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Twyla Tharp has been seriously watching movies starting from the tune that she worked as a carhop in drive-in theaters owned by her parents. A native of Indiana, she was named after a Midwestern pig-calling contestant known as Twila. "My mother thought Twyla would look good on a theater marquee," explains Tharp. Her ambitious mother also laid out a marathon course of piano, violin, viola, drum, baton-twirling, ballet and tap-dancing lessons that occupied Tharp's childhood. It all paid off.
God's Work. She enrolled at Barnard College, majoring in art history. Between classes she danced at the studios of Martha Graham and Merce Cunningham. Just before graduating, she joined the Paul Taylor Dance Company, but left in 1965 to form her own ensemble, a trio of women. Their first performances were in the basement gymnasium of a church. "We were a very aggressive bunch of broads doing God's work," she recalls. "Bit by bit we felt it was O.K. for audiences to enjoy us." In 1970 a man was added to the troupe, which was gaining a reputation in the avant-garde of dance. Impatient with foundation questionnaires, Tharp's replies were typically blunt: "I'm sorry, I write dances, not application forms. Send me the money. Love, Twyla."
In 1973 the City Center Jeffrey Ballet invited Tharp to put on Deuce Coupe, a freestyle piece matching up pas de bourrees and the boogaloo to the sun-and-surf music of the Beach Boys.
Quirky, neon-bright and very American in its images of cars, teen-agers and spray-can art, Deuce Coupe was unlike anything ever seen by uptown ballet audiences.
These days Twyla is very well supported by grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the New York State Council on the Arts and private contributors. She plans to continue exploring the boundaries of dance. "In every good work of art there is a huge story, whether it is a Matisse cutout at the end of his life or a portrait at the beginning. The story has to do with guts and vitality." In a way, of course, that defines Tharp's art as well as her life.