Peter Sparling in rehearsals
The following entries are from a journal kept by former Graham dancer, Peter Sparling, while teaching and coaching for the Clytemnestra Project at Skidmore College. Sparling is presently Thurnau Professor of Dance at University of Michigan; he performed with the Graham Company from 1973-87 and was artistic director of the Graham Centenary Festival in 1994, hosted by U-M and University Musical Society. His last company performance was in “Appalachian Spring” at The Library of Congress in 1998. He has set Graham works on companies all over the world.
June 19:
I find myself typing on my laptop, early morning sun warming my back, while sitting in my car outside the Dance Center at 6:40 a.m., on our last Thursday at Skidmore. I think of the Talking Heads lines, “Watching the days go by…”, and “How did I get here?” The pool opens in 20 minutes. Take me to the water. Perhaps my restlessness stems from the accumulation of evening showings, tonight’s student composition show, the anticipation of the final days, the big wind-up…with no time for a wind-down or celebratory resting on the collective laurels. Martha’s blessing and curse? Yesterday, we blocked out the entire Act 1 of Clytemnestra, as dancers aired their roles in the light of day for the first time. How amazing to witness these beautiful dancers! How well I remember that solitary, hermetic, process of learning a new role—hours in front of a TV monitor, picking up movement from low-resolution images of a past Orestes or Oedipus, re-composing in one’s own muscle memory the outlines of the moving form, then filling them in before the mirror, a step at a time.
I was reminded of the outrageous hubris of this endeavor–tempered by a reverence for the efforts of past performers and for Martha’s genius, the years of discipline and practice, and the limits of the human body to absorb only so much before exhaustion or injury temporarily overwhelm the effort. Company dancers rise and fall; injuries have plagued the cast for the past few weeks. Rehearsal directors negotiate a delicate balancing act of scheduling, casting, and protective ploys to preserve and maintain the ranks. I remember Linda Hodes in particular, watching over my generation of dancers, gently assuring us with her matter-of-fact, worldly-wise attitude. I recall the long tours, the classes in strange studios along the way, or preparations for a New York season, and visits to massage therapists, acupuncturists, suffering the tears, the terror of the prospect of missing a performance, of forfeiting a career.
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