October 9–16, 1997

critical mass

Steve Krieckhaus in rehearsal at the Painted Bride.

Julia Lehman/City Paper

"I think he sees what he's doing as a signal to the culture at large. About where things are at. It's a significant departure."

Last Dance

Steve Krieckhaus, our master of minimalism, says farewell to performing.

By Deni Kasrel

Dancer/choreographer Steve Krieckhaus is unsure what his next career move will be after presenting From the Volumes of Imaginary Hours at the Painted Bride this weekend. But he seems certain about one thing: once this two-day run is done, he won't perform anymore.

"I just don't have the desire," he states. "I no longer feel I have this burning vision that I have to get out."

Krieckhaus turns 41 on Oct. 11. That's the date of his final performance. He suggests that aging has something to do with the decision to call it quits. "I'm getting older. A lot of dancers, when they reach my age, come to this point."

But it's more complex than that. Krieckhaus is tired of chasing after an ever-diminishing pool of arts grants. Touring opportunities are drying up. Even here in Philadelphia, where he's lived and performed since the early '80s, there's no guarantee of an audience. "For a time I always assumed they'd be there," he comments. "But now I don't assume. Because they're likely not."

This is not to say Krieckhaus lacks a loyal following. He has steadfast fans. They readily use words like "compelling" and "spellbinding" to describe Steve's idiosyncratic, self-honed style of movement.

Though he eschews dance cliques or companies in favor of going solo, Krieckhaus is admired by members of our dance community. Eric Schoefer, choreographer of Icarus, a centerpiece production of the recent Philadelphia Fringe Festival, dedicated this work to Krieckhaus, "who has given myself and many others the opportunity to fly." Leah Stein, Roko Kawai, Melanie Kloetzel and Rennie Harris have been inspired by Krieckhaus.

He is associate director at the Susan Hess Dance Studio, where he gives instruction on contact improvisation. He is the recipient of a prestigious Pew Fellowship in the Arts (1991-92). He's nabbed fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts plus grants from the Philadelphia Repertory Development Initiative and Pennsylvania Council on the Arts.

So how come he can't rustle up a sufficient audience?

"It's a complicated issue," thinks Krieckhaus.

He admits his individualized method of dance isn't all the rage. It's not "entertaining" or blatantly accessible. Rather than rely on conventions of popular modern movement technique, Steve concentrates on his own minimalist aesthetic. "Things take time to happen," is how he puts it. He makes intimate examination of basic human gesture and explores how energy traverses the body.

Krieckhaus was born and raised in Manchester, MO, a small town on the outskirts of St. Louis. It's ticky-tacky suburbia now, but then it was rustic. It's where young Steve enjoyed "wandering about the landscape."

In his youth Krieckhaus played soccer. He thought about going pro, then lost interest due to a high school soccer coach who was, in Steve's words, "a jerk." He enrolled in Webster University, a small liberal arts college in St. Louis, focusing on literature and philosophy. After a couple years he burned out on those subjects and left school. He worked in a bookstore, wrote poetry for himself and felt generally uninspired. A dance performance pointed him in a new direction. "It was non-technical, very gestural." This interested Krieckhaus enough to sign up for dance classes led by one of the performers he'd seen. He was hooked from the start. "It was exciting and powerful to be feeling all this energy inside of me and then be able to express it," he recalls.

He went back to Webster, this time concentrating on dance. After deciding to commit himself to this artform Krieckhaus transferred to Temple University, where he received a B.F.A. in dance. At Temple he was primarily influenced by Hellmut Gottschild and John Gamble. The latter turned Krieckhaus onto contact improvisation, which remains his base method of dance-making.

In earlier times Krieckhaus' output had a harder edge and was frequently playful. Media artist/filmmaker Peter Rose, a friend and collaborator of Steve's, recalls this work as having "a comic dimension. Very subtle, very wry, very inventive. He has been compared to Buster Keaton, which I think is accurate in some respects."

More recently, Krieckhaus' work has been internally focused and highly contemplative. He integrates text, music and photography, all of his own making. He makes spare use of props. Krieckhaus wants all of these elements to make for "a progression of textures, feelings and ideas."

The text is non-narrative. It's supposed to serve "as a linguistic landscape to help the progression along." The choreographer/dancer wants to generate an illuminating dialogue between the visual and aural. It's all non-linear, but not random or chaotic. "It's nudging and proddings and little signposts. To provide spaces where you open your own imagination in specific ways," explains Krieckhaus.

The private, disciplined tone of Krieckhaus' dance is echoed in his lifestyle, says Rose. "He's monkish. A little bit ascetic. Yet he has a lot of gusto."

Rose and Krieckhaus share a spirit of adventure. They enjoy taking long bike rides along the Schuylkill River together. Steve is also into rock climbing and kayaking.

"I like intense physical experience," he says. "It's all mind-body stuff. It's about focus and concentration. And white water kayaking, it's like dancing on the water, really."

Susan Hess calls him "crazy Krieckhaus? he can be manic." She says she and the dancer are "soulmates" (they're both anti-establishment, and they're both pessimists). And, she chuckles, he tells great dirty jokes.

Hess says her soulmate is a "nature boy ? with a dark side. That's his other personality. He has a great respect for natural forces. He loves thunderstorms and gray weather. It will be all cloudy out and he'll say, 'Great day!'"

Both Hess and Rose are impressed with Krieckhaus' intellect. "With his art," says Rose, "he's creating a new language and expressing forms of experience through that language. Many people think of it that way, but Steve actually does it."

Contact improvisation, Krieckhaus' method of choice, is usually executed by two or more dancers interacting and responding to each other, but he has adapted the method to one-man performance. "Most of the issues you are dealing with in contact improvisation can be dealt with solo," he asserts. "There are issues of balance and momentum. You're interacting with the floor and the space around you. Those are all places of contact. So you're never in a vacuum."

The program at the Painted Bride is loosely linked to the death of Steve's father, who suffered from Alzheimer's disease. It is intended as "a poetic treatment of the passage of time, history and loss." Ultimately, it ponders the fragility of life. Certain parts present fluid, gentle inflection while other sequences offer angularity and anguish.

From the Volumes of Imaginary Hours draws on deeply personal experience. Still, Krieckhaus believes its open-ended symbology will connect with the audience. "I strongly suspect that these things resonate and are not just personal images. That they lock into our collective imagery," he says.

Then again, even Hess admits she doesn't always know what the heck this choreographer is getting at. "It's not possible to understand it all," she assures. "His thought is very different? But I don't try to figure it out. I am just completely compelled by his work."

Not everyone is so open-minded. Steve knows it. He recognizes that the general public is not particularly inclined to take the time to unravel layers of intellectual content, designed to probe "the mysteries of life," preferring instead to be entertained in an obvious way. That's not Steve's shtick. And so, he's dropping out of the live performance scene.

He perceives the declining interest in his work as "tying into art, popular culture and all different aspects of people's work-life. How much energy they have. What kind of attention span they have. How that's qualified by other media. By computers and technology? There's been a real crisis in live performance," he observes.

Adds Rose, "I think he sees what he's doing as a signal to the culture at large. About where things are at. It's a significant departure."

Steve Krieckhaus performs From the Volumes of Imaginary Hours, Fri.-Sat., Oct. 10-11, 8 p.m., at the Painted Bride Art Center, 230 Vine St. For tickets call 925-9914 or 893-1145.