MY fondest memory of Merce Cunningham was seeing him at age 79 spoofing Burgess Meredith’s role in “Rocky” for a skit at a friend’s birthday party. I have no idea how that titan of American contemporary dance got roped into it, but he took it utterly seriously, which made him twice as funny.
I treasure that peek behind the curtain only slightly more than seeing the premiere of “Ground Level Overlay,” one of his great later works, and discovering the luminous serenity he could create.
Cunningham was born April 16, 1919, in Centralia, Wash., and educated at the Cornish School in Seattle. He died at home in Manhattan Sunday of natural causes. His career in New York as a dancer and choreographer spanned six decades and garnered him a National Medal of the Arts, a MacArthur Fellowship and more. He created more than 200 works for his own group, and his dances have also been performed by the New York City Ballet, American Ballet Theatre and many other companies.
Cunningham was known for his propensity for rolling dice or flipping coins to determine what might happen next. It was the most misunderstood aspect of his work. He would come to rehearsal with the coins already flipped, ready to tell the dancers what to do. It was a tool to take a path less traveled.
Cunningham was known for the independence of dance and other parts of the production. Music and décor were made separately, and all combined only in performance. Several generations of dancers studied under himor danced his work, including Karole Armitage, Remy Charlip and even, briefly, Paul Taylor; his influence is incalculable.
He was not just important for what he did, but with whom he did it. Artists including Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns made designs for his dances. His most important musical collaborator was John Cage, also his partner in life.
Cunningham’s energy never flagged; like Balanchine, Ibsen or Titian, he was blessed with a second youth in old age. In the early 1990s, Cunningham began experimenting with Life Forms, a computer program that simulated movement, driving his dances in new directions.
His avant-garde association made him seem sphinxlike, and in many ways he was. Charming and funny, he was still guarded, especially about his art. Yet he gave himself away as a vaudevillian at heart. His first training was in tap and ballroom with a teacher in his hometown. His inner hoofer stayed with him; he lived for the stage. Even needing a barre for support, he was onstage at age 80 performing with Mikhail Baryshnikov.
Earlier this year, his company announced the Living Legacy Plan, which provided for the company’s closure after his death and for his works to be documented and administered by a trust. The man defined a lengthy chapter in contemporary dance. It’s hard to believe that book is about to close.