Dancing through time and space

'I DON'T step into a studio and start choreographing," says Deborah Hay, sipping a glass of port in a downtown Lisbon bar after a long day of teaching.

"I step into the studio to learn something that eventually I will give a shape to ¡ª and to learn to teach others. That's when the choreography happens." It's a sunny autumn afternoon in the Portuguese capital and the legendary American choreographer has just completed week two of a three-week dance workshop for young choreographers.

A trim figure dressed from top to toe in flowing layers of stylish black, Hay looks somewhat drained by the day. But as she elaborates the details, her tiredness appears to drop away.

"You know what was interesting for me today," she says, "was that I realised how great, how liberating it is for these young artists just starting off, to see that you don't have to begin choreographing straight away. "It's sort of like the image of the hunter-gatherer. First it's just stuff you've brought back, but then you start performing it, eating it and figuring out how it's nourishing you ¡ª or not. Then you start choreographing."

Deborah Hay's continuing sense of wonder, her eagerness to experiment, to absorb and impart information at every level after more than 40 years of dancing, teaching and choreographing, is inspiring and instantly engaging. Hay is acknowledged by the dance world as a formative powerhouse of postmodern dance. This includes a prestigious BAXten (Arts and Artists in Progress award) in 2007, praising her for, among other things, her "profound impact on the field" and "inspiring colleagues, peers and new generations of choreographers and performers".

Hay's work If I Sing to You, opening tomorrow as part of the Melbourne International Arts Festival, was commissioned by William Forsythe and financially backed by Mikhail Baryshnikov, both dance world heavyweights. Why, then, have most of us never heard of her?

Rather than pursue international stage success, Hay has chosen the path of experimentation and scholarship, to continually question and reassess the concept and forms of modern dance.

As a young dancer in the early '60s, she studied with Merce Cunningham, becoming a member of the group of New York artists later known as the Judson Dance Theatre, which, heavily influenced by the likes of composer John Cage, engaged in profound levels of experimentation. A number of dancers such as Trisha Brown went on to high-profile careers, whereas Hay opted in 1970 for an artists' alternative community in Vermont.

"I grew up in Brooklyn," says Hay, "and I didn't even know there was such a thing as stillness, which is what Vermont afforded me." Six years later she moved to Austin, Texas, an attractive, liberal-minded city with a thriving artist enclave, where she remains today.

Respected for years by insiders for her cutting-edge choreography and her writing (she has published three books, the most recent My Body, the Buddhist) it wasn't until Fire in 1999 and especially The Match, performed at the 2005 Montpelier Dance Festival, that she finally gained wider recognition.

William Forsythe, also at Montpelier that year, happened to see Hay dance.

"Bill knew nothing about me," smiles Hay. "He thought he was watching a fringe performance. But he was backstage the moment I came offstage from my solo. I've never before heard anyone articulate all the nuances so accurately. From my point of view, he really got it."

Hay pauses, careful to quote Forsythe's exact words. "He said, 'You brought me to a level of attention that I love, and you kept me there.' " Hay's natural modesty can't prevent her from beaming ear-to-ear at the memory. The Forsythe Company commissioned If I Sing to You.

Another turning point for Hay was meeting Australian dancer and choreographer Ros Warby.

"Ros was pretty much responsible for the change that took place in my life in 2003," says Hay. "She performed a solo work learned from me and it was transformative, amazing. I decided at that moment I would start making work only for experienced dancer-choreographers."

This is the case in If I Sing to You, which turns on the phenomenal ability of the performers to draw the audience into their world. The sheer concentration and intensity of all five dancers is extraordinary. There is no set and no music, other than the singing and noises uttered by the dancers. Hay's work is abstract and spare, her concepts not easy for the lay person to grasp. But you don't have to. The wit, the wackiness, the exhilarating energy is, in itself, spellbinding.

"Being choreographers they know already how to measure time and space," Hay elaborates. "They're smart about perception, they can make those spontaneous choices during the piece ¡ª that's number one. Number two, they all have a pretty good sense of humour, bodily humour too. And, they're all gorgeous; gorgeous, quirky, individual dancers."

Rather an apt description of Hay herself, I find myself thinking, especially as she describes her performance of Me Barking during her keynote address to the American Dance Therapy Association some years ago ¡ª an idea that re-emerges in Sing at one point. She floored her audience by barking like a dog for a full three minutes.

"I never saw a group of people change so completely, gradually realising the impact of my actions and finally accepting anything that came out of my mouth," she says, then laughs out loud.

The Deborah Hay Dance Company's If I Sing to You is at the CUB Malthouse, Merlyn Theatre, from tomorrow until October 21.