BILL T. JONES | P A G E 2 Overall, what are the differences between European and American audiences? There seems to be an appetite for culture in France and elsewhere in Europe that is really refreshing. As you know, there are wars going on here in this country about culture. There's a sense of being demoralized here in the States by arts presenters who feel they've lost ground in building audiences and they've lost support from the government. In dance particularly? Yes, in dance, particularly the body arts. People have become very afraid of them. Why is that? Well, the body's scary, isn't it, for a country that was founded by Puritans? And you think that's surfacing more acutely now? Well, it's being used more politically. I think there are some very cynical people who use whatever they can and they know that's a hot button. They can't fight the communists anymore, so they can always yell to family values or the degradation of a community's morals. I was reading recently about the "new" debate over the NEA [National Endowment for the Arts] and some Republican congressman was crying out that he's going to hold the NEA accountable for some indecent, objectionable art. What's extraordinary is that politicians like these are not laughed at. I think he expresses deep-seated concerns a lot of people have in this country. You mean concerns about art getting out of hand? Yeah, the perception of art being dangerous somehow. Most people don't want art to be challenging. If it's dance, they want it to be pretty. If it's drama, it's supposed to be melodrama and the good guys should win. Anything that questions religion or sexuality is suspect. How does that affect your audiences and the reception you get? We work. Let's put it that way. How do you think your art should challenge people? I woke up today thinking how the program I presented last night is not overtly about politics and sexuality. But the art challenges people to contemplate the internal landscape, which is a scary place, particularly when the art connects with your own doubts about the person sitting next to you, your own doubts about any controlling force in the universe. With a non-narrative structure, there is no center that tells you where to look, and this places the whole onus of your life's trajectory on you. People have to develop their own moral systems. I know that art as some sort of medicine is a dangerous concept, but I believe in it. What are some examples of racism today that you deal with in your work? I don't know that I overtly deal with racism. It's more the fear of difference. Sometimes just doing an abstract movement that requires the audience to study our vulnerability is enough to explore this fear. The next work I'm doing is "We Started Out Early ..." And I'm trying to forge an image of my company as refugees from some odd planet we don't know about. I'm thinking about having them painted zebra colors or green, something to exaggerate their differences. What are the most important issues for the homosexual movement today in the U.S.? If you're talking about the homosexual movement as opposed to homosexual people, the important issues are dealing with the rights of single parents, job security. I think the gays in the military is a keynote concern, but I'm not a spokesman for the gay movement. In terms of gay people, the most important thing for any minority is to find self-esteem. There is a need to affirm our commonality with the rest of the world, not to separate ourselves. It's an issue for black people, gays, all minorities. How does being HIV positive affect your art and the questions you choose to pose in your dances? Any person who is dealing with a life-threatening illness becomes more serious and more light at the same time. HIV is a very, very complicated test to see what we're made of. We are judging ourselves now, but we will be judged in the future. How did we handle marginal people? How did we respond to the ever-present specter of sex and death? HIV has brought me closer to a more spiritual notion of life and work. You had used the concept of your dances being a form of prayer. Are your dances still an evocation of spirituality? I've substituted contemplation now for prayer -- and I mean deep contemplation. I feel guilty when any moment goes by that I don't feel that moment as an expression of the two aspects of life -- the visible, tangible, physical one and one that is outside of time and space. At one point in your book "Last Night on Earth," you ask yourself why you feel compelled to run the risk of failure, to risk making yourself look ridiculous. Does that still drive you? It's weird having this conversation. We had a good performance last night, but I woke up thinking: Can I ever be as irate and devil-may-care as I've been with works like "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Still/Here?" Will I ever wear my heart on my sleeve again like that? At this moment, I don't feel any inclination to make work like that. Am I going to make a fool of myself any more? I don't know if I am. I know too much now. My dances before wanted to vindicate wrongs done, to point out hypocrisy. I've used sex in my dances to hit people over the head, but I've realized it's not necessary. What is enough now? Is a beautiful dance in itself enough? Are you concentrating more on movement for movement's sake? I'm concentrating on how to make a contemplative event that taps our deepest consciousness. Is that enough for me, to craft an object that is a touchstone for contemplation? Does it pack 'em into theaters? Does it get congressmen angry at you, wanting to ban you? Right now it is enough. You're the 10th child of a migrant worker contractor. How did you achieve so much? What drove you? I attribute it to examples I saw from adults, my parents not excluded. They were hard-working people who believed in that which is unseen in the world and in justice. The civil rights movement was incredibly important in my house. Everyone said: See? We don't have to be second-class. In 1964, I was 12 years old. Talk about impressionable. Seeing the March on Washington with this beautiful orator, Martin Luther King, speaking and holding the world, I heard it loud and clear and I went for it. There was hopefulness. Everyone was looking for a young person like me to give their best to, to put their arms around and encourage. I hope I can do the same. March 28, 1997 Richard Covington is a regular contributor to Salon. He lives in Paris. All photos courtesy of the Ballet de l'Opera national de Lyon.