By Alexis Soloski
By Molly Grogan
By R. C. Baker
By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Alexis Soloski
By Alexis Soloski
By Lilly Lampe
The little red-brick building at 316 East 63rd Street isn't much to look at, but, like the diminutive diva who put it on the map, it has a seductive charm. Built near the turn of the century, it has served as a settlement house, a Montessori nursery, a school for show dogs, and, since 1952, the home of America's oldest dance company. A sign out front reads "The Martha Graham Center of Contemporary Dance," but devotees once gave it a more evocative name: "The House of Pelvic Truth."
Graham's barefoot expressionism and stomach-snapping contractions changed dance the way Picasso changed art and Joyce literature. Yet she left a more precarious legacy than her fellow creative titans when she died at 96 in 1991. Saddled with debts from her last years, her company entered a 17-month labor dispute in 1993, canceled a City Center season in 1997, and cut back to less than 15 weeks of rehearsal and performance work last year.
Now, during a momentous return to the New York stage, comes the hardest blow yet. The board of trustees that governs the troupe and its affiliated school has voted to sell the House of Pelvic Truth to a local developer, M1 Properties, which plans to raze it this spring to make way for luxury apartments. Proceeds from the sale, which awaits the state attorney general's OK, would pay off nearly $2 million in debts (including $1.5 million owed on the mortgage), launch an endowment of nearly $500,000, and attempt a fresh start.
"We would have liked for the city or a foundation to help us save the building," says artistic director Ron Protas. "The need was expressed, but there was simply no interest. So we decided to take control of our future and make it work at the expense of the building."
As the troupe prepared for its three-week season at the Joyce (continuing through February 21), the moving vans lined up on East 63rd Street. On Monday, the Graham school began holding classes in rented studios at 440 Lafayette Street, across from the Public Theater. The company is renting office space around the corner. They plan to return to East 63rd, as tenants in the new building, when construction is finished next spring.
Protas's faith in creative destruction scaling back to fuel growth isn't likely to sway his many critics. To them, he remains an outsider who charmed Graham, 50 years his senior, into leaving him her entire estate. He denies any impropriety, noting that their friendship lasted 30 years. "Martha was perfectly capable of making her own decisions," says the middle-aged Protas, whose tousled black hair and solicitous eyes suggest a younger Walter Matthau. "I didn't hypnotize her."
Wreathed in smiles, he voices regret for dealing so brazenly with dancers and funders in his more ardent days. "If Martha didn't get money, I'd call the head of the New York State Council on the Arts to ask why. 'Aren't you ashamed?' I'd say. I was that subtle."
What irks Graham purists more than anything is Protas's artistic direction. A former celebrity photographer, he's tinkered with her choreography (adding men, for example, to the 1935 Celebration) and given commissions to people with little or no training in Graham technique (like Twyla Tharp, Robert Wilson, and Broadway's Susan Stroman).
Linda Hodes, a former Graham dancer who briefly shared the title of artistic director with Protas, says Graham told her, "I made a mistake" by putting him in charge. Such accounts (this one from Robert Tracy's 1997 Goddess: Martha Graham's Dancers Remember) are problematic: both Protas and his detractors cite private conversations with Graham that can't be verified.
"The reputation I have now is really horrid," he says, a situation fueled by Agnes de Mille's 1991 biography of Graham, which includes some damning passages on Protas. His counterpunch: "Agnes was never close to Martha. Martha loathed her. She found her lachrymose, boring, highly sentimental, and she didn't trust her. That book was full of inaccuracies and was overly dramatized."
It seemed inevitable that the troupe would implode. But two years ago an unlikely whiz kid named Todd Dellinger came along and started shaking things up. A former actor with deftly moussed blond hair a dead ringer for Beverly Hills 90210's Jason Priestley Dellinger's smarter than he looks. Now in his early thirties, he has a master's in arts administration from American University and managerial experience at places like the Acting Company, a classical touring troupe based in Manhattan.
Signing on as development director, he quickly got Protas's ear and a promotion to managing director with his ideas for renewal. "I went through graduate school and did all the case studies of arts organizations dealing with these problems. I think I was able to articulate them to Ron, and make a case for these changes, in a way that no one had before."
Dellinger's Vision 2000 plan has the staff pursuing an ambitious but achievable regimen to get the 73-year-old troupe back on its feet. He's working to close the deal with M1 Properties, move the school downtown, license Graham's dances to other companies through the newly created Martha Graham Trust, and ship Graham's archives to the Library of Congress. All in all, a busy year so far.