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A book on Merce Cunningham, who played a vital role in the history of arts in Europe and the US, triggers memories of his pioneering work. B.N. Goswamy on the man and his visit to Chandigarh So much happens in the world of contemporary dance in the West, and so little is one’s knowledge of it, that one has always considered oneself an outsider. Despite this, so extraordinary are the achievements of some dancers, that one tries to catch a glimpse of it from time to time. This is what decided my wife and I not to miss the one occasion when one of the icons of modern dance, Merce Cunningham, came to Chandigarh. This was a long, long time ago. But one knew of Merce even then; there was the added attraction of the music for the performance having been composed by another iconic figure, John Cage, and the stage design and costumes were by one of the most prominent names in the world of painting: Robert Rauschenberg. Needless to say, it was a remarkable performance, fresh and fragrant, and the memory of the event lingered in our minds for a long time. But it all came back when I chanced upon a book on Merce Cunningham the other day, rich alike in visuals and words. The work evokes the essence of Merce: the man, his choreography, his seminal role in the history of the arts in postwar America and Europe, and his larger vision as it pertains to the relationship between art and life. Since the documentation was so rich and methodical, I started wondering if there was any mention of his only professional tour of India in the book. There was. What is more, the chronicler went into it at some length, and spoke even of that one visit to Chandigarh. The account had a wry air to it, but I am sure the reader would be interested. It all goes back to 1964. The troupe had been invited to India by the distinguished Sarabhai family of Ahmedabad, members of which knew just about everyone who mattered then in the world of art. And the chronicler goes into some detail of how they were received by the family, and entertained in princely fashion. There were limousines at the station, a band in attendance, dinners and fireworks, and so on: and of course performances and lecture-demonstrations by Merce’s troupe. A few days later, the troupe was on its way to Chandigarh, mostly on the advice of the Sarabhais, since they wanted them to see the city of le Corbusier who had designed a home for one of them in Ahmedabad. The account starts well, for there is a description of the wonderful fields through which their bus passed on its way to Chandigarh from Delhi. But then this is how it goes on: "On our arrival (in Chandigarh) there was considerable confusion over the hotel. The first accommodations we were shown were quite unsuitable: the local sponsors seemed surprised that we had not brought our own beddings. This was finally resolved satisfactorily, but the next day there were further fights over the theatre arrangements. The only posters to be seen advertised "American Ballet by Artists from New York", and no programs had been printed. The Tagore Theatre itself was modern and well-equipped, but it became necessary for the company’s administrators to issue a list of requirements. Two performances were given, on October 25 and 26. It is safe to say that most of the audience had never seen anything like the Cunningham Company’s dancing. It is equally true that they appeared to be spellbound. Whenever a man lifted—or even touched—a woman, there were gasps. No doubt Rauschenberg’s costumes seemed like the equivalent of nudity. But, as Cunningham observed, "You felt that if they hadn’t liked it they would have come at you with knives." When the company left the next morning for Delhi, the bureaucrat who had been in charge of our arrangements said, "If we had known how good you are, we would have treated you better." All of this doesn’t fill one’s heart with pride, except that things have changed considerably since. And there is some solace in the fact that Delhi—where one reviewer, obviously new to contemporary dance, described the performance as "a delicious lampoon of the anaemically sentimental sequences one sometimes comes across in classical ballet"— does not come out too well from this account either. To close, however, on a different note. In the book there is a wonderful passage that catches the very essence of so much contemporary dance. Recalling the past, Merce writes at one point: "Years ago, I gave two or three dances one evening in some small place on Martha’s Vineyard (in Massachusetts). There was no music at all. Afterward, a lady in the audience came up and asked how could I possibly do this dancing without music, because there was no rhythm. At that particular moment, in this funny, dark little place, a gorgeous moth flew in and began moving in the most spectacular way around the one light. And I just pointed." Feeling your way There is a moving
description of Merce’s encounter with the famous Helen Keller early
in his career. Unable to see, but interested in the dancer, she felt
Merce’s waist lightly with her noble hands, and as he made a gentle,
fluttering movement, she turned around to her companion, and said:
"So light, like the mind." |
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