High American Modernism is drawing to a close; it's hard to imagine anyone keeping that flame alive into the 22nd century. I love all of its masters, regardless of genre: Elliot Carter, Jackson Pollock, Ornette Coleman, Thomas Pynchon, etc.
But I think dance, with its corresponding advantages of kineticism and athleticism, might have been the most comfortable place for that temperature, even more so than with music, painting, or fiction. I only saw the Merce Cunningham company a half dozen times. Now that he's gone I wonder why I didn't see even more. Every time I left the theater electrified and inspired.