New York
Corporations, nation-states, and empires aren’t the only social organizations that must confront the ever-vexing problem of succession. Contemporary dance companies in America face many practical problems, including issues as diverse as audience-building in a world of three-day runs, a conspicuous lack of Government funding, and a new digital media atmosphere in which they have a difficult time competing. But perhaps no other issue pre-sents a more perplexing conundrum as what happens when the founder of an established company dies.
In the past several decades, in particular, contemporary dance has lost some of its giants: Martha Graham, José Limón, Merce Cunningham, and Pina Bausch are among the most prominent. Many of the members of the Judson Dance Movement, once avant garde, are now getting older after developing much of the experimental dance of the ’60s and ’70s. Add to this the AIDS crisis that claimed the young lives of talents such as Alvin Ailey, Robert Joffrey, and Ulysses Dove, and you have quite a situation on your hands.
Should companies continue to perform at all under new artistic directors? And if so, should they only perform repertoire or should they commission new works in the spirit of the predeceased? If not, should work commissioned carry on the technique of the founder or just the spirit of the work?
Historically, contemporary dance—more independent and originally considered “renegade”—seemed to be relatively unconcerned with such issues: One choreographer influenced the next, and so on. But by the end of the 20th century, the contemporary scene had evolved considerably and “downtown/uptown” distinctions slowly disappeared as modern dance had also built up a repertoire of “classics” choreographed by its own giants. For a while now in the dance world, a rich debate has revolved around the question of choreographic next steps.
And yet, much of the dance world seems to say après moi, le déluge to concerned fans, as succession plans are often left vague—if they exist at all. Fair enough: Choreographers are free to do as they please with their own companies. But where does this leave dancers and the next generation of choreographers, not to mention members of the public who may wish to see works that continue a certain style or tradition?
Two prominent New York-based companies, Martha Graham and José Limón, have continued to perform repertoire while commissioning a limited number of new works. The Martha Graham Company, under the artistic leadership of Janet Eilber and Tadej Brdnik, has managed to do a more than credible job of continuing the grande dame’s tradition. Performing the same pieces on a regular basis may not be the most thrilling for dancers, and viewer fatigue in a limited audience that attends season after season also has to be considered. But at least it assures a continuity of sorts.
One problem with the Martha Graham case lies in Graham technique itself, with its famously angled positions and movements—and the fact that Martha Graham was such a formidable presence. You cannot just reset old dances and tell dancers to mimic Graham’s expressionistically truncated movements without sometimes falling into a bizarre form of choreographic pastiche. Of course, a dancer as talented as Blakeley White-McGuire can reproduce Graham exquisitely; but dancers of such talent are rare. So the Graham Company has also commissioned pieces that continue the “spirit” of Graham. The problem is that this strategy hasn’t always worked well, as the new works often pale in comparison to Graham originals, which they follow in the program.
Imagine, if you will, a young visual artist exhibiting “cubist-inspired work” in a Chelsea gallery next to a few Picassos or Braques. No one wants to be framed as derivative, though most choreographers are happy for a new commission. Limón, under Carla Maxwell and Juan José Escalante’s leadership, has also opted, more or less, for the same path as Graham. I have, in the past several years, attended performances of both Graham and Limón where the repertory so far outpaced the new, commissioned works in terms of quality that it seemed almost unfair to the young choreographers to present their work next to such classics. (Former Limón dancer Colin Connor recently took over as artistic director at the company and new vistas may be opening.)
On the other hand, Merce Cunningham, who died in 2009, was very clear about what was to happen after his death: His company would continue performing his works during a two-year international tour and then disband. After that all of its assets—from costumes and props to audio and video footage—were transferred to the Merce Cunningham Trust, which was established to document and continue his legacy.
Today, Cunningham works are available to be performed for a licensing fee, but nothing assures that they will be properly set or performed. But his decision to disband his company has also meant that no transmogrified “Cunninghamesque” pieces have since been commissioned, thank God. As John Claassen, agent and producing director of fusionworks, notes: “It might sound extreme, but Cunningham knew that in time the work would unavoidably lose its specificity and the qualities that made the technique so special.” With the help of a dedicated group of former dancers, Cunningham’s works will continue to be performed in select venues, by both schools and professional companies.
A delightful variant of sorts took place last spring at Mikhail Baryshnikov’s arts center in Hell’s Kitchen, when this jewel of a performing arts center screened an extended clip from a German television archive, filmed during a European tour of solos and duets danced decades ago by Merce Cunningham and Carolyn Brown and discovered in 2014 by Alla Kovgan. Following the screening, the talented Cunningham dancer Silas Riener, along with Benny Olk and Vanessa Knouse, reconstructed Changeling and Suite for Two thanks to the archival footage. As John Claassen notes,
Choreography always evolves once the master dies, and that’s why teaching is so important as a method of passing on one’s legacy, thus encouraging dancers to steep their performance in a particular style as part of a continuum. The Limón Company has certainly realized this now and so it has developed a program for teachers specific to this issue.
Meanwhile, in its new studios on the Lower East Side, Paul Taylor Dance Company is expanding its repertory by incorporating Taylor’s classics of modern dance, both old and new. And BALAM Dance Theatre is a small New York company that presents exquisite works based on traditional Balinese dance. Less well-known than other companies, BALAM is one of America’s hidden terpsichorean jewels, currently run by dancer and choreographer Carlos Fittante. The company was founded in 1979 by the ethno-choreographer and CUNY professor Islene Pinder, who sustained it through the support of a small network of friends and donors. But then Pinder unexpectedly died, in 2012, without having had time to make adequate preparations for the company to continue once she was gone.
Interestingly enough, Carlos Fittante believes that Pinder may have done so purposefully: “I think she felt BALAM could not survive without her presence,” he says. “She told me on numerous occasions: BALAM lives in me, in my body knowledge of the Balinese fusion dance and my understanding of Balinese culture gained from years of study in Bali.” So how has Fittante continued her legacy? By extending the long tradition of apprenticeship that has always existed in classical ballet. Had Fittante and his colleagues taken the easy road and moved on to greener pastures, the world would have lost a wonderful and unique company.
“Ideally, I wish BALAM had been left a trust,” Fittante concedes. “But on a certain level, I think things are truthful this way. If BALAM cannot attract enough supporters, then it will perish.” So is the free market the best way for art to survive? “Art shouldn’t have to justify itself in usefulness or popularity,” Fittante answers. “It’s like charging people to enter a church. That goes against the nature of the experience.”
Over on West 55th Street, the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater may be the ideal example for companies to follow after their founders are gone. Buoyed by large private support and inspired artistic directors such as Judith Jamison and Robert Battle, Ailey not only continues presenting its own work but commissions new work with a focus on emerging African-American talent. Housed in a gleaming multimillion-dollar building, it also has a full series of classes and its own dance school that teaches in the tradition of Alvin Ailey. With multiple practice rooms and several performances areas, space is rented out to other choreographers as the company commissions new work while presenting Ailey classics such as Revelations and Anointed.
Still, no matter how hard a new generation works, and no matter how clear a choreographer’s wishes may have been, maintaining a founder’s intensity can be difficult. With time, a founder’s style and legacy get distilled—even when young artists study with the original dancers or watch videos and prints of old performances. So, perhaps, this is added incentive to run to the Joyce Theater and other leading presenters of contemporary dance and catch some of our cultural legacies while this still makes sense, aesthetic and otherwise.
Christopher Atamian is a New York-based writer and critic who contributes to the Huffington Post and New York Times Book Review.
