As the tears of the woman in the audience fell in front of me, my tears began to fall too. But it’s hard to cry and play the oboe at the same time.

The other night in Dallas, it felt as though during The Choice, there was an extra special connection between the audience and us. The Choice is about two friends who have to choose between their friendship and official duty in an authoritarian system (China).

From my vantage point in the orchestra pit I could see the faces in the front row, and I could tell that people were moved. Being a part of Shen Yun is such privilege, as the art that we bring to people stirs them deep in their hearts. Yes, it’s colorful, yes it’s exciting, yes it’s funny, yes it’s striking. But it’s more than that. There’s something about it that seems to go to people’s souls.

So sometimes, when I see what our art is doing for the audience, I am truly overcome. We are telling the stories of people who haven’t the freedom to tell their own. And we are telling many other stories, too, reviving beloved tales of heroes and villains, of saints and sages, that Chinese people once held dear. But you know, as it turns out, these stories aren’t so Chinese after all. They are universal. And I guess that’s why they speak to people no matter where we go.

04 de janeiro de 2012