Today is National Dance Day! Whether you are a longtime dancer or just learning the ropes, today is an opportunity to celebrate dancing in all its forms.
Paul Taylor is one of the foremost American choreographers of our time. He began his career in the 1950s as both a dancer and a choreographer, retiring from performing in 1974. Known for his edginess and willingness to address the most sensitive of subjects, his pieces often deal with man’s place within nature; love and sexuality; life and death; and iconic moments of American history.
Here are five lessons about creating dances—and living life—from Paul Taylor’s latest collection of writing, Facts and Fancies:
Follow your passion. “To put it simply, I make dances because I can’t help it,” writes Taylor. “I make dances because I believe in the power of contemporary dance, its immediacy, its potency, its universality. I make dances because that’s what I’ve spent many years teaching myself to do, and it’s become what I’m best at.” Whether your passion is making dances or writing poetry, follow your gut; practicing your art over a long period of time will help you hone those skills. It all starts with the desire to create.
Be yourself. In one essay, Taylor touts the benefits of modern and contemporary dance: “As a rule, each grows organically out of itself in different ways, just as different types of fruit grow in nature, and each dancer looks like nobody else but himself (or herself). Individualism is encouraged, see. It’s perfectly okay not to be a clone. . . . And you can always count on [modern dancers] heading in interesting new directions without falling down or getting stuck in one spot.”
Buck trends. Taylor made himself a household name by going against the grain: “Aureole (1962) was my first big success. A lyrical, pure-dance piece, set to the music of Handel, it was created for the American Dance Festival, which generally featured the more Expressionist work of José Limón and Martha Graham.” The piece changed the face of modern dance by omitting elements that were then considered de rigueur. “Something about the simplicity has been on my mind,” writes Taylor. “No puzzlements for folks to ponder, no stiff-necked pretensions from classic ballet, or even any of its steps. It’s just old-fashioned lyricism and white costumes.” When the piece debuted, it became an instant classic: “None of the troupe has any idea that this has been the first performance of a piece that we’ll be dancing hundreds and hundreds of times. On five continents, in world capitals and Podunk towns, in North African desert heat, at the edge of Alaskan glaciers, in the moonlit Pantheon’s shadow, under banyan trees.”
Avoid pretention. Although it’s easy for young dancers and choreographers to get caught up in them, Taylor has little patience for conversations that trade in cultural snobbery: “Who cares if it’s high art or low, or about the relationship between the two? Possibly the art-mongers do, and the paying public, but not me. All I care about is if cultural things work or not, and if I can get away with how my dances turn out. Really, honest and true, for those who make things—poems, buildings, moon modules, Kewpie dolls, whatever—the whole world is one big, glorious grab-bag!”
Amen.
Relax. Don't be so hard on yourself—it's counterproductive. The combination of confidence and a calm mind enables dancers and choreographers to achieve their creative goals.
Anything you wish to communicate is quite acceptable.
Take your ideas in stride, don’t let them disturb you.
Trust in the perceptiveness of those who watch,
Let them figure out your dance for themselves.
—Paul Taylor