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7/25/2019 Diaghilev - Cunningham 1974
1/7
Diaghilev/CunninghamAuthor(s): David VaughanSource: Art Journal, Vol. 34, No. 2 (Winter, 1974-1975), pp. 135-140Published by: College Art Association
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DaghevCunn
DAVID VAUGHAN
Diaghilev
would have loved
Cunningham.
Besides
admiring
him
as
an
artist he
would have
respected
the seriousness and
discipline
of his
company,
the
spare
wit and
style
of
Rauschenberg's
costumes and
lighting,
the
consistent
invention
of the
choreography
and the
provocative
strangeness
of
John
Cage's
musical
accompaniments.
Above
all,
his acute
artistic
antennae would have tingled at the sense that Cunningham was
talking
in
the
language
of
today.
-Alexander
Bland,
The
Observer
(London),
2
August
1964
It
might
be
said
that it was
almost
by
accident that
Sergei
Diaghilev
became
the animator of the most
important
dance
company
the
world
has
ever known-as
though
ballet chose
Diaghilev,
rather than his
choosing
ballet as
the medium
through
which his ideas would
be
transmitted
to
the world.
Although
he
had had
some
musical
training
he
was
in the
beginning
essentially
a dilettante
who edited
a
luxurious
magazine
called Mir Iskustva
(The
World
of
Art)
and
organized
extraordinary
exhibitions.
For
a while
he
also
edited
the
Annual of the
Imperial
Theaters and at
the turn of the
century,
when
several members
of
the
group
of
painters
centered
around
his
magazine
planned
a
new
production
of
Delibes'
ballet
Sylvia,
he
acted as
intermediary
between them
and the
administration.
The
initiative
for
this
production
came
from
Alexandre
Benois,
the real balletomane of
the
group:
he
was
to
design
one
act and
Constantin
Korovin
another,
with
costumes
by
Leon
Bakst
and
Valentin
Serov. In those
days
ballet
scenery
was
not
designed
by
artists,
it
was
executed
by
scene-painters.
Unfortunately,
the
project collapsed
after
Diaghilev
had
a
disagreement
with
the
administration
over
who
was
to receive credit for
it,
and
he
was dismissed.
(The
walls
had been
breached, however,
and
the
Mir
Iskustva
painters
did
subsequently design various productions for the Imperial
Theaters.)
A
few
years
later
Diaghilev
conceived
for
himself
the
mission
of
showing
the art of
Russia
to western
Europe:
in
1906
he took an exhibition
of
Russian
painting
to
Paris,
the
following year
he
organized
a
series
of concerts
of
Russian
music
there,
and
in 1908
he
presented Chaliapin
in
Boris
Godunov
at the
Paris
Opera.
That
Diaghilev
was still not
particularly
interested
in
the ballet
was
made clear
by
his
program
note on
Tchaikovsky
for one
of the
concerts,
which
omitted to mention
that the
composer
had
written three
full-length
ballets as
well as
operas
and
orchestral
and chamber
music.
Nevertheless,
the
obvious
next
step
after Godunov
was
to
bring
the
St.
Petersburg
ballet
to
Paris
the
following year.
Even
so,
the
great
Saison Russe
of
1909 was
a
season
of
ballet
and
opera,
and
it was
expected
that
Chaliapin
in
Rimsky-Korsakov's
Ivan the Terrible
(Pskovitianka)
would be
the
biggest
draw. The ballet
repertory
was thrown
together
hurriedly
and
consisted
of
reworked versions
of
ballets
that
had
already
been
given
in
Russia. As
we
know,
it was the ballet
that
caused
the
sensation-the
dancing
of
Pavlova,
Karsavina,
Nijinsky,
and Bolm
and the decors
by
Bakst, Benois,
and
Roerich-and ballets
even
had
to be added at
the end of
opera
performances
to
ensure
a sellout.
From then
on it
was
the ballet to which
Diaghilev
devoted
most
of
his
energies;
he
soon established his
company
on a
permanent
basis
and
began
to create
a
repertory
of
new ballets
calculated
to
appeal
to the
sophisticated public
of
Paris and
other
European
cities.
Nijinsky
threw in his
lot with
Diaghilev
and
severed
his
connection with
the
Imperial
Theaters
(though
other
members
of the
company,
until
the
Revolution,
returned
to
Russia
from time to time to fulfill their
obligations
there).
Diaghilev's genius
was in the choice of collaborators:
Benois
had
given
him
the idea
that
a ballet should
be
an
integrated
spectacle
in which
choreography, music,
and
design
were
all
of
equal importance,
the
prime
example
being
the
Fokine-Stra-
vinsky-Benois
Petrouchka.
In
the
first
period
of the
Ballets
Russes the
emphasis
was
mainly
on
exoticism
of
time
and
place-the
Orient,
ancient
Greece,
pagan Russia,
with
occa-
sional excursions
into the
baroque (Le
Pavilion
d'Armide)
and
19th-century
Romanticism
(Les Sylphides,
Le
Carnaval,
Le
Spectre
de
la
Rose).
The decorative
aspect
continued
to be dominated
by
Bakst
and
Benois.
Although
their work had
a
profound
effect
on the
theater
and
decorative
arts
in
western
Europe,
it
essentially
represented
a continuation
of the
ideas
of Mir
Iskustva.
The
first step toward a greater modernism came with the advent of
Gontcharova and
Larionov,
whose
designs
derived from
Russian folk
and
primitive art,
which
in
their
eyes
was related
to
Cubism
and Fauvism.
In
music
there
were two
important
developments-one
the
use
of
symphonic
works
such
as
Rimsky-Korsakov's
Scheherazade
for
ballet,
the
other
the
commissioning
of
scores
from
contemporary composers
of the caliber
of
Stravinsky,
Debussy, Ravel,
and Richard
Strauss.
Choreographically,
the
first
ballets embodied the reforms
proposed
by
Fokine
(naturalism,
truth to
epoch
and
locale,
integration
of dance
and
mime,
elimination
of
separate numbers),
but more
radical
WINTER,
1974/75
135
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innovations
were introduced
in
Nijinsky's
own
ballets,
however
short-lived-the
inversion
of classic
technique
in
Le
Sacre du
printemps,
the
contemporary
subject
matter of
eux,
and the
totally
new relation
of dance to music
in
L'Apres-midi
d'un
faune,
where
the
steps
for the
first
time were
not tied
to
the
meter
of the music.
By
the
time
of the
outbreak of
the
first
World
War,
the
influence
of
the Ballets
Russes
was
fully
established
and
indeed
assimilated,
and if
Diaghilev
were to
maintain
his
position as arbiter of the most advanced and cultivated taste, it
would be
necessary
for him to move
ahead
and leave
behind
the exoticism
of
the
first
period.
The
second,
postwar, period
of the Ballets
Russes
actually began
in
1917
with
the
collaboration
of
Massine,
Satie,
Picasso,
and
Cocteau
in
Parade,
which
a little
belatedly
brought
Cubism
to
the
stage,
and
not
only
in Picasso's
designs-Massine
devised
a
choreogra-
phic equivalent
of certain
elements
of Cubism
in the
passages
of naturalistic
but
nonnarrative
pantomime;
the finale
was
a
collage
of
everybody
in
the
cast
repeating
their
movements
at
once. On a
similar
principle,
Satie's
score
incorporated
sirens,
typewriters,
pistol shots,
etc.
Diaghilev
was
getting
more and
more interested
in
avant-garde
painting:
he had
already
commissioned
the Futurist
Giacomo
Balla
to
design
a
mixed-media theater event (lights, moving scenery, but no
dancing)
to
accompany
Stravinsky's Fireworks,
and
Fortunato
Depero
made
designs
for the
ballet version
of the
composer's
Le
Rossignol.
In the
event,
these
were not
used,
and
the ballet
was
designed
by
Matisse.
Throughout
the
second
decade
of the
Ballets
Russes,
Diaghilev
commissioned
his
decors
from easel
painters
who
might
not otherwise
have
been drawn
toward
the
theater:
the
Delaunays, Derain, Gris,
Laurencin, Braque,
Utrillo, Mir6,
Ernst,
Bauchant,
de
Chirico,
Rouault.
In
many
of these cases
the realization
of the
vaguest
of sketches
was
entrusted
to
the
scenic
artists
Vladimir
Polunin
and
Prince Schervachidze
(the
prodigious
Picasso
very
often
painted
his
own
sets),
and
costume-makers
like Vera
(Sudeikina)
Stravinsky,
the
com-
poser's
widow
(for
instance,
the costume
worn
by
Nemchinova
in Les
Biches,
executed
by
Mme
Stravinsky,
bears
little
relation to Laurencin's
sketch
with its
suggestion
of
a
quite
unmanageable
train).
Usually
the
scenery
was
constructed
of
painted
flats
and cloths
in the
traditional
way,
however
avant-garde
the actual
design,
but in
some
ballets
experiment
was
carried
further.
La Chatte was
decorated
with construc-
tions
by
Gabo
and
Pevsner
using
materials
that were
quite
new
to the
stage-clear
plastic,
and
an oilcloth
floor
covering.
The
Soviet
artist
Georgy
Yakulov
designed
a set for
Le
Pas
d'acier
that
brought
to
the West the
kinetic,
constructivist
style
then
current
in the theater
of
Meyerhold
and
even in the
State
ballet
theaters:
the d6cor
was
made
up
of
platforms,
ladders, wheels, pulleys, signals, etc., which all jiggled, spun,
and
whirred in
the finale.
Even more
remarkable
than
these,
in
many ways,
was
the
decoration
of another
Massine
ballet, Ode,
by
Pavel
Tchelitchev.
The
hoopskirts
worn
by
some
of the
women
were
duplicated
in the dresses
of
puppets
of
diminishing
size
that
formed
the main
element of
the
scenery.
Other dancers
wore
allover
tights,
and
the decor also
included
light
projections
and
even a
movie,
made in
collaboration
with Pierre
Charbonneau.
Such
things
have
become
commonplace,
not
merely
in
experimental,
but
in commercial
theater as
well,
in recent
years,
but
it
is
worth
remembering
that these and
many
other
Henri
Matisse,
Costume
for one
of
the
mourners
in
Diaghilev's
Le
Chant
du
Rossignol.
1920.
innovations
were
first seen
in
the
productions
of
the Ballets
Russes.
It
has
been
customary
to
say
that the last
years
of the
Ballets
Russes
were a
period
of
decadence,
that after
the
commercial failure of
Diaghilev's
great
production
of the
four-act
Petipa-Tchaikovsky
classic
The
Sleeping
Beauty
in
London
in
1921
(Bakst's
last
work for
him),
he turned
to an
ever more
desperate
pursuit
of
novelty
at all
costs, particularly
in
terms
of
decor,
to
the detriment
of
choreography
and
music.
From
today's
perspective,
we
might
rather
say
that
Diaghilev
wished
to
make
the
ballet
an
expression
of
the
contemporary
spirit
in
life
and
art.
Conservative
critics
might
be
horrified
at
ballets
like
Le
Train
bleu,
but
young
people
were excited
to see
ballets
that
bore
a
recognizable
relation
to
their
own
times.
Nor
were all
the
ballets
of this
period
of
ephemeral
interest
only.
Some
of
the
music
Diaghilev
commissioned
may
have
been trivial,
but scores
like
Poulenc's
Les Biches
and
Berners'
The
Triumph
of
Neptune
are
at
least first-rate
ballet
music,
and
it
was
Diaghilev's
suggestion
to
Stravinsky
that
he
base
his
score
for Pulcinella
on
the music
of
Pergolesi
that
led to
the
transformation
of the
composer's
aesthetic,
without
which
the
history
of
contemporary
ballet,
or at least
that
part played
in
it
by
George
Balanchine
and
his
company,
would be
very
different.
As
for
choreography,
one
need
only
mention
here
that
two
of
the
most
influential
and
revolutionary
dance
works
of
the
20th
century
were
presented
by
Diaghilev
in,
respectively,
1923
and
1928:
Nijinska's
Les
Noces
and
Balanchine's
Apollo.
ART
JOURNAL,
XXXI
V/2
136
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Pavel
Tchelitchev,
Decor for
Diaghilev's
Ode,
1928.
Giorgio de Chirico, Costume for a male guest, Diaghilev's
Le
Bal, 1929.
Toward the
end, Diaghilev's
nterest in the
ballet
waned
as
his health
began
to
fail;
he
turned
again
to
music
and
his
collection
of
rare
books and
no
longer
exercised
total
artistic
control over
his
company's
productions,
many
of
which
were
conceived
by
his
secretary
Boris
Kochno.
After
Diaghilev's
death the
tradition
of
artistic
collaboration
was
continued
by
the
members
of his
company
who
went to
work
elsewhere:
Kochno
continued
to
devise
libretti,
some
of
them
for
Balanchine's new
works
for
Les
Ballets 1933
and
the
reconstituted
Ballets
Russes,
which
also
presented
new
ballets
by
Fokine,
Massine,
and
Nijinska,
as well
as
much
of
the
old
Diaghilev
repertory.
When
Balanchine
came to
the
United
States
in
1934
he
brought
with
him
decors
by
Christian
Berard,Derain,
and
Tchelitchev
from
Les
Ballets
1933,
and at
first the
new
ballets
he
made
in
this
country
were
often
decorated
by
the
last-namedor
by
American
painters
chosen
by
Lincoln
Kirstein.
As
we
know,
this
practice,
still
the
rule in
the
days
of
Ballet
Society
(1946-48),
has
largely
been
abandonedsince the formationof the New
York
City
Ballet,
partly
through
economic
necessity, partly
as
a
matter
of
artistic
policy.
In
any
case, stage
design
in
this
country,
not
only
for
the
commercial
heater but
for
most
ballet
and
opera
companies,
like
other
aspects
of
artistic
endeavor,
s
subject
to
union
regulations-few
companies
will
dare
to
defy
United
Scenic
Artists
and
commission a
decor
from a
painter
who
has
not
passed
the
union
examination.
Thus,
while
no one
would
wish
Agon,
say,
to
look
otherwise
than
it
does,
one
must
deplore
the state
of
affairs
that
makes
marvelous
ballets like
Liebeslieder
Walzer
or Who
Cares? look
as
dismal
and
dowdy
as
any
contemporary
Soviet
ballet.
But
Diaghilev
had
been
interested n
recruiting
new
painters
not
only
to
decorate
his
productions-he would let them
change
the
natureof
the
stage
space
itself,
or
even
the
human
figure,
if
they
wanted
to,
and he
was
always
ready
to
let
his
artists
make
theatrical
use
of
what
they
were
doing
in
their
work as
a
whole.
As we
have
seen,
a
remarkable
number
of
contemporaryexperiments
in
stage
design
were
foreshadowed
in
Diaghilev's
productions,
and we
can
only
guess
at
what
further
experiments
he
might promote
if
he
were
still
with us.
Which
brings
us
to the
other
half
of
the
present
exhibition.
Merce
Cunningham's
major
works
over
the
last
20
years
have
been
a
series of
distinguished
collaborations:
as
in
the
Diaghilev
ballets,
the
choreography,
music,
and
decor
have
WINTER, 1974/75
137
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been of
equal importance,
with the
significant
difference that
instead
of
the
integrated
spectacle
of
Diaghilev's
time,
a
Cunningham
work
is
what
one
might
call a
disintegrated
spectacle,
in which the
elements
are
independent
of
each
other-and often are
brought together only
in
the
very
last
stage
of the creation.
From the time
of
his
earliest solos
Cunningham
has
had
the
musical
collaboration of
John
Cage,
and
their
way
of
joining
music and dance has
always
been unconventional.
While
in
the
ballet the
practice
has
always
been to
choreograph
dances
to
music that
exists,
whether or not
specifically composed
for
that
ballet,
a common
procedure
in the modern dance
has
been
for
music
to be
composed
after the
choreography
is
made,
but
with
strict
adherence to its metrical structure
(the
counts,
in dancers'
parlance).
Either
method,
in the
opinion
of
Cage
and
Cunningham,
meant
the
subservience
of one or
the other
of the
elements,
and
they
proposed
instead
a
dance
whose
relation
to the
music
would be
simply
that
they
both
happened
at the
same
time-the
music
would define the
dance's duration
but
not
its
rhythmic
structure
or even
its
mood.
The
logical
conclusion
of
this idea
has
been that
neither the
music
nor
in recent
years
the
dance
has
had to
be
the
same at
every repetition
of
a
piece.
For most of his early solos Cunningham designed his own
costumes,
and
many
early group
works
were
designed
by
Remy
Charlip,
who
danced in
Cunningham's
original
com-
pany.
Cunningham
has said:
I
had
always
been
interested
in
working
with artists:
Isamu
Noguchi
with
the
ballet The
Seasons for
the Ballet
Society;
David Hare with a
handsome
but
unfunctional
costume
for
a
solo,
unfunctional in the
sense
that it
was
too
heavy
to
wear to do
anything;
Howard
Bay
with mediocre
costumes and
set
for the
Brandeis
production
of
Les
Noces. These
were not
collaborations so
much
as
designs
after the
fact
of
the dance.
(Noguchi
had
already
designed
for
Martha Graham and
was
to
design
Orpheus
for
Balanchine,
also for Ballet
Society,
in
1948,
the
year
after
The
Seasons,
which
was
Cunningham's
first
major
work.)
The
earliest
costume in
the
present
exhibition
was
made
for
Cunningham
to wear in
Dromenon,
in
1947,
and was
worn
by
him
again
in the Solo of
1973.
The
late
Sonja
Sekula
painted
the
design directly
onto
the
tights
and leotard
while
Cunningham
was
wearing them,
and a
little
of the
design
usually
comes
off onto
his
body every
time the
costume
is
worn.
Cunningham
choreographed
The
Monkey
Dances
for a
production
of
Satie's
play
Le
Piege
de
Meduse
at
Black
Mountain
College
in
1948,
a
production
that
Diaghilev
himself
might
not have
disdained
to
present-the
text was
translated
by
M. C.
Richards,
Willem and
Elaine
de
Kooning
did the
set,
Cunningham's
tail
was made
by
Richard
Lippold,
and the cast
included Elaine de
Kooning
and
Buckminster
Fuller.
The
Cunningham
Dance
Company
formally
came into
being
in
1953,
also
at
Black
Mountain,
and it
was
there
that
Robert
Rauschenberg
became
associated with
it, having
taken
part
in
the
John Cage
Theater Piece
in the
summer
of
1952.
In
1954
Rauschenberg
designed
a
set
for a
Cunningham dance,
Minutiae. This set, actually executed in collaboration with
Jasper
Johns,
is related
to
the
small
collage
also
on
exhibition.
It
is three-dimensional and
was used as
a
freestanding
unit in
center
stage around, through,
and under which the dancers
moved
during
the
course
of the
piece.
Two
years
later,
for
the
Satie
Nocturnes, Rauschenberg
made a
set
and
costumes
that
represented
his
idea of
night-not
darkness
but
the
bright
moonlight
of a
nuit blanche.
In
Nocturnes,
in
fact,
as
opposed
to much
of
Cunningham's
work,
the relation of
dance to
music
Robert
Rauschenberg,
Set from
Cunningham's
Minutiae,
1954.
ART
JOURNAL,
XXXI
V/2
38
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6/7
was
a
fairly
traditional
one,
and the decor
and costumes
were
further extensions
of
the
same
imagery presented
in the
music
and the
choreography.
Cunningham
had
already
been
experimenting
with chance
methods of
composition,
in which he
sought
to free
himself
from
the
limitations
of
his own
imagination
and
of
a dancer's
habitual
way
of
moving
from one
position
to
another,
by using
such
methods
as
tossing
a
coin to
determine
the
choice,
sequence,
tempo,
and
frequency
of
the
movements
in a dance.
Even
Nocturnes
was
choreographed
in
this
way.
Some
consultation
with the
designer frequently
took
place,
for
obvious reasons-for
an
example,
see
Cunningham's
letter
to
Rauschenberg
on
his ideas for Antic
Meet,
reprinted
in
Changes, Cunningham's
notes
on
choreography (edited
by
Frances
Starr
for the
Something
Else
Press, 1968).
All
the
same,
Rauschenberg
was
given
and
exercised total
freedom
to
decorate
and
clothe
the
piece:
the
dancers
wore
basic
black
tights
and
leotards,
to
which
were
added
35
ready-made
garments
and
objects-overalls,
burlap
sacks,
a
nightgown,
parachutes, hooped
underskirts. In the
same
year,
1958,
Rauschenberg
painted
the
famous
pointillist
backcloth and
costumes
for
Summerspace,
for which
Cunningham
had the
idea,
which
he
described
in the
same letter as
looking
at
part
of an enormous landscape and you can only see the action in
this
particular
portion
of
it.
Rauschenberg
carried the idea
further
in
his
decor-when
the
dancers were
at rest
they
became
almost
invisible,
camouflaged
like insects or animals
whose
protective
coloring
conceals them in their environment.
Again
in
Aeon
(1961),
there
was the idea
of
using
basic
leo-
tards
and
tights,
bluish
in
color,
to which different
elements
could be
added:
long
sleeves for the
women,
trousers made
of
feathers
for the
men.
Rauschenberg
also devised certain events
such
as small
explosions
that
occurred at the front
of the
stage
as
the
curtain
rose,
and
a
machine
suspended
from
the flies
that
passed
across
above
the
dancers as
they lay prone
at the
end of
a section. With all
these
pieces
there
is
a
difficulty
as far
as an
exhibition
is
concerned:
habitually,
Rauschenberg
did
not design his d6cors and costumes, he made them-there is no
sketch,
there
is
just
a
costume or
a
set. This
practice
was
carried
to its
logical
conclusion
in
Story
(1963),
performed
all
over
the
world in
the
tour of
1964,
but never in New York:
for
this ballet
Rauschenberg
constructed a
set out
of whatever
materials were
at hand in each
theater
the
company
visited
(at
one
series of
four
consecutive
performances
in
London,
Rauschenberg's
contribution
consisted
of
making
a
painting
on
stage,
which
grew night
after
night);
for the
costumes
the
dancers
again
wore
basic
leotards
and
tights,
in
yellow
this
time,
to
which
they
could add
various
garments
out of a
large
duffel
bag
whose contents
were
dumped
in the
wings.
This
dance and
Field
Dances
of
the same
year
introduced a
greater
element
of
indeterminancy
into the
performance
itself,
the
dancers
being given
freedom of
choice
among
various
possibilities
in the
choreography.
Cunningham
has described
this kind of
activity
as
a kind of
anarchy
where
people
may
work
freely together.
The
end
of
the world
tour
also marked the
close
of the
period
of
collaboration
with
Rauschenberg, during
most of
which the
painter
had
functioned
also as
stage manager
and
lighting
designer.
In
the
last
few
years, Jasper Johns
has been
the
artistic advisor
to
the
company, designing
some
pieces
himself and
for
others
choosing
an artist
who
has
been free
to
decorate or
define the
space
in whatever
way
he
likes: for
Andy
Warhol,
Set for
Cunningham's
Rainforest,
1968.
Scramble
(1967)
Frank
Stella made
strips
of
canvas in
primary
colors,
stretched on
movable
frames;
Rainforest
(1968)
was
decorated
with
Andy
Warhol's
floating
silver
pillows;
Johns
made
a
decor
based
on
Marcel
Duchamp's
The
Large
Glass for
Walkaround Time
(1968),
and for
Second
Hand
(1970)
dressed the
dancers in
costumes that made
a
spectrum
when
they
lined
up
across
the
stage
in the
final
bows;
Robert
Morris'
vertical
beam for
Canfield, crossing
and
recrossing
the
stage
and
throwing
light
onto the
backcloth,
and
Bruce
Nauman's
row
of
standing
industrial fans for
Tread
(1970)
both
placed
the
decor
between
dancers
and
audience;
for TV
Rerun
(1972)
Johns'
decor
consisted
of
a
group
of
photographers
who
moved around
the
perimeter
of
the
performing
area
shooting
the action with still or
movie
cameras.
For the ballet
of the Paris
Opera
last
year
Cunningham
choreographed
a
work of
epic
proportions,
with
music
by
John
Cage
and
decor
by
Johns,
assisted
by
Mark
Lancaster,
Un
Jour
ou
deux.
This
piece
used the whole
enormous
space
of the
Opera stage,
divided into
two
areas
by scrims,
one down
front,
one
halfway
back,
shading
from
very
dark to
very
light
gray;
behind the
farther
scrim,
the
shadowy
outlines of the
architecture
of the
stage's
rear wall
could
be
seen.
His own
company's
programs
are
now
almost
always
given
over
to
what
Cunningham
calls
Events-uninterrupted
per-
WINTER,
1974/75
139
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7/7
Jasper
Johns,
Set
after Marcel
Duchamp's
The
Large
Glass
for
Cunningham's
Walkaround
Time,
1968.
formances
of
pieces
from
the
repertory,
whole or in
part,
put
together
in an
arrangement
for the
particular
occasion and
rarely repeated
more
than
two or
three
times. His newest
choreography, including
Changing
Steps
of
1973,
has
been
seen
only
in
this
way. Cunningham's
reasons
for
doing
this,
like most of
his
decisions,
are
essentially practical
ones:
an
Event can be
arranged
to
fit
any
kind of
performing
area,
whether
proscenium
stage
or
gymnasium
or
studio,
and
can
accommodate
itself
to
any
of the
circumstances
that
may
occur,
such as loss
of
dancers
through permanent
departure
or
temporary
disability, unsuitability
of
stage surface,
or
what-
ever-Cunningham
feels
that
in
the
face of
this
kind of
unpredictability,
it
is
better to be
flexible
than
rigid.
As
with
any
artist,
his
experiments
and
innovations are
rarely
made
for the
sake
of
doing
something
new,
but because
that is the direction in which his way of working takes him. A
choreographer
like
Cunningham
does not
deliberately
work in
an
experimental
way,
any
more
than
one like Frederick
Ashton works
in
a
consciously
traditional
way-they
do
what
they
do,
and the results
may
seem
to
some
people
surprisingly
classic
in a
Cunningham
work
(as
in the
Paris
Opera
piece)
and innovative
in
one
of
Ashton's.
Thus
in
his
Scenes de ballet
(1948)
Ashton
had
the
idea that
you
could
make
the
front
anywhere,
not
necessarily...
where the
public
sit
and
see.
Cunningham
has
worked on a
similar
principle
at
least since
Suite
by
Chance
(1953)- The
dancer
is
at a
given point
in the
dancing
area. That
point
in
space
... is center
for
him... .
We
are accustomed
by
now to the
fact that such ideas are
in
the
air
and can occur
to
different
artists
who
may
not be
aware
of each
other's work.
By
the
same
token,
we
can trace
Cunningham's lineage
back to
various
works
of
the
Diaghilev
period (contrary
to what
many people
have
said, Cunningham
was
not influenced
by
Martha Graham in
his
choreography
or
even in
his
technique,
except
in
a
negative
sense)-Nijinsky's
use,
or
nonuse,
of
the
music
in Faune
(and
also the
shapes
made in
space
between the
dancers);
the
collage
elements of
Parade and
the
Dadaism
of
another
Satie
ballet,
Reldche,
presented
by
the
Ballets
Suedois
in
1924;
the
abstract
designs
made
by
the
dancers
in
gray
tights
in
Massine's
Ode;
the
dislocations
of the
stage
area of
Les
Noces;
the
sculptural
groupings
of
Apollo.
I am not
suggesting
that
Cunningham
is
influenced
by
these
ballets,
most
of which he
cannot have
seen, merely that their discoveries, once made, become part of
what is available
to
any
choreographer,
just
as
Cunningham
in
his
turn has come across new
ways
of
moving
and
new
ways
of
putting
movements
together,
and
thus made
them
available to
those
who
come after him.
U
David
Vaughn
has written
on dance for
many
American and
foreign
periodicals.
He has been
an
associate
of Merce
Cunningham's
for
15
years.
This
piece
originally
appeared
in
the
catalogue
for
the
exhibition
at Hofstra
University's Emily
Lowe
Gallery.
ART
JOURNAL,
XXXIV/2
40
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