‘It’s not just me teaching them. I’m learning from them.’
Pam Tanowitz

I recently attended a talk and rehearsal given by the inspiring New York choreographer Pam Tanowitz. She was creating a work with the Royal Ballet to mark the centenary of legendary American choreographer Merce Cunningham. 

With his clean lines and fast footwork Cunningham made dance that was independent of music, narrative or concept. He collaborated with artists, designers and musicians, and experimented with new technology. He also embraced the possibilities of chance: rehearsing pieces in segments that could be reconfigured just before the show in an order determined by rolling dice or flipping a coin. 

Like Cunningham Tanowitz begins by rehearsing without music. Like Cunningham no step is off limits. She also embraces chance. In a recent work the third movement became the first after it was mixed up on her computer.

Tanowitz explains that her approach is more about task than character; more about structure than story; more about movement than music.

In the piece Tanowitz has created with the Royal Ballet, ‘Everyone Keeps Me,’ dancers twist and turn, hop and spin, shake and judder, wave and salute. Their moves are elegant, but on the edge of awkward. Sequences are consciously dislocated and out of joint. Sometimes they dance together and sometimes alone. Sometimes they stare into each other’s eyes and sometimes they look away. Sometimes they lounge on the floor and regard the action from a distance. 

You may want to see in the dance the ebb and flow of human relationships, the erratic interaction of people’s fortunes. But Tanowitz insists that the meaning is in the movement.

‘The meaning is in the structure, the steps, the dance and the people. I want it to be viscerally compelling.’

Tanowitz usually works with her own company, with dancers who are articulate in her distinct grammar and way of working. When she choreographs with a new company, as here, she is keen to make use of the particular physicality and style of movement that fresh dancers bring.

‘The dancers’ personality and technique, the ballet history in their bodies.’

In rehearsing the material Tanowitz takes a phrase, then reverses it, manipulates it, and makes the dancers travel across the floor with it. She explores the many ways in which a sequence can evolve.

‘I like choices. I want to see all the options.’

Tanowitz characterises her process as conversation. They are talking dance.

‘It’s about who’s in the room with me. It’s a conversation between me, the dancers and the audience.’

In the commercial creative sector we could learn a good deal from Tanowitz - about embracing chance, non-sequiturs and abstraction. But I was particularly interested in what she teaches us about co-creation - something we discuss a good deal nowadays.

For Tanowitz co-creation inevitably entails a certain amount of letting go, of giving collaborators room to explore, to experiment, to express themselves. 

‘I’m not interested in micromanagement.’

She is opening herself up to her partners, to their characters and ideas, responding to their particular styles and ways of working. She is actively listening and being attentive, learning and being inspired. Her process is built on dialogue and trust. 

But by no means does Tanowitz concede authorial control. Far from it. Having investigated permutations and possibilities, she then edits, selects and makes choices. She adapts, arranges and assembles. 

Tanowitz reminds us that if we want great output, we need to think seriously about our input.

‘Process is my favourite part. The show is my least favourite.’

Tanowitz seems a smart, articulate, humble person, with a natural rapport with her dancers and a dry sense of humour. She ponders problems of movement like an architect poring over a complex set of plans.

‘I like solving logistical problems artistically.’

At one point in the rehearsal Tanowitz struggles to find the appropriate instruction for two dancers. She hesitates.

‘What’s the word I was looking for?’

The dancers resolve the puzzle intuitively with a new and different movement. Tanowitz turns away, satisfied.

‘Good. I didn’t need the word.’

'Time won't change you.
Money won't change you.
I haven't got the faintest idea.
Everything seems to be up in the air at this time.
I need something to change your mind.’

Talking Heads, ‘Mind’ (D Byrne / J Harrison)

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