Dance critic, scholar, performer, activist Sally Banes died on 14 June in Philadelphia.
Marcia B. Siegel
I’ve always believed that dance has a literature, much like music or drama. Dance’s literature consists of both ideas (choreography) and the execution of ideas (performance).
The dance revolution of the 1960s and 70s seems to be making a comeback as dancers think about making their performances less artificial, more “natural.”
The performance I saw on Friday night revealed Boston Ballet’s priorities: while the dancers possess a high degree of technical skills, they have a looser notion of nuanced acting.
Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker invites the audience to let go of outside distractions and meditate on our own deeper feelings.
Two autobiographies by women who had some experience in legitimate theater, but they each gave their strongest allegiance to dance, specifically one choreographer.
This mysterious dance may have no meaning at all beyond its cryptic theatricality and movement. Or it may mean a lot.
Monica Bill Barnes, a dancer-choreographer, mime, storyteller and soft satirist, has riffed in the past on the pitfalls of dancing, the vanity of performers, the absurdities of adolescence. Now she’s looking at gender displacements and assertions.
Mark Morris and Ethan Iverson chose songs from the famous album for reflection and extrapolation. What they made is an entertainment, a romp for the company’s terrific dancers.
What few signs of the rich culture embedded in Danza Orgánica’s artistic director and choreographer Marsha Parrilla’s heritage made token appearances.