In the landscape of contemporary dance in Taiwan, few voices resonate as deeply and distinctly as Bulareyaung Pagarlava’s. A choreographer whose work is inseparable from land, community, and identity, Bulareyaung has built an artistic practice that bridges worlds—between Taiwan and New York, between Indigenous tradition and contemporary performance, between the deeply personal and the universally human.

Born in the Paiwan community of Jialan Village in Taitung, Bulareyaung left home at fifteen to pursue dance in Taipei, a journey marked by both opportunity and painful self-denial. It was only through years of artistic searching—and the act of reclaiming his Paiwan name—that he began to understand how dance could become a way of returning to himself. His fellowship in New York through the Asian Cultural Council, alongside formative experiences with Cloud Gate and the Martha Graham Dance Company, expanded his perspective yet never severed his connection to home.

That homecoming, both symbolic and literal, became the foundation for the Bulareyaung Dance Company, established in Taitung in 2015. Working with Indigenous youth, often in the mountains, forests, or by the sea, Bulareyaung has cultivated a creative language rooted in voice, breath, and the rhythms of the land. “We dance because we sing, and we sing because we dance,” he says—a reminder that for many Indigenous cultures, movement and song are inseparable forms of expression and memory.

Throughout this conversation, Bulareyaung reflects on returning to his roots, building a company for Indigenous dancers, navigating cultural responsibility, and embracing a creative philosophy grounded in humility, courage, and love for the work itself. His journey is one of reclamation—not only of a name, but of culture, community, and a way of being.

“Don’t chase greatness—just love your work. If your piece moves you, then it is already a successful work.”—Bulareyaung Pagarlava

CNTRFLD.  Early beginnings and influences

You’ve shared that you decided to become a dancer when you were just twelve years old. Could you tell us more about your childhood in Jialan Tribal Village, and what first inspired you to pursue dance?

BP. I grew up in the Paiwan community of Jialan Village, Jin-Feng Township, Taitung. Although I lived in the community, traditional culture had largely been lost, so I never took part in ceremonies, never sang traditional songs, never danced traditional dances, and I couldn’t speak the Paiwan language. But being surrounded by mountains made for the best childhood. When I was young, my second eldest brother brought home a Michael Jackson cassette tape, played it, and taught me how to do MJ’s moonwalk. From that moment, he became my idol.

I loved performing from an early age, so I was always singing and dancing at community events. The first vinyl record I ever bought was One Way Ticket when I was only ten, and I even performed it on stage with my classmates. At twelve, because my sister was studying in a secondary school dance programme, I was introduced to ballet and later inspired by a contemporary dance performance to set my heart on becoming a dancer. Since I often performed in the community as a child, the village became the place that sparked my love for performing. Later, through the influence of my siblings, I truly fell in love with dance.

CNTRFLD.  Navigating identity and early career

Leaving Taitung at fifteen to study and work in Taipei must have been a major transition. How did that experience of moving away — and later reclaiming your Paiwan name — shape your sense of identity as both an artist and an Indigenous Taiwanese?

BP. Looking back now, had I not lived through that twisted period of self-denial and the bullying I faced because of my Indigenous identity, I don’t think I would be who I am today. Throughout my seven years from secondary school to university, I worked hard to become someone others would approve of. I didn’t want to accept that I was Indigenous, and I was so afraid of being mocked that I barely spoke for those seven years.

Thankfully, I had dance. Devoting myself fully to it gave me a clear direction in life.

It wasn’t until just before graduating from university—while choreographing for the first time—that I suddenly asked myself: Who am I? Where do I come from? I decided then to return to using my Paiwan name, Bulareyaung—not only to remind myself never to forget my roots, but also to let everyone know that I am Indigenous, I am Paiwan.

Even then, although I had reclaimed my name, it took twenty years before Indigenous elements truly began to appear in my work. It wasn’t until I founded my own company that I fully confronted Indigenous culture and gained confidence as an Indigenous creator.

CNTRFLD.  International exposure and perspective

Your time in New York through the Asian Cultural Council fellowship and your work with Cloud Gate and the Martha Graham Dance Company gave you a global perspective. Looking back, what similarities and differences do you see between the support systems for artists in Taiwan and abroad — particularly for those working at the intersection of contemporary performance and Indigenous culture?

BP. Cloud Gate was where my choreographic journey began. Because of Lin Hwai-min’s mentorship, I had the opportunity to transition from dancer to choreographer.

Cloud Gate and the Graham Company are among the world’s leading dance companies, and their working methods are broadly similar: you choreograph according to the company’s schedule, with not much difference in structure. The pressure, however, was immense—I carried the weight of their expectations and was terrified of ruining their reputation.

After founding my own company, that fear disappeared. Starting from zero meant the success or failure of the work rested entirely on me, and I became less afraid of making mistakes.

CNTRFLD.  Return to Taitung

In 2014, you decided to return home and founded the Bulareyaung Dance Company in Taitung, transforming an abandoned sugar warehouse into a creative hub. What motivated that decision, and what did it mean to you personally to build something in your hometown?

BP. There were many factors behind founding the company. Through time, circumstances, and the people I met, the moment eventually felt right to return home.

During a curtain call in New York in 2011, I first had the idea of creating a company. I thought: If one day I have my own dance company, and if my dancers are Indigenous youth, I must bring my work home to share with my parents, my family, and my community.

In 2014, at the opening of the Indigenous Pulima Art Award, I worked with nine Indigenous dancers for nearly three months. During the performance, one dancer said on stage: “Today is our premiere, and also our final performance.” The audience laughed, but I felt a deep ache. I wondered: If I had a company, would they perhaps have the chance to continue dancing?

I returned home to search for a space, and in 2015 the company was officially founded. Four of those dancers later joined me in Taitung.

I once told the dancers: this company exists so that more Indigenous people who want to dance have a stage. Our performances aim to inspire more young people with dreams. If no one wishes to come and dance here anymore, then the company has no reason to exist—and perhaps that would be the time for it to end.

CNTRFLD.  Connection to land and community

Your creative process often takes place outdoors — working in the mountains or by the water, singing traditional chants. How has the landscape and rhythm of Taitung influenced your choreography and the way you work with your dancers?

BP. If I weren’t in Taitung, none of this would have been possible.

Returning to Taitung changed my creative approach. The diversity of the dancers has made our work richer, and our performances are no longer confined to theatres. The dancers give me endless inspiration. I’ve also stopped insisting on academic standards—that dancers must look a certain way.

I co-create with the dancers, encouraging them to discover themselves in each piece, to build their own movement language, to present themselves confidently and speak for themselves. To speak their names aloud, to sing their songs fully, and to live the life they desire.

CNTRFLD.  Artistic evolution and language

You’ve worked across many forms — from modern dance to collaborations with Indigenous choirs. How do you see your creative language evolving today, and what continues to drive your search for new movement and meaning?

BP. Taiwan’s Indigenous peoples include sixteen groups, each with its own language, culture, and distinctive forms of song and dance. Even within the same group, regional differences create subtle variations. These beautiful cultures offer so much to learn. Because they differ, the movement qualities and textures that emerge from them also differ—the fluidity of the Amis, the grounded-ness of the Bunun, the depth and layered strength of the Paiwan.

What doesn’t change is this: we dance because we sing, and we sing because we dance. Voice and body move together—that is our signature.

CNTRFLD.  The making of “Dancing Home”

The documentary *Dancing Home* beautifully captures your journey as an artist and your return to your roots. How did this film come about, and what was it like to see your story and your community’s spirit reflected on screen?

BP. The director and producer first came to Taitung to shoot an eight-minute charity short for Lancôme. After filming, they felt drawn to the energy and uniqueness of the company, and believed the early years were especially important to document. With no funding, they drove from Taipei to Taitung whenever they could between commercial jobs—following us into theatres, up mountains, down to the sea, from the National Theatre back to the community to dance.

From the original plan of eight minutes, it eventually became eight years of filming. I never imagined the documentary would one day be released in cinemas.

To this day, I have never watched the full version, so I can’t describe my feelings. But all those beautiful and difficult moments remain vivid—I lived through them and have never forgotten them. So, I leave them in my memory and leave the film for audiences to experience.

CNTRFLD.  On collaboration and trust

Your works, such as *LUNA* and *Stay That Way*, were born through close collaboration with dancers and tribal elders. How do you build trust within these creative and cultural exchanges — between tradition and contemporary expression?

BP. By spending time together.

Trust takes time. With good relationships and mutual belief that we are doing something meaningful, the hard work becomes part of the final piece. Preserving Indigenous culture is not our job—our responsibility is simply to learn sincerely and let it become nourishment, allowing it to appear naturally in the work. Tradition and the contemporary can coexist harmoniously when approached respectfully.

CNTRFLD.  Cultural continuity and change

Many of your pieces touch on the question of how traditions evolve with time. How do you personally navigate the balance between preserving Indigenous heritage and reinterpreting it for new generations and audiences?

BP. Because our dancers come from different Indigenous groups, when festival season arrives, we visit various communities according to their ceremonial calendars. As time progresses, more communities are reclaiming lost traditions, and more people are placing importance on ceremony—so they will return home to take part. Recently, we’ve also seen communities reviving songs that have been lost for a long time. With no written language, song is one of the most vital ways Indigenous cultures are passed on.

As a creator, whenever a story or song moves me deeply, the impulse to create appears naturally, and it becomes a work.

Wherever we perform—whether in Taiwan or internationally—the moment we begin to sing, audiences have the opportunity to encounter Taiwan and Taiwan’s Indigenous peoples. After every performance, during the curtain call, I always invite each dancer to introduce themselves—to share their names, their tribal groups, and their home communities.

CNTRFLD.  Advice for younger artists

For young people — especially those from Indigenous or underrepresented communities — who aspire to follow a creative path, what advice or encouragement would you offer based on your own journey?

BP. As a dancer, without a kind of mad, passionate love for dance, it is difficult to go far.

I always encourage young people to try choreographing. Choreography is something you can practise—slowly learning to tell your stories and communicate with the world through dance. Dancing is an individual act, but choreography means taking responsibility for everything. So, you must learn to be humble, to communicate, and to collaborate. Don’t be afraid of hearing opinions different from your own—they may help you find a truer direction.

Choreography is a process of constant building, questioning, breaking, and rebuilding. You must find yourself through creation. Don’t chase greatness—just love your work. If your piece moves you, then it is already a successful work.

 
About Bulareyaung Pagarlava

Bulareyaung Pagarlava is from the Paiwan tribe of Taiwan. He aspired to become a dancer when he was twelve. After he graduated from the Dance Department, Taipei National University of the Arts, Bulareyaung joined the Cloud Gate Dance Theatre. He was awarded a fellowship by the Asian Cultural Council to study in New York in 1998 and has created dance pieces for the Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, Cloud Gate 2, and the Martha Graham Dance Company.

His works are highly contagious, pure, and unique, and have received world recognition. Bulareyaung was selected as one of the Ten Outstanding Young Persons of Taiwan in 2012 and National Award of Arts presented by the National Culture and Arts Foundation in 2022. He went back to his hometown Taitung and founded the Bulareyaung Dance Company in 2015.

With thanks to Yongwei Liao, Executive Director of the Bulareyaung (BDC )Dance Company for facilitating this conversation

Original interview in Chinese:

1. 早期的起點與啟發

你曾分享過，自己在十二歲時就決定要成為舞者。能否和我們談談你在嘉蘭部落的童年，以及最初是什麼啟發你踏上舞蹈這條路？

我的童年是在台東金峰鄉嘉蘭村的排灣族部落成長，雖然住在部落，但傳統文化流失嚴重，所以從小沒有參加過祭典，沒唱過傳統歌，也沒跳過傳統舞，當然也不會說排灣族語，不過在環山圍繞的的環境生活是最棒的童年。小時候二哥帶Michael Jackson的卡帶回家播放，然後教我跳MJ的moonwalk，從此視他為偶像。從小因為愛表演，所以部落的活動，常常上台唱歌跳舞。我買的第一張黑膠唱片是One Way Ticket，當時才10歲，後來還跟同學一起上台表演跳One Way Ticket。12歲，因為唸國中舞蹈班的姊姊，才認識芭蕾舞，因看了一場現代舞蹈演出受到啟發，而立志要成為一名舞者。自小常在部落表演，所以部落算是表演的啟蒙，後因為哥哥跟姊姊的影響，讓我愛上跳舞。

2.  身分認同與早期職涯

十五歲離開台東，到台北求學與工作，對你來說應該是很大的轉變。那段離鄉的經驗，以及之後重新取回排灣族名字的過程，如何影響你作為一位藝術家與原住民身分的認同？

現在回過頭想，其實如果沒有那一段扭曲的自我否定，沒有經歷過原住民身份霸凌的過程，我想我也不會成為今天的我。高中到大學的7年時間，努力地想成為他人認可的樣子，不願意接受自己作為一個原住民，因為害怕他人的訕笑，所以7年都不講話。不過還好有舞蹈，全心在舞蹈的世界裡讓我有一個清楚的人生目標。面對原住民身份認同是一直到大學畢業前夕，當我第一次編舞的時候，突然問自己，我是誰？我從哪裡來？於是決定恢復使用自己的排灣族族名布拉瑞揚，除了提醒自己不要忘記自己的根，也要讓大家知道，我是原住民排灣族。

不過雖然有了名字，但歷經20年，我的創作才真正開始有原住民元素，也是到了創立舞團之後才真正的面對原住民文化，而更自信的作為一個原住民創作者。

3. 國際視野與觀點

你曾因亞洲文化協會的獎助赴紐約，也曾與”Cloud Gate Dance Theatre”與"Martha Graham Dance company．葛蘭姆舞團合作。回顧這些經驗，你覺得台灣與國外在支持藝術家的方式上有何相似或不同？特別是對於同時關注當代表演與原住民文化的創作者來說。

雲門是我創作的啟蒙，因為羅曼菲老師得提攜讓我我有機會從舞者轉成編舞者。

雲門跟葛蘭姆舞團都是世界頂尖的舞團，基本上工作模式大致相同，就是按照舞團行程進行編排，差異不大。倒是壓力很大，因為背負著舞團的期待，很怕搞砸舞團名聲。

自己成立舞團之後，就不再害怕失敗，因為從零開始，成敗比較無所謂，都由自己扛起。

4. 回到台東

2014年，你決定回到家鄉，在台東創立「布拉瑞揚舞團」，並將一座廢棄的糖廠倉庫改造成創作基地。是什麼促使你做出這個決定？對你個人而言，在家鄉建立這樣一個空間有什麼意義？

創立舞團有很多因素，因著時間的演進，遇到的人事物，時機成熟，就回家了。

2011年在紐約演出的謝幕，第一次有創團的想法，如果有一天我有自己的舞團，如果舞者都是原住民的孩子，那我一定要帶我的作品回家，分享給我的爸媽，我的家人，我的族人。

2014年原住民Pulima藝術獎的開幕演出，我帶著9位原住民舞者一起工作，排練近3個月，演出當天，一名舞者在台上對著台下的觀眾說：「今天是我們的首演，也是我們的最後一場演出。」觀眾都笑了，但我聽了感觸很深，心裡想著，如果我有舞團，他們會不會就有機會繼續跳舞。於是回鄉開始尋覓空間，2015年舞團正式成立，其中4位舞者後來也跟我一起在台東跳舞。

我曾經跟舞者說，這個舞團是為了讓更多原住民想跳舞有一個舞台，我們的演出也是希望能啟發更多有夢想的孩子，如果不在有人進來跳舞，這舞團也就沒有存在的意義，也許就是結束的時候。

5. 與土地與社群的連結

你的創作過程常常在戶外進行——在山裡、在水邊，伴隨著傳統吟唱。台東的自然環境與節奏，如何影響你的編舞方式，以及你與舞者之間的合作？

如果不是在台東，我相信這些也都不可能發生。

回到台東之後，確實改變了我的創作方式，因為舞者的多樣性，讓我們的作品更多元，演出也不局限於劇場。舞者給了我很多靈感跟啟發，我也不在堅持學院的標準，舞者就一定是該長成的樣子。我跟舞者共創，鼓勵他們在每一次的作品中，發掘自己，創造自己的身體語彙，自信的展現自己，為自己發聲。大聲說出自己的名字，用力唱出自己的歌，活出自己想要的樣子。

6. 藝術語言的發展

你的作品橫跨多種形式——從現代舞到與原住民合唱團的合作。你如何看待自己創作語言的發展？是什麼持續推動你去探索新的動作與意義？

台灣原住民有16族，語言不同，文化不同，歌舞的發展也都不同，即便是同一個群，也會因為地區不同有些微的差異。這些美麗的文化很值得我們學習。因為都不一樣，所以發展肢體，也會長出不不一樣的質地跟韻味。比方阿美族的流暢，布農族的穩重，排灣族的深沉多層次，都會影響我們在肢體發展的樣子。不過不變的是，因歌而舞，因舞而唱，讓聲音跟肢體總能在一起，成爲我們的特色。

7. 〈Dancing Home〉的誕生

紀錄片《Dancing Home》動人地呈現了你作為藝術家的旅程與回歸的故事。能否談談這部片是如何開始的？當你在螢幕上看到自己的故事與部落的精神時，是什麼樣的感受？

當初導演跟製片是因為藍瓷的公益影片來台東拍攝，只有8分鐘的短篇，拍完之後，因導演對舞團的活力跟特殊吸引，覺得草創時期特別重要，應該要被記錄，所以在沒有經費的支持下，他們靠著接商業影片的收入，抓時間從台北開車到台東，跟著我們進劇院，上山下海，從國家劇院到部落回家跳舞，最後從原來的8分鐘，居然拍了8年之久。從來沒想過紀錄片有一天會上院線。不過至今我沒有看過完整版，所以不能回答我的感受。但是那些美好的跟辛苦的都歷歷在目，經歷過也從來沒有忘記，所以就讓它留在記憶，影片就留給觀眾欣賞。

8. 合作與信任

像〈LUNA〉與〈Stay that Way〉等作品，都源自你與舞者、部落長者之間的深入合作。你如何在這些創作與文化交流中建立信任？又是如何在傳統與當代之間找到平衡？

相處吧！

信任是需要時間建立，所以有良好的關係，彼此相信我們在做一件有意義的事，過程肯定是辛苦，但最終都會留在作品裡。保存原住民文化，不是我們的工作，我們只要好好學習，讓它成為養分，自然的讓它在作品裡被看見，傳統跟當代得宜共存。

9. 文化的延續與變化

你的許多作品都關注傳統如何隨時間演變。對你而言，如何在保存原住民文化的同時，也能重新詮釋、讓它與新世代與不同觀眾產生連結？

因為舞者來自不同的族群，所以當祭典到了，我們就跟著祭典時間去拜訪不同的部落。隨著時代的演進，現在越來越多部落把過去遺失的文化找回來，也越來越多族人重視祭典，所以一定會回到自己的部落參加祭典。近期也看見部落的人努力的把流失多很久的歌再唱回來，原住民沒有文字，而歌謠傳唱是其中一個很重要傳承方式。

作為一個創作者，只要對某些故事或對某些歌特別感動有想法，自然就會有創作的動機，把它成為一個作品。

只要我們有機會到任何一個地方演出，無論是台灣或國際，只要歌一唱，那一刻，觀眾就有機會認識台灣，認識台灣原住民。特別是演出謝幕之後，我一定會讓舞者一一自我介紹，讓觀眾可以認識台上的舞者，他們的名字，他們來自哪個族群，哪一個部落。

10. 給年輕創作者的建議

對於年輕一代——特別是來自原住民或弱勢社群、想走創作之路的人——你會給他們什麼建議或鼓勵？

作為一名舞者，如果沒有瘋狂的熱愛跳舞，是很難走得遠。

所以我很鼓勵年輕人可以嘗試編舞，因為編舞是可以練習的，慢慢的把自己想說的故事，透過舞蹈和世界溝通。跳舞是一個人的事，但編舞是掌管所有的事，所以要學習謙卑，學習如何跟人溝通跟合作。不要害怕聽見跟自己想法不同的聲音，因為它可能會幫助自己更確該走的方向。編舞是不斷的建構否定打破再重建的過程，所以一定要在創作裡找到自己，不要想著偉大，但一定要喜歡自己的作品，只要能感動自己，就是一個成功的作品。

布拉瑞揚・帕格勒法 Bulareyaung Pagarlava

布拉瑞揚・帕格勒法出生台東縣金峰鄉嘉蘭部落，排灣族。12 歲立志成為舞者。披著原住民的黝黑皮膚，15 歲的他以漢名「郭俊明」考進舞蹈班，學習說話像個漢人字正腔圓。直到在臺北藝術大學舞蹈系求學期間，才拾回排灣族名「布拉瑞揚・帕格勒法」。

畢業後，加入雲門舞集。於 1998 年獲亞洲文化協會獎助，前往紐約研習。多年來，他的編舞足跡遍及國際，曾為雲門舞集、雲門 2、美國瑪莎・葛蘭姆舞團等編作。作品以強烈的感染力著稱，舞蹈雜誌讚譽「清新且獨樹一格」，《紐約時報》更寫道：「渴望看到這位充滿獨創性的編舞家更多的作品。」2012 年他榮獲十大傑出青年，2022 年獲頒國家文藝獎。

恢復族名多年後，布拉瑞揚發現自己仍走在探尋自我的路上，他決定回家。2014 年，他以羅曼菲舞蹈獎助金返鄉，隔年在台東成立「布拉瑞揚舞團」。從此，他的舞不僅屬於舞台，更是屬於土地、屬於那些曾經在身份認同上掙扎、渴望知道自己是誰的舞者們。布拉瑞揚牽起他們的手，與世界分享來自這片土地的舞蹈。

感謝廖詠葳（布拉瑞揚舞團行政總監）協助促成這次與布拉瑞揚的訪談。