In memoriam of Anna Halprin

“Let there be a future in which more of us will call ourselves artists. Let there be a future in which all people will dance together.” ~ Anna Halprin

“Anna radicalized dance and innovated new concepts of dance, healing and interdisciplinary arts that have influenced people in many fields. She bridged the concepts of performing arts and healing arts in ways that touched people all over the world.” – Daria Halprin

On May 24, 2021, Anna Halprin passed away at her home in Kentfield, CA. She was 100 years old. Below are articles written in memoriam of her life, honoring her philosophy. achievements,and contributions to the worlds of dance, healing arts, and social justice.

Anna Halprin, teacher and choreographer who embraced improvisational style, dies – by Sarah Halzack, Washington Post

Choreographer Anna Halprin, Who Redefined Dance As A Tool For Healing, Dies At 100 – by Anastasia Tsioulcoas, NPR

How Anna Halprin challenged stereotypes and biases through dance – By Janice Ross, Forward

Anna Halprin, modern dance innovator and healer, dead at 100 – by Sam Whiting, San Francisco Chronicle

Experimental Dance Visionary Anna Halprin Dies at Age 100 – by Wendy Perron, Dance Magazine

A Ladder to Anna
by Daria Halprin

I climb an extension ladder placed in the patio below my mother’s balcony, while she sits in her wheelchair looking down at me. This is how I have to visit her every day. COVID-19 makes it too risky for both of us to be in close physical contact.

When Anna first lost the use of her legs three months ago, she turned a corner into stillness and quiet, a kind of peaceful calm that I had never before experienced in or around or with her.

My mother had always been a mover, a doer, a go-out-and-grab-life-by-the-horns creator. And people were drawn to her: students, dancers, choreographers, visual artists, musicians, actors, choreographers, educators, psychologists, architects, and collaborators. There were times she drove our family crazy with all her coming and going, with people constantly coming and going, to and from the deck, in and out of our home.

My mother has always loved life, loved dancing, loved creating, loved witnessing people in the studio dancing the real stuff of their lives. She used to say that what happened in the studio was more riveting and entertaining to her than anything she had ever seen on stage.

She was always astonished by the idea that people all over the world knew her and admired her. When I’d say, “Ma, you’re famous!” She’d smile and say, “I am?”  She never let up aspiring. On the morning my father passed away, she immediately walked downstairs to the studio and led a class on breathing. “Dance as if you are taking your last breath,” she said. I didn’t know whether to be offended or amazed. Nothing ever kept her from going for the deeply human dances.

My mother has always breathed as if every breath might be her last. Every adventure was an opportunity to encounter more, learn more, use more for creating dances that matter. Every student was a friend.

She never liked being called a healer or a therapist. She wanted to be called an artist and a teacher. From the start, she has been a boundary crosser and a boundary breaker. Believe me, no one who met my mother would forget her. She is unforgettable.

Now I climb an extension ladder to visit with her. I ask her, “Ma, do you remember why I’m on this ladder to visit you?” And in a soft, sweet voice she answers, “Not really, dear.” I ask her, “Do you remember why I’m wearing this mask?” “No, not really.” And so we revisit this strange new reality as if we are facing it for the first time every single day.

She has had an inexhaustible and impassioned interest in the world and has allowed herself to be surprised by life anew over and over again. She has witnessed innumerable people dancing in the studio, and she is always stunned, as if each dance was the first of its kind as well as the most beautiful.

The other day on one of my ladder visits, we moved our hands in an echoing duet, our fingers reaching skyward, wrists rotating like wing tips of birds, softly swaying and clapping, stretching our arms out toward each other, across the distance. She slowly lifted each leg up one at a time, as if getting ready to bound out of that wheelchair and walk straight down the stairs to the studio, again.

Anna is a mover, a lover of dance, of people, of nature, of creativity itself. Even as she sits ever so quietly with nothing more to do, nothing much she wants to say, nowhere to go, I imagine she too is climbing a ladder, on her way home to dance with the great spirit.

Click here to view this tribute with videos.

For My Grandmother
by Ruthanna

She taught us to make friends with our bodies
The layers, the heartbreak, the joy.
She taught us dance as medicine.
She loved Seinfeld and could recite entire scenes from memory.
She loved chocolate and always had a secret stash.
She loved a good joke and liked to swap them with my husband, throwing her big head of hair back, laughing.  She loved a good laugh.
She loved her daughters and her grand children, believing strongly in family just as she was utterly devoted to her work.
There was no distinction between art and life.  Her worlds flowed seamlessly.  Her studio was home.  Her home was her studio.  Her dancers were invited to stay.  Her children were invited to dance.  This at a time when women were allowed to express but only as it suited the room.
She occupied the space.  She high-kicked down the walls.  She broke barriers.
She loved us completely, and she showed that by including us in absolutely everything: her art, her rituals, her studio.
Her whole life devoted to inclusion, to bringing everyone together through dance as a common language.
She held the hands of Palestinian women and Israeli women, saying come, let’s gather, we’re the same, we’re women, we know how to mend.
She was a true original.
To me, she was a perfect grandmother, holding me in her arms, bringing me into her circle of dancers and saying, you will always have a place here.
She knew when I’d gone off course and showed me I could do better, by modeling her creative life, her art, and by making me feel seen.
She will be remembered for her unwavering authenticity, her complete devotion to her unique vision, her remarkable life-long partnership with my grandfather, her incredible style.  She will be a forever compass in my heart, my barometer for truth, the voice in my head “Ruthie, dear…” calling me home to myself…
Thank you for your dance, grandmother, go now with the stars.  I see you leaping toward the moon.

Ode to Mother
by Rana Halprin

Visiting my mother at her home, we dance under the redwood trees, our hands transforming into wings flowing upwards in a 3//4 rhythm. Our hands fly us upwards as if to perch on the branches and view the world beyond confinement. My mother is like a redwood tree, ancient as the woodlands.

The moving body is her quintessential language, her mother tongue, the channel through which she translates and embodies grief, sorrow, rage, joy, love – a lifetime of creative searching .through the vessel of dance. She has explored the body of art and imagination as an enlivening force, a channel of self-healing, tapping into the nature of our inner and outer landscapes of which we are interwoven.

In each era of her life as an artist, she has leaned into the zeitgeist of the moment. If she could be out and dancing now, she would be creating a stomping, stamping dance to confront, flatten, eradicate the virus. She would do a dance of resistance to racism.

At 100 years old, she has seen timeless cycles. The Planetary Dance for her is the crown; the culminating spiral in the creation of a collective story and ceremony. Moving together in one heartbeat, invoking the power of a simple step with intentionality, touching the pulse of the earth in one beat. My mother truly believes dance has the potential to heal the world. I am blessed to inhabit this legacy: the evolving process of Life/Art and the journey of the creative spirit, which I feel compelled to share and carry on. Every movement I make, every step is a dance with my mother.