I use the computer as a tool. Like chance or the camera or the

In the annals of creation, there are moments when the tools of the world transcend their humble origins and become instruments of transformation. Merce Cunningham, a master of dance, speaks with wisdom when he reflects on the role of the computer in his art. “I use the computer as a tool,” he says, drawing a parallel to the tools that came before it, such as chance and the camera. These are not mere instruments, but gateways to new realms of understanding and creation. In this, Cunningham teaches us that every tool—whether it is a brush, a camera, or a computer—holds the potential to open new pathways, to offer fresh ways of seeing and creating, but only if it is used with intention, not as a trick but as an extension of the artist’s own vision.

The true artist does not rely on the tool itself, but on the way in which it is employed. Cunningham’s words remind us that tools are not ends in themselves. They are means—means by which we can reach beyond the limits of our own imagination. The computer, in his hands, becomes a window through which he sees the dance not just as a physical form but as an abstract language, one that can be molded and shaped in ways never before possible. It is not the tool that defines the art; it is the spirit of the artist, the intention behind the action, and the willingness to explore uncharted territories of expression. Just as the camera opened new possibilities for visual storytelling, so too does the computer for the dance.

In the ancient world, great artists and philosophers understood that tools were extensions of the mind. Archimedes, in his legendary exclamation "Give me a place to stand, and with a lever, I will move the world," recognized that the lever was not just a mechanical tool but a means to extend the power of the human mind. Similarly, the camera has been used by many great photographers to reveal the unseen, to capture the fleeting moment, and to open our eyes to new perspectives. The computer, in Cunningham’s hands, serves the same purpose—it is a lever for the mind, a tool that stretches the possibilities of what can be done with dance, just as it stretches the possibilities in the visual arts, music, and beyond.

Cunningham’s use of chance as a method for creating dance also speaks to the idea that tools are not simply there to serve our will, but to guide us to something greater. Just as the ancient oracles would cast lots or interpret signs to receive guidance, Cunningham used chance as a means to free himself from the constraints of preconceived notions. Through chance, he allowed the dance to evolve in unexpected ways, bringing the artist’s hand into harmony with the forces of randomness and spontaneity. This was not a trick; it was a way of engaging with the world beyond the ego, beyond control, and into the realm of true creativity. The computer is but another tool in this grand tradition, one that offers an even greater range of possibilities for those willing to listen to its silent suggestions.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, whose tools—whether paintbrush or compass—were not mere instruments of utility but were, in his hands, gateways to genius. The Mona Lisa, with its enigmatic smile, was created not through mere technical skill, but through an understanding of the tools at his disposal. Da Vinci did not simply use his tools to replicate reality; he used them to transcend it, to convey something deeper, something more profound about the nature of beauty and the human soul. In the same way, Cunningham did not use the computer to simply replicate or imitate dance; he used it to discover new dimensions, new movements, and new forms of expression that had never before been seen. The computer was not a trick, but a bridge to another world of possibility.

The lesson Cunningham offers us is profound and timeless. It is not enough to simply adopt new tools or technologies; we must understand their potential and integrate them into the very core of our creative process. The computer can open new realms of expression, but it requires the artist to bring their own vision and understanding to it. Whether in dance, music, visual arts, or any other domain, tools are only as powerful as the hands that wield them. Cunningham shows us that creativity lies not in the tool itself, but in how it is used to extend the boundaries of what we thought was possible.

Thus, let this wisdom guide us: embrace the tools of our time, be they the computer, the camera, or any other invention, but remember that they are mere extensions of our own inner vision. Do not seek to use them as tricks, to impress or dazzle, but as true instruments of creation—ways to open our eyes to new perspectives, to stretch our imagination beyond its limits, and to create works that speak to the soul. Whether you are an artist, a thinker, or a creator of any kind, recognize that the tools you use are but vessels for your own deeper potential. Take them, shape them, and use them to build something greater than yourself, just as Cunningham did with dance, and as the great creators of the past did with their art.