Dance giants may have gone but Cunningham and Bausch's work will live for ever

Published on Tuesday 28 July 2009 18:52

WITHIN a few short weeks, the dance world has been hit by the death of two of its best-loved choreographers.

The ink had barely dried on tributes to Pina Bausch when the news broke that Merce Cunningham, right, had passed away in his sleep. At the age of 90, his death may not have come as a shock, but for all those who knew Cunningham and his work, there is a very real sense of sadness.

Bausch died unexpectedly from cancer aged 68, five days after diagnosis. Given what Cunningham achieved in the extra 22 years of life he was afforded, one can only speculate at the wonders her imagination would have produced. What we have left, however, is their legacy – a prolific outpouring from both artists that will continue to entertain, stimulate and perplex in equal measure.

For while Bausch and Cunningham were loved by many, they also had the power to alienate. It was not uncommon for some audience members to walk out of their respective performances, largely through frustration at the inability to "get it". Cunningham took a certain amount of delight in the outrage his shows provoked, but for him it was never about the audience "getting it" – the work itself was all that mattered. He didn't try to tell a story or evoke emotions, it was dance for dance's sake.

Cunningham was also fascinated by what lay around the corner. New technologies were there to be discovered and incorporated into his choreography. Working with other artists, his pioneering use of music, film and visual art saw Cunningham blaze a trail through the modern dance world from the 1940s onwards. In particular, his relationship (both on-stage and off) with musician and composer John Cage proved pivotal.

Together they changed the way music and dance were perceived, allowing them to occupy the same space, but keeping both art forms separate. Often, Cunningham would create steps with his dancers in total silence – only playing them the music at the dress rehearsal. His love of spontaneity also kept dancers on their toes, especially Cunningham's penchant for choosing the running order for a piece by throwing a dice a few hours before curtain-up.

More than anything, however, Cunningham's lasting gift to dance is his technique. Utilised by contemporary dance companies the world over, his approach encourages dancers to use both their mind and body to articulate movement. Although the technique was very much his own creation, Cunningham was inspired by a number of styles which he picked up as a young dancer.

The son of a lawyer, he grew up in a small town near Washington DC, where his first introduction to dance came via an ex-Vaudeville performer who lived nearby. When I spoke to him in 2004, he recalled the woman who lit that first spark. "Her spirit was so lively," he said. "She taught tap dancing on the linoleum floor in her kitchen, and I remember it vividly. Her enjoyment of what she was doing, and how she made us feel the same way, was unforgettable."

After further training, Cunningham moved to New York, where he became the leading man in the Martha Graham Dance Company. Graham's influence on Cunningham (and everyone else in the modern dance world) was palpable, but eventually he felt the need to strike out on his own and, in 1953, he formed his own company.

In his twenties and thirties, Cunningham was known for his elasticity and the lightness of his leaps. In recent years, arthritis forced him into a wheelchair, but his ability to choreograph and create shows was undiminished. As recently as April, he created what proved to be his final work – Nearly 90, featuring music by Sonic Youth and John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin.

Having achieved so much, and won so many awards, Cunningham could have retired years ago – but the desire to keep going was too strong. "I've been grateful for all the awards," he told me. "But frankly they feel like yesterday's medals. One must go on – the work in hand is always what interests me."

In June, as if he knew the end was in sight, he set up The Legacy Plan, a road-map for the future to ensure his work survives. He also leaves behind a sea of memories, and all those who saw Cunningham during his last visit to Scotland, for Cage's An Alphabet at the 2001 Festival, will remember that, at 82, his stage presence was still magnetic. Gentle, unassuming and filled with humility despite his vast contribution to the performing arts, Cunningham the man will be missed just as much as the Cunningham the choreographer.

With two dance legends passing away in such close proximity, it's tempting to cast around for a rather macabre "who's next"? But in reality, there are very few giants in the field who come close to these two visionaries, both in terms of the work they produced and influence they exerted.

Which is why, despite the sadness at their loss, neither Bausch nor Cunningham is really gone. They live on in their choreography, technique and the generations to come who will inevitably be inspired by them.