Attitudes.

Who taught Michelangelo how to paint the Sistine Chapel? Who gave Beethoven the craftsmanship to compose his last quartets? Who showed Robbins how to choreograph Fancy Free? The whole question of creativity and the teaching of the gentle art of choreography unexpectedly erupted in Manhattan last October at a surprisingly less than staid press conference.

The conference had been called to announce the very welcome award of $5 million from the Irene Diamond Fund to the New York Choreographic Institute on the fifth anniversary of the Institute's founding by the late Irene Diamond and its artistic director, Peter Martins. Actually the brouhaha arose not at the press conference itself, but at a roundtable of artistic directors drawn from major classical companies at home and abroad that the Institute had, for some reason, appended to the award announcement. At least the presence of so many of ballet's artistic royalty assured a fine turnout of New York dance writers and editors.

That, I rather cynically suppose, could have been one of its main purposes, for this high-powered group was supposed to be offering authoritatively influential views on the current classical dance scene. The discussion was moderated--rather loosely perhaps--by Richard Tanner, the Institute's associate artistic director. After all the disappointingly predictable state-of-the-art opinions from the distinguished guests, the meeting was opened up to questions and comments from the delightfully unruly, occasionally positively rude, members of the invited audience. That was when the trouble started and reality intervened--as did unreality.

The Choreographic Institute, which is affiliated with the New York City Ballet, admits that "Since its inception the majority of the Institute's activities have been closed to the public." And--it could have added-closed to the press. This semi-secrecy is perfectly valid and probably even essential to carry out its main purpose, that of giving aspiring choreographers the opportunity to work in laboratory conditions, thus developing their craft free from public and critical attention.

It could be argued that this hothouse atmosphere was less conducive to growth, and certainly less realistic, than exposing the apprentice choreographers to the tempests of the public arena. Yet I think the idea of choreographers being given this chance to try out their ideas in ideal conditions without the burden of public scrutiny and critical appraisal is, at a certain stage of a choreographer's development, all to the good. A chrysalis need not be judged as a butterfly, or a tadpole as a frog.

But it was right there at this ill-fated conference that utter confusion arose. From the floor, modern dance teacher/choreographer Phyllis Lamhut disputed the apparent assumption of the Institute that, following a precept of Balanchine, choreography was something that could not be taught. As far as I had been aware, the Institute had deemed its prime function as that of giving opportunity in terms of time, space, and bodies to worthy emerging choreographers. Its agenda was not to give choreographic instruction but choreographic experience. Unfortunately, this challenge had now raised irrelevant questions of whether the Institute should be teaching choreography, and, more significantly, can choreography be taught. The should is something that the Institute has every right to decide for itself, while the "can" is so obvious that I was amazed that anyone, including it seems Martins and his panel, who might have been caught off-guard, should imagine that it couldn't.

Of course, choreography can be taught just as easily--and with as much hopeless difficulty--as musical composition, painting, or creative writing. That is to say, the bare bones of the craft can be taught: the concepts of design and construction; the idea of making dance images; the rhythm and continuity of phrasing; the particular, almost kinetic, use of stasis. A teacher of choreography (and yes, they do exist) can offer all that and much more in terms of guidance. Even Robbins took classes in choreography with the redoubtable Bessie Schonberg. While I'm sure she didn't teach him to create Fancy Free in 1944, that incredible first ballet might have been a little less assured without her earlier guidance.

Admittedly, as Kevin McKenzie sensibly pointed out at the meeting, all this is partly a matter of semantics. Creativity is a spark that cannot be taught. As Louis Armstrong said, "You've either got it or you ain't." Whether Martins' Institute should provide teacher/mentors to its participants is for the Institute to decide. It seems to me that giving young choreographers the room to expand their craft is a function so valuable in itself that it might not want to risk dilution by providing pedagogic instruction on the side. Yes, although creativity is God-given, the nuts and bolts of choreography can be taught-but probably should not be by the New York Choreographic Institute. So what was this overheated argument all about?

Senior Consulting Editor Clive Barnes also covers dance and theater for the New York Post.