceremony as College President Jim Yong Kim took the podium. Fortunately for our new president, these critics weren't looking towards the stage.
Instead, these comments were directed towards the masked man posing before a stage-facing camera, a few yards from the crowd bleachers. Radiating from his gold mask were sharp tines that met at razor points, his black cape billowing as he marched before the camera tripod. First a high-kick, then a muscle flexing body-builder pose. What was he doing, we all asked ourselves, and, more importantly, why?
What we all witnessed on Tuesday was the brainchild of Johnathan James Recor (now known around campus as the "Sun God"), a first-year Master of Arts in Liberal Studies student at Dartmouth. His project, called "Theater-On-The-Walk," fuses music, karate, dance, improvisation and public participation into a modern art performance of sorts. According to his program's pamphlets, Recor hopes the project "will help bring about and unite individuals who share similar life passions by actively seeking to embrace who you are as a human being without fear."
His plans seem to have backfired. At inauguration, many united in their distaste for his performance.
So what got the majority of us so riled up? What about "Theatre-On-The-Walk" caused comic artist Drew Lerman '10 to publish a series of comics in The Dartmouth that included a Dartmouth student trying to end the Sun God's performance through a cruel and unusual punnishment?
I think my aversion to "Theater-On-A-Walk" can be likened to a new child seeing an animal or insect for the first time. While watching Recor, I was at once repulsed and fearful of outlandish behavior that seemed to spit in the face of social convention. But simultaneously I was fascinated that anyone would be so bold, so confident, so impudent, to wear such a ridiculous outfit on this momentous occasion.
I set up a meeting with Recor last week in hopes of uncovering the truth behind the Sun God. I sat alone on the Collis porch, awaiting his arrival, afraid I might be nunchucked from behind at any moment. But the man who sat down across from me bore no resemblance to the man we'd all watched at inauguration. His handshake had the gentleness of a small-town religious leader, and he spoke with a contagious fervor about his project and goals.
And that's when the utter absurdity of the moment hit me, sitting across from Recor, the morning sun on both our faces: the absurdity not only of the hopelessly ambitious goal Recor has to "make aware, for all people, of every society in the world, to understand the importance of acknowledging the love that every individual carries deep within themselves," through his performances, but also of the sheer amount of time and resources we as a community have invested into criticizing his project.
What I think we can learn from our collective battle with the Sun God is not that music can save our souls, or that a man in an Italian gold mask can inspire spontaneous enlightenment, but rather that, inevitably, people both on this campus and in the working world will act in ways that we personally disagree with. What I have found in my dealings with the Sun God is that, whether people like Recor act with good intentions or with malice, we must strive to understand where they are coming from, and then we must move on with our lives. To dwell on or to continually deride these acts is a waste of time. Some people or behaviors will remain enigmatic regardless of our efforts to understand.
The Sun God isn't going away. Whether you were the critic in the stands or the smiling freshman posing behind his sun mask in your brand new '13 shirt, we all need to get used to his presence.
