I am reminded that dance works more like poetry than like news.
In a hinged position she dangled her arms—breathing as they swayed, living in their lifelessness.
Seeing Tharp's company, I was curious how she would respond to questions about race, inequality, diversity and inclusion.
Felesina whittled through the space before washing the floors with her fluid, muscled body.
"Tragedy...it's not drama. You're naked on the stage, like dance."
Terzopoulos’s Antigone begins at the point of exhaustion, with a populace worn to the nub by war.
The dancers appeared to be following the deep paths of their own watery innards, or flowing along a torrent slightly out of their own control.