Given the current emphasis on the juxtaposition of Warhol and Hodges, it's worthwhile to take a moment and consider other pairings. By now, you've read quite a bit on this blog about Warhol's Silver Clouds, currently installed (often against their will) in the Contemporary's lobby space. Those who are familiar with the clouds' past lives may also know that they were the inspiration for a choreographer Merce Cunningham in his 1968 piece Rain Forest. When Cunningham visited the exhibition when it was first installed at the Leo Castelli Gallery in 1966, he and friend Jasper Johns asked Warhol if they could use them in a staged work, to which Warhol replied "oh sure."
(In case you're wondering, Johns ended up doing the costumes for the piece while David Tudor did the score. I know I know, it must be dreadful having to collaborate with such mediocrity, right? Did I mention that Cunningham also has a longstanding partnership with Robert Rauschenberg? "Bob" when on multiple tours with the company, designing sets on-site at each theater which were largely comprised of miscellaneous props lying around backstage. Oh, and don't forget John Cage...)
In a later interview, Cunningham recounted some experiences with the clouds that may resonate all-too-well with out staff:
"Some of the pillows were filled with air - they stayed on the floor - but some were filled with helium and they floated. The dancers had to understand the technique of working with them: you had to push, not kick, to get them to float. When we first did RainForest they has only has one rehearsal with the pillows, and a lot went out into the audience. We used them once in an event we did in Persepolis - we thought they would look marvelous against the stone pillars. But it was an open air performance and most of the pillows got away."
Like much of Warhol's work, Cunningham's choreography tends to be emotionally detached, leaving ample room for the work to develop according to uncontrollable and unpredictable forces. Obsessing with promoting dance for dance's sake, he intentionally removes as much narrative and psychological structure as possible. He was the major pioneer of "chance dance," giving dancers specific instructions, without reference to other dancers or the music, which he would change with each performance. Any dancer who has ever taken a Cunningham class knows that the process takes some getting use to. "Now this time, take exactly one and a half minutes to skip in a circle with a diameter of precisely 22 feet..." Some fine it fascinating, some find it incredible frustrating. Either way, it is easy to see why adding another 'chance' element was a natural progression.
Even though the clouds' reflection of the stage lights periodically blinds the audience, dispiriting some critics, RainForest is still one of the most recognizable Cunningham works. Constantly wondering "what will happen this time," audiences may find RainForest more accessible than other pieces by this sometimes difficult choreographer. One look at the child like expressions on the faces of the Contemporary's adult patrons, gazing wide-eyed at the clouds with eagerly outstretched arms, should be some indication of our universal, enduring, and perhaps unsophisticated attraction to all things shiny and new.
Betsy Brandt, Development Associate