Moss on the stone of dance critic Donald Hutera remembers a couple of brief encounters with – or about – Pina Bausch.
 
To dance insiders she’s simply Pina, the surname Bausch only needing to be added on when speaking to someone who knows little or nothing about one of the most influential and intensely revered choreographers of the 20th century. Bausch’s shockingly sudden death in 2009 left her colossal reputation intact. Tanztheater, or dance theatre, was this German artist’s forte. Her abiding interest was in how human beings move and, more importantly, behave towards each other.
 
For further evidence look no further than Sadler’s Wells where Tanztheater Wuppertal recently performed Bausch’s last creation, ‘…como el musguito en la piedra, ay si, si, si…’ (translation: like moss on a stone). This was the company that Bausch led for decades, and that remains the keeper of her incredible legacy. It has also recently been named an international associate company of the Wells, meaning we’ll continue to see Bausch classics and presumably be able to keep track of how the company develops without the living presence of its leader.
 
You needn’t be a ready-made acolyte of Bausch’s indelible brand of agony and ecstasy to derive a deep pleasure from it. For me any opportunity to see her work remains a privilege, but that doesn’t mean I automatically embrace everything she did. The shows tend to be long, and are sometimes unabashedly self-indulgent. They can also be painfully insightful as well as hugely entertaining.
 
I’ve some notion of what kind of balance Bausch struck in ‘…como el musguito...’ The the presentation of February’s production was not a UK premiere. I saw it at the same venue in 2012 as part of the company’s World Cities season: ten shows – a feast for sure – split between the Wells and the Barbican, and each the result of a company residency in a far-flung metropolis. For ‘…como el musguito…’ the key location was Santiago de Chile.
 
As I wrote in The Times, the performance is in some ways quite elemental with tonal switches – from sombre to whimsical – cued to a soundtrack of alternatingly pensive and propulsive South American music. The setting by Bausch’s regular collaborator, the designer Peter Pabst, is deceptively simple. There’s nothing onstage but a smooth, stony-looking white floor marked almost imperceptibly by jagged lines. Early on, however, the ground begins to move and cracks appear accompanied by faint but ominous creaks.
 
It’s a breath-catching device, although by the fourth or fifth time it happens the thrill begins to dissipate. And, as I recall, after the interval ‘…como el musguito…’ seemed to lose some of its mystery and edge. This is a potential occupational hazard for any audience member at one of Bausch’s (master)pieces. Through sheer repetition, not to mention her habit of recycling ideas and theatrical devices from show to show, they can and do wear out their welcome. I always end up loving the dancers, just as she patently did, but maybe wanting less of the show itself.
 
Still, to its benefit, this one is loaded with movement. There are some stunningly good solos, swift and often powerfully sensual, for both sexes – although in this show the women outnumber the men. In Marion Cito’s bright, diaphanous gowns they’re like gorgeous, elusive witches to be desired, indulged and obeyed by foolish, worshipping males. This can generate plenty of humour. Some of the jokes, including those based on gender disparity, are genuine rib-ticklers while others fall flat. But again, and despite the evening’s longueurs, I recall leaving the Wells with a feeling of great appreciation for what Bausch at her best achieved.
 
I also recall meeting Bausch once, the year before she died, in Wuppertal where I was able to observe first-hand how solicitous she was of the well-being of those around her, especially the artists in her company and those she was hosting as part of a Wuppertal festival. I sat eating a buffet meal between her and her friend and colleague Lin Hwai-Min, of Cloud Gate Dance Theatre. She ate delicately and not a great deal, as if maintaining her wraith-like frame and, as she seemed shy, I had to initiate our brief conversation. I told her what I did professionally. Her response was succinct and beautifully timed. ‘I don’t like critics,’ she said while concentrating on cutting something on her plate. In a moment she looked up at me, however, adding graciously to her previous comment, ‘But not you, of course.’ Nice.
 
I had another encounter, not with Bausch but rather the drop-dead-gorgeous Wuppertal company member Julie Anne Stanzak. If you’ve ever spent time on the mezzanine level of Sadler’s Wells there’s a huge picture of her: a leggy woman who appears to be nude while walking through a field of onstage flowers – pink carnations, is it? – with an accordion strapped to her front.
 
Anyway, it was the summer of 2012, just after the last of the World Cities season shows, and I was waiting at the bus stop in front of the venue. As Stanzak strode near I thanked her profusely, and sincerely, and she seemed quite genuinely pleased to take time to talk. She said the company was tired but happy to have done the ten shows, as this London marathon is something Pina herself had plotted and looked forward to. It was also just a few months away before Tanztheater Wuppertal would be auditioning for new company members – significantly, the first to join who would not have had any direct contact with Bausch herself.
 
But the bit that meant the most to me was Stanzak’s description of Bausch in the process of devising a show. Apparently the high priestess of tanztheater would pace the halls, puffing on cigarettes and asking herself in English and not, as Stanzak pointed out, German or French or any other language, ‘Where’s the beauty?’ It’s a haunting tidbit, this, and one that instantly crystallised what it is that I seek – both professionally and as ‘just another’ audience member –  from just about all of the art and culture to which I’m exposed. On some level I always want beauty and, with Bausch’s work, I get it. It’s what keeps me coming back for more.

pina-bausch.de

Donald Hutera writes regularly about dance, theatre and the arts for The Times and many other publications and website. In addition to being a dance dramaturg and performance mentor, he also curates GOlive and co-founded Chelsea Arts Collective aka CAC. @DonaldHutera