Dancing in the Berkshires: Travelogue #3

I've been thinking about this travelogue for quite some time, which is why it took me so long to get to number three. My trip into the Berkshire Mountains of Massachussetts at 17 was a watershed moment in my career, in my teenage years of discovery, in my life as a whole. I remember it not only as the summer I grew into my mind, but also as the first time I truly knew I was on the career path I wanted. That I needed to be in the performing arts.

Jacob's Pillow is a magical place for many reasons. A farm nestled in the lush, green mountain ridges just outside of Lee, MA, it's been a home for American modern dance since Ted Shawn first laid eyes on the property in 1930. The farm was first settled in 1790, and took its name as a play off of the adjacent road which locals dubbed (due to its craggy, rough nature) Jacob's Ladder. At the base of the farm is a huge boulder which butts up to the old road. Named "Pillow Rock," it follows that the connection would be made and the Carter family (the original settlers) would name their farm "Jacob's Pillow."

Today, the farm consists of the original farmhouse, two theaters, three dance studios, and outdoor theater called the "Inside/Out" stage, a barn/gallery, and a series of cabins housing some artists and many students and interns, who flock to the school in the summer time to surround themselves with greatness. Such was my mission in 1993, when I ended up there on the 4th of July, young, excited, and left in a rustic farm with absolutely no rules for the first time in my life.

I was there during a landmark year, and the greatness with which I was surrounded is hard to surpass. I was in the "Paul Taylor Repertory/Etudes Project" and had the chance to work with Taylor greats such as Carolyn Adams, Danny Grossman, Ruth Andrien, and Linda Kent.

We learned Taylor works and performed them (in a rather pedantic fashion I fear) on the inside/out stage before mainstage performances. Hard enough to perform "Aureole," "Musical Offering," "Runes," "3 Epitaphs" etc. in front of our teachers, but add 300 audience members and the occasional Mark Morris, Marta Rensi, and Paul Taylor himself, and we were often nerve-wracked beyond belief. We also had the opportunity to dance in a performance of Danny Grossman and Dancers, which was groundbreaking for me. However, my experience working with Danny is a post unto itself.

In the time I was there, we experienced Merce Cunningham: a little elfen creature with springy hair, an infectious smile and horribly mangled feet after years of abuse. His dancers were long and somewhat automaton in class, they lanked by us like herons in a pond and I was more than a little intimidated. Several of us sat at the door on a daily basis and watched their company class. When Mr. Grossman joined us one afternoon we commented on how they seemed to live their lives by rote. "What do you think they do in their spare time?" one of us asked. "I'm sure they drink beer and fuck just like the rest of us," was his well-timed answer. And so they did, as we ran into a couple of them at the Ben & Jerry's in Lee later in the week. They were, without a doubt, one of the most incredible groups of people I've ever seen on stage, and as they dove into "Beach Birds," I was taken to a different dimension. I'd never seen anything that athletic and peaceful all at the same time. Just like Merce, they exuded a presence that made me take a step back. I also remember walking along a trail that followed behind the Ted Shawn Theater one night, and seeing Merce sitting on the back porch, legs thumping like a child against the side, writing in a journal. Heaven.

We experienced Mark Morris. A cocky sumbitch if I do say so myself, but brilliant, brilliant, brilliant! One of my fellow Rep/Etudes students, David Leventhal, ended up being one of his most prominent dancers in the years that followed. I followed Mark in the lunchline at the dancer's cafeteria of macrobiotic foods one day and watched him ask the woman in front of him to try everything first and tell him if he'd like it. I snuck up to him in the tiny, hanging-plant-ridden Pillow Bar, and asked tentatively for his autograph one day. He was more than happy to oblige and I think I slunk away into the night - so embarrassed that I'd been so forward and he'd been so momentarily sweet. I watched his company chew up the stage in "Grand Duo," and realized I had never seen great dance up until that point.

We experienced Paul Taylor most of all. Taylor Day was established that year and Paul was debuting his second company (aptly named) Taylor II. These young dancers took class with us and learned all of the dances with us, then got to perform them in costume and take company class with the Taylor company when they were in town. We followed them around like puppies. It was amazing to go to the Ted Shawn Theater and watch his company perform all of these pieces we had so recently learned. I was most enchanted with Mary Cochran, who bounced her way through Syzygy with so much grace and energy with her curls going in time to the music and her head wobbling ever so slightly on its axis. We got to talk to Paul Taylor and presented him with a grasshopper we found in one of the studios. (He collects bugs). He was so learned and soft-spoken. I was beside myself with glee at being so close to this man I worshipped.

But I think the dance was only part of the magic of my experience in the Berkshires. The other part was growing up and being in this amazing part of the country for so long. I fell in love while I was there, with a young Australian ballet dancer who was in our program as well. He was an incredible mover and very funny, and we spent countless hours hanging out in the studios after dark, watching "Ren and Stimpy" over and over, and choreographing dances of our own (no...NOT an inuendo...).

There were hiking trails all over the farm. Some that wound their way through the small cabin "villages," and some that went further away, up into the mountains and opened up onto hidden precipices overlooking Lee and the surrounding villages. The grass was tall in those areas and the trees so green and loud in the breeze. Nature is not quiet. There was also "Pillow Rock," which was a place to sit and contemplate, look back at the farmhouse and look up at the blue sky. So many people had come from New York or Boston, and the brightness of the day and the blackout of the night were truly things to behold.

The whole program became friends and we hung out in huge groups, sometimes sleeping over in a studio, having impromptu "dances," and one night dragging sleeping bags onto the Inside/Out stage to have a sleep over under the stars. It was so cold but incredible. None of us lived in a place where you could see as many stars as we saw that night.

Getting into the civilized communities was a bit more difficult because not many of us had a car. Steve, a burly, linebacker with a beautiful, graceful line, had his station wagon, and we piled pell-mell inside whenever we went into town. I remember going dancing at a place called the "No-Hunger Cafe." It was a roadhouse on either highway 20 or highway 8 between the Pillow and either Becket or Lee. We'd dance to a live rock band and many would partake in a few beers. I was a good girl. I didn't find alcohol until college. I haven't been able to find anything about this cafe on line. I wonder if it still exists.

Several of us drove to Stockbridge one day and went to the Norman Rockwell Museum, which was charming and a lovely way to spend a day off. I remember seeing his easel there and that impressed me more than anything. I also remember driving into the town itself and traipsing through art gallery after art gallery with the sun shining so bright that it took our eyes a few moments to adjust every time we went indoors.

I remember also, on the first evening, it being Independence Day, piling into the station wagon and driving to Tanglewood to try and catch the fireworks. We didn't quite make it and instead got stuck in miles of traffic as everyone was leaving. There is no better way to get to know people than to be stuck in a car with them for three straight hours.

I think after the first two weeks, our trips into town dissapeared because of an unfortunate problem with Steve's alternator. We drove into Lee one night for a late-night junk food run, and as we started back his car wouldn't start. We finally got it jumped and on the way back, the lights started to dim and Steve couldn't get it to go faster than 5 or 10 miles an hour. Two of us jumped in the back on Steve's direction and found some camping flashlights. Highway 20 was deserted that time of night, and as we rolled down the windows, we couldn't see a thing, only hear the rush of the leaves as we drove past the huge stands of trees on both sides. Myself and one other girl hung out the window with our flashlights pointed on the white lines of the road as Steve manuevered the car. We finally came upon the turnoff for the Pillow and made our climb up the craggy road to the farm at the top of the hill. Everyone had stopped chattering and all of our energies were entirely concentrated on getting this car to the farm. As we pulled into his parking place, we got almost all the way in and the car died for good. That was the end of our exploring about - and a good adventure to write home about.


We got out enough before then though. We found Laurel Lake to drive along and a great Chinese Restaurant next to the Black Swan Inn which we frequented. It was a joyous time in my life. I was performing, taking class every day, falling in love, watching some of the greatest dance I've ever seen, and enjoying an incredibly beautiful part of our country. I came home a changed person. My career path was set, I decided to major in dance, and became obsessed with Paul Taylor and all of his offshoots.

Dance lovers and music lovers of all genres should experience this amazing place. It changed my life.