ROGER COPELAND
One aspect of modernism has been its effort to annihilate history,
to create an art without precedent, to renovate sensibility, to
canonize the New. We have had more than half a century of
newness and suddenly it has aged. The classic ballet, born in the
seventeenth century, combines historical legitimacy with con–
temporary manner. Its gestures are courtly, yet respond in ac–
cent, celerity, and syncopation to the colloquial cadences of the
day. Balanchine has defined the 'modern' direction of classic
ballet.
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Thus the goal is not absolute "originality" (newness for the sake
of newness, difference for the sake of difference) but rather a
dynamic balance between the "objective," inherited conventions of
the past and the "subjective" innovations wrought by the contem–
porary artist. Balanchine's continued reliance on the classical vocab–
ulary codified by Petipa is of course the best example of the way in
which these abstract principles translate into actual choreographic
practice. For The New York City Ballet, the ethic of impersonality
results in a hierarchy of humility in which the choreographer, the
performer, and even the spectator all surrender to something older,
larger and more permanent than their own personalities.
In
the first instance, Balanchine invariably conceived of him–
self as the humble servant of the music that inspired his dances. This
was nowhere more evident than on the first night of The New York
City Ballet Tchaikovsky Festival in 1981. To the surprise of many
(and the consternation of some) the evening began with the overture
of Tchaikovsky's
Romeo and Juliet
followed by arias from two
Tchaikovskyoperas,
The Queen of Spades
and
Eugene Onegin.
Dancers
were nowhere to be seen. And perverse as it may sound, this was
simply Balanchine's eminently humble way of reminding his audience
that they had come to attend a
Tchaikovsky
Festival, and only second–
arily, a Balanchine festival. A similar example of Balanchine's self–
effacing reverence for music was visible in
Duo Concertante
which he
choreographed for the first New York City Ballet Stravinsky Festival
in 1972. The musicians performed on stage, directly alongside the
dancers, and during the opening section of the ballet, the two per–
formers, Peter Martins and Kay Mazzo stood still and merely
listened - with unmistakable attentiveness - to the music.
And Balanchine's relationship to the music is mirrored in the
performer's relationship to Balanchine's choreography. The legend–
ary violinist Isaac Stern once gave a group of students the following
advice, "You don't use music to play the violin, you use the violin to
