KA: There's a reason people like institutions, because institutions can protect, you know, whether it's art in a museum or the Royal Ballet, whose repertoire can transcend time. But, I have to say that I don't feel bad about Merce Cunningham's work disappearing. He decided to do that. Even though, of course, we all want to see it. But it does make sense. Dance is the essence of time in its moment and it disappears. And I feel the same. It's okay. It's painful, but it's okay. It's okay that it disappears.

MC: I mean, in a way, that's what keeps it pure. There's no money in it for anyone.

KA: Yes. That's right.

MC: We have to do it because we have to do it. And that's the only reason we do it, because we have to. We're compelled. I remember doing something like this with Merce, and I was so nervous and anxious. But the only thing I remember was asking him, ‘Why do you carry on?’ And he said, ‘Terror’. That was the word he used.

KA: That's right. It is pure terror.

MC: Terror of stillness, of being still? Of being dead, maybe? I don't know. I didn't really ask him further, but I guess being still, yeah.

KA: Yeah, just not having anything else that's as meaningful that really makes you want to live.

MC: Yes, yeah.

KA: I think that's one of the things about dance. You know, once you do it, nothing can replace it. I mean, you're analysing, you're feeling, you're noticing, you're interacting, you're using your emotions, your psychology. So it's using all of your consciousness, all of your intellect, and all of your body at the highest level of articulation, and nothing else ever feels as complete. I mean people who become top level … physicians, say, people I know who used to be dancers, still miss dance terribly. Sigrid Nunez for example, who’s now an author who’s just had Pedro Almodóvar make a movie from a book she wrote, several other major movies are being made from her books, she was never a professional dancer, she said she was never good enough. But she studied dance at the School of American Ballet in New York and she said that nothing has ever been as meaningful.

MC: I think there’s a part of the brain and the body – the body obviously, but the brain can access something in youth that’s to do with being physical, whether it’s sport or dance. I think there’s a part you can access that you can’t later on. I’m kind of jealous of some choreographers I know that I think are really interesting, but who weren’t really great dancers because they’ve got kind of a fascination with dance that I don’t have, that probably you don’t either because we know what it’s like to be inside it. I mean, as a performer did you ever reach the same … I think for me the highest highs have been doing someone else’s work, for me, because I don’t have to worry about all the other stuff. I don’t know about you, have you noticed that at all, yourself? You know, when everything else falls into place and you just feel like you can be in the zone?

KA: It’s all about being in the zone. I think it happened as much when I was doing my own work as with other people’s. But, you know, I stopped dancing quite young, because it was too much to do it all. And I just wanted to disappear in a way and be the choreographer. I always liked that the dancers are at the forefront; the choreographer disappears. I liked that.

MC: I love your fingers.

Excerpt from Middle Plane Issue No.10 (Autumn/Winter 2025). Read the full interview by ordering your copy here.

Photographer: Moni Haworth