Progression of Art
Sixteen Dances for Soloist and Company of Three
Sixteen Dances for Soloist and Company of Three is an essential piece in Cunningham's career, as it was the first time Cunningham employed the use of chance operations in choreographing the production. The dance explores the nine permanent emotions of Indian aesthetics: anger, humour, sorrow, the heroic, the odious, the wondrous, fear, the erotic, and tranquility. Chance dictated the order of appearance of the emotions as well as the order of discrete moves performed by the dancers. Seven of the nine emotions are represented in solos where the body of the dancer temporarily becomes an expressive medium. The last two emotions, however, the erotic and tranquility, are represented by a duet and a quartet, respectively.
John Cage composed the score Sixteen Dances for piano and a small orchestra to accompany, and as was often the case, the two worked independently. For each pair of dances, the musicians played eight sounds and then changed the sounds for the next pair, with the effect being that the music sounded totally different at the end of the dance from the way it began. The interdisciplinary nature of the production juxtaposes chance, movement, and sound explorations to create a "chance ballet."
Variations V embodies the ultimate intermedia collaborative artwork. The collaboration between Cunningham and various artists mixes dance, lighting installations, video, and sound. In many senses, Variations V moves beyond dance into a multimedia spectacle. The backdrop of the stage featured a collaged film projection by Stan VanDerBeek and overlaid TV distortions by Fluxus artist Nam June Paik. These visual aspects alone had the power to challenge the viewer's sense of perception. To stimulate the senses even further, as dancers neared one of the 12 poles positioned on the stage, the dancer would trigger a sound that would then be manipulated by the musicians John Cage and David Tudor in the 1965 production. Cunningham envisioned a non-narrative dance that establishes a relation between the dancers and their visual and sonic environment. The corporeal movements of the dancers, instead of reflecting and illustrating a pre-established narrative, activate the composition that the spectators hear.
Cunningham subtly inserted Duchampian references into Variations V through what he calls "non-dance" activities. At various points, Cunningham potted a plant, Dancer Carolyn Brown smashed the pot, while another dancer wrapped a towel around her hair. Both the pot and the towel were connected to microphones and captured the sounds made by these everyday activities. Professor and author Mark Franko links Cunningham's interest in these everyday movements to the Duchampian readymade by arguing "that bodies in ordinary motion are dance readymades." While paying homage to Marcel Duchamp, the Dada-ist instagator of so much later Conceptual art, Cunningham also pioneers a path incorporating video and sound to create a multisensory experience.
In Story, Cunningham collaborated with Japanese composer Toshi Ichiyanagi, who had studied with John Cage and who was married to Fluxus artist Yoko Ono. Cunningham employed chance to arrange the eighteen sections composed of a series of solos, duos, and trios, but importantly his collaboration with Robert Rauschenberg brought an innovative and unorthodox use of costumes and sets to the production. While Cunningham and Rauschenberg had collaborated in the past, in Story, Cunningham wanted to further break down the connections between art and life. In designing the sets, Rauschenberg used found objects in the local theater where the piece was performed. According to the Rauschenberg Foundation, "When he could not locate sufficient supplies, Rauschenberg improvised 'living sets.' In Venice, for example, he had an Italian stagehand sweep the stage throughout the performance and in four performances at London's Phoenix Theater, Rauschenberg sat onstage and painted a picture, titled Story." Similarly, the costumes consisted of basic leotards for the male and female dancers that would be supplemented with second-hand clothes and found items.
The open-form of the choreography, the changing order of the dances, and the sustained sound composition by Ichiyanagi created an open-ended story that could be retold and interpreted in countless ways. Rauschenberg's interest in assemblage sculpture further underscored Cunningham's interest in chance and the incorporation of everyday life into dance.
Named after a card game of solitaire, Cunningham choreographed Canfield using a deck of playing cards. Assigning a motion to each card and fast and slow movements to the red and black suits, the order of actions was then randomized as cards were chosen. Like many of his dances, Canfield focuses the audience's attention on the moment. Cunningham said, "You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold - nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive." Focusing on the moment creates a direct connection between the dancer and the viewer, while maintaining a constant feeling of apprehension and suspense.
Canfield was made in collaboration with American composer and electronic music pioneer Pauline Oliveros who wrote the sound score and Minimalist sculptor Robert Morris who designed the set. Morris began his artistic career as a dancer and set designer. For Canfield, he created a 25-foot tall column adorned with airplane runway lights that moved across the stage. The dancers wore reflective leotards so they would shimmer when hit by the light. The result of Morris's design, with its glaring lights, was that much of the dance happened in the darkness. Viewers too were left in the dark, anticipating the movement of the dancers. As curator Mary Coyne explains, this collaboration was "a key project within the artist's interest in the spatial and psychological relationship between dancer, viewer, and object."
The first dance choreographed after John Cage's death, Cunningham created in Doubletoss a sense of duality. Critic Deborah Jowit thought the binary was representative of "the dead and the living, often close together," and critic Jack Anderson saw it as duality of "earthy and airy." Originally conceived as two separate dances, Cunningham tossed a series of coins to determine the movements for each dance but then chose to combine the dances into a single production.
Cunningham designed the set and costumes for the dance himself, and appropriately, each dancer had two costumes, the first being causal clothing and the second more ghostly, white body tights underneath black netting. Similarly, the stage was also divided by a see-through black scrim that the dancers would move around. Dancers in different costumes moved differently; those in simple clothing, according to Anderson, "tend[ed] to move in a firm, deliberate manner. Others, with black netting over their leotards, dart[ed] quickly and airily and occasionally retreat[ed] behind a scrim at the back of the stage, as if gathering in their own private domain." And importantly, the dancers sometimes traded costumes, thus dancing in each role. The composer Takehisa Kosugi's electronic score of sounds and chirps added to the enchantment of the production.
In Interscape, Cunningham reprised John Cage's 1991 score for a solo cello and enlisted his long-time friend and collaborator Robert Rauschenberg to design the costumes and the set. The piece offers a visually striking scenario to the viewer: the front curtain is a photomontage of black and white images while the backdrop features the same images in color, which he titled Interscape Mirage. Rauschenberg maximized the visually stimulating effect by dressing the dancers in bright, variously colored leotards. As usual, Rauschenberg and Cunningham worked separately, but Cunningham explained, "Light or luminosity is created by the way elements are juxtaposed. They become reflective and a radiance comes from putting different things together." This radiant light was at the heart of all of Cunningham's collaborations.
Cunningham planned the choreography as a series of duets and trios, and occassionally, larger groups leap across the stage. Recurring gestures, such as linking arms, back to back dancing, and shifting weight, appear as a series of compositional themes, but the dancers' movements rarely align in visual harmony. As critic Sid Smith described, "Overriding Interscape is an insistence that life is mostly disjointed, unbalanced and not pretty. Symmetry erupts only in flashes." Longer than many of his other choreographies, Interscape offers a deeper vision on the variety of chance operations and unexpected moments.