Going
Back to Class
Honoring Mary Anthony
Flashback to July,
2013
Housebound in a heat wave, I go to
bed early – and dream:
I approach Mary Anthony’s original
dance studio on Fourth Avenue and climb the long flight of stairs. The place is
exactly as it was back in 1961 – right down to a rattling eye hook securing the
door to the tiny john in the back. Students
chat in the living/waiting room on the street side before taking their places for
class. Mary enters briskly as ever from her living quarters at the other end of
the studio. Her long skirt settles
around her ankles as she greets the dancers with a determined smile and a
twinkle in her eye. We begin the floor routine. While she works with others, I slip into form
easily and know exactly what to do. I’m
ready to pick up where I left off. Why didn’t
I come back to class sooner? How silly
of me to wait so long! Mary, moving back
to the low bench in front of the mirror, reaches out to touch my hand. She remembers me!
Birds are chattering into the dawn
when I awaken very early from this dream and wonder if Mary is still with
us. What is this gentle poke I received
in the night?
A photo from the 50s – on my
bookshelf – shows Mary Anthony moving serenely through space on an inevitable curve. It all looks easy, the upward gesture of the
arms, the slight bend in the knees around which a pale costume swirls. But the very picture seems to breathe. Behold a world of technique behind such
eloquence.
That technique was hard won by me. When Mary taught at Bennington, I was
muscle-bound from early training that had emphasized a particular kind of
strength in the legs at the expense of alignment, her specialty. Mary took me apart and put me back together
after I came to New York. I can still
feel her hand placed firmly on the curve in my lower back where the vertebrae
should suspend lightly, she would say, with space in between them, like
properly strung pearls. I can still hear
her address the class as I mastered a combination that involved reversing in
place from a plunging arabesque to an upward leg extension:
“Watch how Lynn is doing it! That’s what you want.”
This was the beginning of a
productive period in which she mentored the choreography I did for a successful
TV show. I was privileged to perform in
“Songs” and other work as a member of Mary’s company. Eventually, I moved on.
I find her Facebook page. At 96, Mary looks uncannily like my mother did
at that age. My favorite picture of her is
there, too, and YouTube excerpts from a film about her life in which my name
rolls past quickly in the final credits.
Cut to June, 2014
A knee problem that developed last
spring – before the dream about Mary Anthony – has been dealt with successfully
through excellent physical therapy and regular use of a foam roller to untangle
fascia deep in the hips and thighs. I do
daily exercises with a big, wide rubber band around my knees, demi-pliés and
less attractive squats. Humiliated by my
first effort to stand unsupported on one foot, I take on balance – which was
once an asset – and rediscover my dancing core.
Working out at home to a CD of Brahms intermezzi, I experience total
recall at the cellular level. Of course,
I can’t do what I used to do, but I
can still feel it.
I can’t stop thinking about Mary
Anthony. Maybe I should go back to class!
The idea makes me laugh out
loud. It’s not as if I just skipped a
week or two because of the flu or a badly stubbed toe. But
that’s what you say, and that’s what you do.
You go back to where you belong.
To square one, always a beautiful place to be. Mary’s website is still up, and the studio on
Broadway which I have never seen still seems to be humming. Am I crazy to be thinking this?
“Hello, Mary,” I imagine calling the phone number that hasn’t changed in nearly
60 years.
I would testify to something far
more enduring.
“You have no idea how much of what I
learned from you has stayed with me. The
lesson is powerful and pervasive, even when I am not aware of how much it informs
how I move, think, feel, and create.”
There is more I want to say. How I feel like I channel her when I teach,
kind of dance my way through a grammar lesson – how poetry has become part of
my regular diet – how I have come to understand her passion for text (and I don’t mean on a cell phone).
Maybe I will call. Maybe I could
manage, with the tender amusement I am sure she would bestow upon my effort,
not to fall apart. Maybe she would be
proud of me and give herself some credit for it.
I unfold the New York Times on the
morning of June 5th. The obit is in section A with a photo of Mary facing
her class, her tiny figure reflected in the mirror behind her, the perennial dance
skirt falling simply from her waist. Her
arms and her eyes float heavenward on a breath that ascends from her feet.
Mary Anthony always had it right,
and she generously gave it away to me.
* * *
NY TIMES: Mary Anthony, Choreographer and Teacher of Modern
Dance, Dies at 97
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/06/06/arts/dance/mary-anthony-teacher-of-modern-dance-dies-at-97.html?_r=0
VIDEO: Mary Anthony: A Life in Modern Dance Excerpts from the
video documentary
