We all understand the impression left after a person walks by in a show-stopping outfit. But what if instead of walking, that same person was mastering foutté turns?
The New York City Ballet has returned with all its relevance, strong and modern. The dancers are not "stingy." They are not "holding back." They exist in the "now," "right now." Balanchine would be proud.
There's no shortage of supplies, services or opportunities for every one of the city's delightful dancers and extraordinary dance companies.
I've always talked about getting out of my comfort zone as an artist. Well, this is as outside of my comfort zone as I've ever been. For the first time, I'll be singing and speaking on the stage, as well as dancing. And I've only had two weeks to prepare my lines, take vocal lessons, and learn new choreography.
I've come to accept the fact that culturally we are stuck with the Kardashians, Duck Dynasty and, yes, America's Newest Weatherman. However, it doesn't mean we should forget or ignore our rich history and the people who have made significant contributions to society.
But while Baff's physical imprint on the property has been huge, it's her realized vision of Jacob's Pillow as a breeding ground for art that has made the largest impact on dance.
Tucked inside Sunset, o639 Hours are countless moments of intimacy and ingenuity. For example, when Andrea Yorita moves to "Letter from Francis Elizabeth in San Francisco to William in Auckland," she's discreet, with all the weight and earnestness of someone who longs for her lover, but is afraid to tell him.
Of course, The Ashley Bouder Project was the most popular show of the run, and people begged for seats regardless of price. Somehow, "bravos" echoed despite a banal bill filled with the kind of choreography that is pushing ballet into its grave.
Attired in drab jeans and shirts, the boyishly charming Jacob Bush and the sophisticated Davit Hovhannisyan did a credible job of executing movements both standing and on the ground, but they seemed uncomfortable and tenuous at times. Were they lovers quarrelling or quarrellers loving?
It still hasn't hit me. I'm living my dream and I look forward to continuing to work hard towards becoming a better, stronger dancer. Now that we're here, my hope is that in time, this won't be such a rare achievement, and my reviews and mentions in the media will refer to me simply as a "ballerina," because that's what I am.
Thankfully, with The Wanderer, Jessica Lang Dance gently challenges our egos. The company escapes our 21st-century frenzy for individualism to capture the dominance of nature in Lang's first evening-length work.
As I approached from the southern end of Manhattan, where the sun had just risen, I couldn't quite believe what I was witnessing. She moved gracefully, dramatically and with intent all over the Mason and Hamlin -- sitting, leaning, standing, en pointe.
As an associate editor at Emily Bestler Books, I have a wonderful list of authors, all of whom I adore. They're moms, and former military, and screenwriters, and Australians, and stay-at-home dads. They live in cities and in the country; they are male and female; they're tall and short and in-between.
When I became aware that Colombian-Belgian choreographer Annabelle Lopez Ochoa had choreographed an acclaimed ballet to Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire, I was determined to meet her.