For 34 years hordes of people have gathered every spring to run, walk, and dance with a purpose. The brainchild of the Bay Area’s living treasure, Anna Halprin, the Planetary Dance is performed on the side of Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County. As the story goes, the murders of six women had turned the mountain into a place of fear. Halprin’s group decided to create a ritual to purify and reclaim the mountain. After the ceremony, which lasted several days, the killer was apprehended. (More about the history of the Planetary Dance here.)

Just one of the miracles of Anna Halprin. Another was her ability to heal her own cancer through dance and imagery. Yet another is the sheer vitality of her physical and mental self as she nears age 94. She is still a leader, and where she goes, all kinds of people follow—dancers, drummers, authors.

Last week I got to experience the Planetary Dance at Mt. Tamalpais. (I had once participated in it at Judson Memorial Church where Halprin had given workshops in 2010.)

The outdoor, relaxed ambience reminded me of a family-style Woodstock, with people of all ages responding to the drumbeat. Instead of drugs, delicious and healthy homemade food was set out on tables.

Anna Halprin demonstrating how to announce our purpose

As a warm-up, Anna led us through simple shakes and reaches. She told us to “Put your mind into your body and ground yourself. If you really connect to the ground, you’ll be as solid as a rock.” As we walked out to the field in two lines, the slow beat of the drummers echoed in the surrounding mountains. When the two lines split and created a huge circle, we then started running in three concentric circles. You changed your path depending on how fast or slow your body felt like going at that moment.  But before you ran, you had to raise your arms and yell out what you were running for.

With the designated theme of protecting our children, the first person ran for the children of Fukushima. The second person, from a group of Malaysian students, ran for the Malaysian child victims of the recent flight lost and never found. Another person ran for all homeless children, may they find love and shelter. I ran for children to be free of gun violence.

The drummers pounded and chanted at the center of the circle—the eye of the storm—where Anna was quietly orchestrating their changes in pace. The drummers got carried away; we got carried away.

With the drumbeat accelerating, the uneven earth commanding one’s attention so as not to fall, and the exhilaration of being among other runners (and walkers), it was easy to forget the purpose of the run. But at the end Anna brought us back to our purpose. She asked us to sit back-to-back with a neighbor for a few minutes, then face that person and tell her or him of our plans to bring our stated goal closer to reality.

One could call the Planetary Dance a feel-good ritual. But built into the structure (or score, as Halprin calls it) is connection to your body, to nature, and to the challenges of a cause. Ideally, the Planetary Dance, which last Sunday involved about 400 people, takes you from ritual to activism.

Sarah Lane as Queen of the Dryads in Don Quixote, photo by Gene Schiavone

Usually the word “star,” when applied to ballet dancers, is reserved for principals. But at American Ballet Theatre, there are three female stars who are still at soloist level. I mean real stars: They light up the stage, they are mature in their artistry, and they are unmistakable individuals. They just don’t have the rank or hype to go with it. I’m talking about Sarah Lane, Misty Copeland, and Stella Abrera.

These three women each have such a magnetic presence onstage and dramatic range (not to mention sterling technique) that they could be top ballerinas at any other company. I think ABT audiences would be happy to see them in lead roles.

Stella Abrera, left, with Diana Vishneva in Bayadère, photo by Gene Schiavone

This season Lane and Copeland are cast as Swanilda in Coppelia, and Abrera and Copeland are cast as Gamzatti in Bayadère. But none of them will get a crack at Giselle or Odette/Odile. For the full calendar, click here. 

Lane has a sweetness and vulnerability that Ratmansky used to advantage in his latest premiere for the company, The Tempest. As Aurora a few years ago, she had the most natural radiance and sense of wonder of any of the ABT ballerinas. She was majestic in Tudor’s Shadowplay, where she’s held aloft as a celestial figure. And she was fresh as a breeze in Les Sylphides.

Misty Copeland in Bayadère, photo by Rosalie O’Connor

Copeland has a strength that makes her look invincible, which is why she was such a good choice for Ratmansky’s Firebird. Her sense of shape is highly defined—and she’s got a fire too. As Mercedes in Don Quixote, she ruffles her skirt to jazz everyone else onstage. As a harlot in Romeo and Juliet, she’s bursting with mischief. In Balanchine’s Duo Concertant just this week, she infused the steps with joy and verve, and she projected the subtlest whiff of romance. She’s terrific in contemporary work too (in works by Tharp and Marcelo Gomes).

Abrera with David Hallberg in Robbins’ Afternoon of a Faun, photo by Marty Sohl, 2005

Abrera’s fullness in slow movements takes my breath away. As the Queen of the Dryads in Don Quixote, just opening her arms from high fifth was an event to witness. She absolutely sparkled in the first movement of Symphony in C recently, and I’ve seen her tear around the stage in crazed grief as Lady Capulet. In Ratmansky’s Seven Sonatas, she alone of the six original dancers embodied the subtle hints of narrative.

I have been continually knocked out by these three stars for years. Of course when casting and promoting dancers, there are factors I know nothing about. So this is not a complaint. But from an audience point of view, I would be thrilled to see any one of these ravishing dancers as Giselle, Juliet, or Odette.

Misty Copeland in a shoot by Weiferd Watts

Where has American modern dance gone? Has it been subsumed or consumed or bumped off by contemporary dance? Or by contemporary ballet? By hip-hop? Have the earthy heroics of early modern dance become irrelevant? Replaced by the anti-heroes of Judson Dance Theater and later? Has modern dance fled to Europe and looped back to us in conceptual non-dance? Or has it gone to Korea? If modern dance returns in the form of a re-organized troupe of Paul Taylor’s, will anyone go see it?

Barbara Morgan’s famous photo of Graham’s Primitive Mysteries, 1931

These questions have been sparked by my recent viewings of the Limón and Graham companies and by participating in Valentina Kozlova’s quest to discover “contemporary dance” talent. Plus, there was that strange announcement  by Paul Taylor saying he will no longer make new dances but will open his company as a home for modern dance.

Different kinds of dance speak to us at different times. When Martha Graham and Doris Humphrey broke away from Ruth St. Denis in the 1920s, they were searching for an American form of dance, a form that would replace vaudeville with art and replace decoration with substance. Their pioneering work, inspired by American landscapes and cityscapes, was physically grounded and spiritually uplifting. In modern dance classics like Graham’s Primitive Mysteries and José Limón’s Psalm, the group yields to the suffering and exaltation of the chosen individual.

José Limón’s Psalm, photo by Beatriz Schiller

I used to think that modern dance turned into contemporary dance, that it evolved naturally. (In my own evolution as a dancer, I passed through Graham, Limón, Cunningham, Tharp, and Trisha Brown.) But I see now that the work of Graham and Limón is still very much with us. Modern and contemporary dance co-exist. When their companies perform those early classics, we feel that grounding underneath them. We feel the brave pioneering aspect of it, the insistence on human dignity in the face of adversity—even if we don’t feel it speaks directly to us today. The contraction and release of Graham, and the fall and recovery of Humphrey theatricalized deeply felt human emotion. These visceral approaches, framed by a strong sense of design, formed the foundation of modern dance.

When Cunningham left Martha Graham’s company in the 1940s, he kept the austerity but left the drama behind. He scattered his dancers all over the space, de-centering it, allowing the audience to choose where to look. At the same time he embraced the verticality of ballet rather than the earthiness of modern dance. And he eschewed any kind of overt narrative. His style was so different that it needed a new name, and contemporary dance was born.

Gyeong Jin Lee’s solo Stranger, photo by Yelena Yeva

In recent years, “contemporary” has become a catchall term meaning anything that’s not identifiable as ballet, especially on TV and in competitions. So I was curious when I served as a judge last month in the Valentina Kozlova International Ballet Competition, which this year focused on “contemporary dance” (results are posted here). What we judges found was a whole gamut, from glittery pink ice-skating skirts and pointe shoes to fierce solos that were gripping to watch, in much the same way people reacted to Graham’s early work. Three of these enthralling solos came from Korea.

JuMi Lee’s solo Hailling Sorrow, photo by Yelena Yeva

It turns out that the Korea National University of Arts School of Dance is producing terrific dancer/choreographers who know how to delve inside themselves for material. Their teacher, Jeon Mi-Sook, a fellow judge at VKIBC, told me that the students study ballet, Graham, Limón, and Cunningham at different stages of their training. What struck me was that, like early Graham and Humphrey, their dancing was deeply visceral—to the point where one movement was almost sobbing—contained by very designed shapes. They haven’t yet acquired the irony of today’s American visceral dance makers.

Back to Paul Taylor’s plan of renaming his company Paul Taylor’s American Modern Dance. It’s nice to know there is a plan, as Taylor is aging. And it’s generous to offer up his dancers for the preservation of modern dance in general. But is that what today’s dance audience needs or wants? Clearly, the Graham and Limón groups have to infuse their rep with new works in order to attract an audience. If Taylor proposes to become a curator rather than a choreographer, he will be showing some modern dance classics that already have a showcase. (I can’t imagine that he’ll acquire works by Cunningham or the postmodern Trisha Brown works, as his dancers are not trained in those styles.) Would he bring in the work of Taylor alumni like Tharp, Parsons, Mazzini, and Corbin? Would that strengthen or dilute his programming? Is it naïve of Taylor to think that American modern dance still has some caché, considering there is so much fascinating new dance coming out of Israel, Europe, and Asia—and the U.S.?

Although I am asking these questions, I am not bemoaning the loss of modern dance as we once knew it. I guess I’m just more interested in seeing what’s happening in dance now, from all over the world, rather than capturing the heyday of a certain period. Maybe there’s another way to honor American modern dance—to appreciate how it’s grown and spread and sewn seeds far and wide. I would go to see a  documentary film about that period, but prefer to see live dancing of our lives now.