This photo does not represent what audience witnessed on Saturday evening when LaJune McMillian presented the amateurish "Constellations" at PS21's small ice rink.

A bright idea executed badly is a terrible idea. And for those who watch it unfold, it’s torture.
 
That was the experience on Saturday afternoon at PS21: Center for Contemporary Performance when LaJune McMillian and dancers performed the world premiere of “Constellations” on the center’s small ice rink.
 
The idea of the piece was to create a world where, the website describes, “light, shadow, and motion create a cosmic landscape.” But aside from the electronic score, this 40-minute, outdoor show was hardly cosmic.
 
Instead, it featured four dancers in black bodysuits who had string lights wrapped around their right hands and poorly attached to the soles of their skates. About halfway into the piece, the skate lights unraveled off of one boot. Then another string and its battery pack, not able to withstand the movement, shattered and spewed its contents across the ice.
 
We’ve all seen costume malfunctions. They happen. While the broken lights contributed to the discomfort of watching "Constellations," what made this dance/skate so unbearable was the skating. It was tentative and wobbly. McMillian herself was not a great skater, so why or how did she come up with this idea.
 
The beauty of skating, once mastered, is the sense of freedom. One glides, not teeters, to create a seamless trajectory in any direction. “Constellations,” on the other hand, was lurching and grasping, and therefore unpleasant.
 
Only two of the four seemed adept at skating – but even they had difficulty. Letting go in this tiny synthetic ice rink, about the size of a large conference room, required too many jerky stops and starts.
 
And the promised show of light and shadow didn’t materialize. Rather, a purple light cast was upon them. The mystery of the cosmos was not revealed.
 
McMillian’s choreography was made up of lines and circles – skating dancers coming together and then splitting apart into their own orbits. But again, the skating was not proficient enough to suggest objects floating through space. It was amateur hour, all around. McMillian has much work to do – including learning to skate well -- before “Constellations” is ready to present.
 
Making matters worse, it started about 15 minutes later than scheduled. When people waiting outside with impatient children, it’s imperative to start on time.
 
I’m not sure why PS21 included “Constellations” in its first ever winter festival, dubbed The Dark. It was promoted as free and for children, so perhaps PS21 thought it didn’t have to be of the highest artistic caliber. But this is poor reflection on their choices for their loyal audience who stood outside watching, likely thinking “it’s got to get better.”
 
It didn’t. PS21 has to do better.

kNoname Artist / Roderick George's "The Graves Tears," performed at Williams College on Tuesday night, is a deeply moving, spiritual work. (Courtesy of kNoname Artist)

In this moment in time when the power structure wants to erase differences for homogeny, kNoname Artist reminds us that crushing authenticity, particularly that of the LGBTQ+ community, crushes humanity.

On Tuesday night at Williams College, Roderick George’s “The Grave’s Tears” evokes that truth by reeling viewers’ back to the AIDS crisis of the 1980s when thousands of healthy young men died from what was dubbed “the gay plague.” And many, including those in the highest elected office, didn’t seem to care.
 
What “The Grave’s Tears” tells us, in flesh and sweat, is what indifference costs.
 
This is a deeply spiritual work that carried its viewer across a timeline of the crisis. It opens with George entering from the shadows, an angelic figure with arm spread like outstretched wings. He is joined by the full cast of seven – all-men – in what can only be described as something close to George Balanchine’s “Serenade.” Dancer moved as one, wrists to their foreheads, arms extended as if shading their eyes from inspections glare and then sidestepping to the groves of a disco beat.
 
The vibe was joyous at first with a dance club scene with music by Diana Ross and Donna Summer – among others. Heads bopped, shoulders shifts and hips swayed to the thunder of the infectious beat. But then tragedy strikes – these strong vivacious men sink to the floor, stumble, stagger and struggle for support.
 
The work then breaks up into solos, duets and trio of anguish of souls seeking help and a way out of their pain. A voice over talks about mysterious lesions, fatigue or a cold that never goes away. It talks about hospital stays, fear of caregivers and undertakers. And then finally, a devastating of farewell that was heartbreakingly depicted by MJ Edwards and Zack Sommer. Edward’s effort to keep a partner alive is palpable, but futile and Sommer finally collapses on that stage that is covered in what appears like bits of dirt.
 
The symbology throughout was staggering. At one point, the dancers fall to the floor and their arms jut skyward like tombstones. There is a dark angel (another touch of Balanchine “Serenade”) that guides a dancer blindly to their death. George himself dances a solo in which he is tumbling about, seemly tossed by the relentless confusion and loss.

Ultimately, there is not good answer on how to handle our differences in who and how we love, or in how we express our gender. But one thing is certain, “The Grave’s Tears” insists we do better.

Dancer barkha patel performed ​“ramit aave: her playful arrival" at Union College on Friday night.

The path barkha patel treads is one of mystery in “ramit aave: her playful arrival.” As seen on Friday night at Union College, the dancer strides along a road to delve into the feminine side of sensuality, dying and ultimately into a territory of enlightenment.
 
She’s an intrepid explorer, using her skills in kathak dance and the hypnotic music of sarangi, tabla and voice, to lead her audience into an unseen world. And then she leaves the viewer there, slightly rattled and breathless.
 
The program notes for “ramit aave” (translated from Hindi as “she comes dancing”), tell the audience that patel is tapping into the forces of the Goddess Kali to release female desire buried for generations. Kali oversees time, doomsday, death, disorder, sexuality and violence. And in her work, patel dies and then rises as an erotic figure. Then she returns from on high as a spiritual being, one disillusioned by romance, but also unaffected by it.
 
The stage is set up with vocalist Shweta Pandya, tabla player Vivek Pandya and sarangi performer Rohan Misra on a low platform on which they sit. patel enters upstage on a well-worn pathway painted with red footprints. Carrying a vessel atop her head, she walks slowly in silence. Only the bells at her ankles can be heard gently tingling.
 
She pours from her vessel folded papers and crushed red flower petals. And then she dances, her long flared skirt billowing to the intriguing music.
 
So much of traditional Indian dance rests on storytelling. And it is one of the few dance forms in which the face and gestures tell its tale. In the first section, patel appears to be building something up that she strains to keep. She is unsuccessful in her effort and she crumples to the floor.
 
In the next section, a trio of mirrors reveals a woman preening, gently caressing her face and admiring her reflection. Then she steps out, beautifully confident with a flirtatious look in her eye. But then she is disappointed by a rebuff and finishes by stroking a fragile heart.
 
After an amazing musical interlude in which Vivek Pandya astonished with his fleet and flexible fingers and hands gliding over the tabla, patel returns from above. She walks through the audience offering roses she would then refuse to bear and instead stripped the flowers of their petals that she crushed as she went.
 
The magic was broken by technical difficulties as the lights went out on patel before they were supposed to. She called up to the booth, to turn them back on. “I’m not done,” she called.

But her request was unheeded. The audience accommodated her with cell phone flashlights and she completed her dance stomping in anger and then whirling, with her loose hair flying, as if finally attaining her higher calling.  

"9.2," seen here with Norika Isomura center stage, was performed on Friday night at Williams College.

Of all the -isms that good people are trying to shatter, ableism might be the most stubborn.
 
Cas Public, a Montreal-based ensemble, thankfully weakened the notion that people with physical and mental barriers are lesser on Friday night at Williams College. Its “9.2” – an evening-length work – questioned “can a deaf person dance.” And the answer is, of course. Their language is movement. They dance all the time.
 
The piece, choreographed by Helene Blackburn in collaboration with Cai Glover, who is deaf and a company member, is not only a repudiation that the idea of “disability” but a celebration of all humanity’s abilities.
 
That was immediate clear at the beginning of the piece. Dancers surveyed the audience, inviting members to participate in the show. Those who chose to take part in “9.2,” including a child, were not the typical foils for performers. Instead, they were an integral part the entire dance, including bowing with the company at the end. None of these folks were planted. And at least three of them danced with American Sign Language (quickly taught by Glover.)
 
That’s the thing with ASL – it is a dance. This is the revelation of “9.2.”
 
The work is contained by chairs – normal, child and toy size. Not only do they decorate the stage with a symmetrical design, they also define its limits and serve as a welcoming metaphor. Come, sit, join us.
 
Within its bounds, that the participating audience help to arrange, the dancers reveal their power with snippets from nearly deaf composer Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Arranged by Martin Tetreault, the music is often clipped, not allowing ears to fully get a handle on it. That was likely the point.
 
There is also a video, by Kenneth Michiels, that features children – one of whom has a cochlear implant (as does Glover). Finally, there is a toy Volkswagen Beetle, with a video camera that projects its live images on the screen as it darts between the dancers.
 
And what dancers they are. Dressed in black, they, along with Glover who took out his implant, are fast and sharp. They moved to the highlighted sections of Beethoven’s symphony in spotlights on the blackened stage. The focus on lighted circles emphasized their refined top-to-bottom abilities.
 
Among the standouts were the statuesque Arnaud Mongeon whose fluidity was astounding. He’s a gorgeous dancer that devours the space with clarity. Norika Isomura, dancing both blindfolded and later sighted en pointe, carried herself with authority as she kicked and pas de boureed across the stage. At one point, her legs appeared like a metronome for a piano variation.

Glover was one of the ensemble, but took a central role in audience’s minds. As their spotlighted solos morphed into synchronized ensemble work, Glover was gloriously spot on. It seems ridiculous to point out that Glover is as fine a dancer as others in Cas Public.
 
Yet, that is reason for “9.2.” It’s a lesson I’m glad to learn.

David Parker took a nutcracker to “The Nutcracker.” And then he and The Bang Group sprinkled it with some seasonal magic to unspool the most irreverent and delightfully amusing take on the holiday classic.
 
His “Nut/Cracked,” now being presented at Kaatsbaan Cultural Park, is for all of those who love Tchaikovsky’s beloved score, but run out of patience with the ballet’s formality 30-minutes in. This is not to say that Parker and crew are disrespectful of the annual dance extravaganza. Rather, they put a humorous and often surprising spin on “The Nutcracker.” It’s deliciously, laugh-out-loud decadent.
 
It was created in 2003 as a genre and dance-fluid celebration that tapped, boureed and leaped to the jazzy rendering by Duke Ellington and Glenn Miller of the familiar music. However, much of the piece, which is about 70 minutes long, is guided by the music as written. And Parker, and co-director Jeffrey Kazin, cheerfully nod to Marius Petipa choreography – even in their off-kilter and hilarious versions of the scenes.
 
The waltz for the snowflakes is a good example. The dancers, white Ts and black stripped sports pants throughout, moved like skaters who slipped, slid and fell on the snowy ice. Not only does it add a slapstick element, which could be seen throughout, but it was so artfully done that it spiced up the choreography.
 
The piece began with Parker and Kazin tapping out and singing (lyrics they must have written) to the score’s overture. The dancers then burst from the wings to gather up the props for the show – a boa, a rose, hats, gloves and red bouquets.
 
Then it became clear that the score would be delectably tossed about when the dance of the Sugarplum, on a dark stage, came next. All that one could see was the feet of a dancer en pointe whose toes were following a miniature spotlight.
 
The stage went black again, ready for the party to begin. It cleverly did with two – like the feuding siblings Clara and Fritz – who twisted themselves around a gift, which when ultimately opened contained snow.
 
Though the order of the music was re-arranged, it didn’t matter as there were so many charming and hilarious moments – for example Parker’s rendition of the Chinese divertissement where he balances en pointe and sucks up a noodle from a cardboard food box. Just as the music ends, the noodle pops in his mouth.
 
The waltz of the flowers is a hysterical solo on bubble wrap, the growing Christmas tree crescendo is a burlesque-like wet dream and the Russian trepak is a parody of all amateur dance productions ever. The grand pas is a celebration of thumb-sucking affection. You have to see it to believe it.
 
It was ridiculously foolish and I loved it. You will too. Sunday’s matinee is sold out, but tonight’s 7 p.m. performance has tickets available at kaatsbaan.org.

Talmi Entertainment performed Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker" on Wednesday at The Palace Theatre in Albany. 

If you have seen one “Nutcracker,” you have not seen them all.
 
The ballet delight of the holiday season has a template, for sure, guided by Tchaikovsky. It opens with a holiday party where young girl receives a nutcracker doll as a Christmas gift. After the festivities, she slumbers and falls into a romantic reverie with her nutcracker who transforms into a prince. But it’s always in that coming-of-age dream, envisioned by the girl (often named Clara, sometimes Marie), where the classic diverges.
 
Talmi Entertainment (formerly known as the Moscow Ballet) offered a glittering rendering on Wednesday night at the Palace Theatre. Its lush palatal backdrops (by Berkshire designer Carl Sprague), gold lame trimmed costumes (designed by Arthur Oliver) and fine capable dancers, many Ukrainian, offered up plenty of eye candy to the crowd. And the house was packed, thanks to the horde of local children who were cast in nearly every scene – including those in the round-the-world divertissements, scenes typically reserved for the professionals.
 
The production, choreographed by Viktor Davyduik, also casts dreamy Clara with an adult dancer. It's a good thing as in her mind-bending journey, she also appears as the Snow Queen and the Sugarplum Fairy. It’s a tall order for any dancer to play multiple roles that span the entire ballet. Karyna Shatkovskaya pulled it off with aplomb – traveling through the first act as a wide-eyed child excited for Christmas and ending as a mature woman of confidence and style as the commanding Sugarplum.

Her Nutcracker Prince, danced by Rustem Imangaliev, while courtly couldn’t match her calm. His tours en air had momentum and height, but his landings were dangerously off-kilter. The audience braced for a potential hard fall every time he launched himself into the sky.
 
The stars of the evening were Aiya Melis and Rafael Urazov who dance the Arabian variation, but also made an appearance at the first act party as wind-up Moorish dolls and at the opening of the second act as the doves of peace. Davyduik obviously wanted to capitalize on their appeal. However, he shouldn’t have bothered, as their awe-inspiring strength – body-bending lifts and acrobatics — didn’t reveal themselves until their last appearance in the Arabian dance.
 
Davyduik also wanted to take advantage of the potential for parents, grandparents and siblings to buy tickets by casting a throng of children in nearly every scene. While adorable, especially those who danced around and in front of the snowflake fairies, it was also distracting and detracting.  That was particularly the case in the second act where most of the real dancing happens. But it was hard to see the professionals with cute kids clustered at the rim of the stage blocking the audience’s view.
 
It's unclear why Davyduik didn’t use the children for the Mother Ginger portion of the dance, which is generally where “Nutcracker” choreographers cast their tiniest dancers. In this production, there was no Mother Ginger. Davyduik used the music instead to unite the Chinese, French, Arabian, Spanish and Russian (here dubbed Folkloric) couples in a friendly pas de dix.
 
Regardless, of all the many “The Nutcracker” ballets happening in the Capital Region, this remains one of the best for both production designs and strong dancing.
 
Finally, producers were wise to remove all references to Russia in the name of the company and in the ballet. Americans can't abide or support Russian treachery in Ukraine. However, art has the power to unite. I hope and pray it will.

Merriam Webster defines catenary as “the curve assumed by a cord of uniform density and cross section that is perfectly flexible but not capable of being stretched and that hangs freely from two fixed points” like a velvet rope that swings from two brass stanchions.
 
Based on a work on Saturday night at PS21 Center for Contemporary Performance, a world premiere collaboration between violinist/composer Hannah Epperson and dancer/choreographer Rebecca Margolick, there is also an invisible catenary – one that links humanity. It is no barrier to an entry. Rather if we so chose or pay attention, the catenary, if followed, can lead us to act as stanchions to ease the burden of each other.

The two, along with electronic performer Niloufar Nourbakhsh, evoke that sense in a rattling and poignant exploration of a relationship. The piece starts before the audience is even seated. As people jockey for seats, Epperson and Margolick are standing centerstage, slowly walking in half-circles, with a long cord tied to each of their waists, like an umbilical cord. Inch by inch, they travel a hair farther from each other until their cord pulls nearly taut between them.
 
As they are doing this – one can only hear a heartbeat and an occasion whirl, something like one might hear in a vintage sci-fi film. Could it be the miracle of human development?
 
As Epperson retreats to a corner with her violin, Margolick becomes the focus. She appears a target – arms outstretched toward a glaring light – and then she caves onto herself and flings her body backwards. It happens again and again as if she is the victim of some violence. Then in a convulsive solo, she twists her hand alongside her head – as if realizing something – and then – still bent over – cradles something invisible in her arms. When she finally stops, her fists are clenched.
 
Epperson puts down her violin to come to her aid – placing her body between Margolick and the hammering light. That is her role throughout, helping Margolick to endure her pain. At one point, Epperson rebraids her wild hair after another exhausting, painful incident that could be read as childbirth.
 
Nourbakhsh also took part, stepping out from the audience to walk across the stage in profile. She was holding what appeared to be a baby paunch with one hand as she seemed to navigate an unseen tightrope. The pressure of perfection – as a woman and as a mother – looms heavy.
 
“Catenary” emphasizes the stress women are weighted down with. Their bodies are expected to please, nourish and soothe. But this burden is further strained by the assault on their rights to their bodies.
 
Epperson, Margolick and Nourbakhsh demonstrated we are one, even in divided times; and insist we show compassion. Without it, the link or catenary that connects us will be disastrously severed.

​The 60-minute dance will be repeated at 3 and 6 p.m. today.

Grand Kyiv Ballet performed the icon classic "Swan Lake" on Saturday night at the Palace Theatre in Albany

 Art can change the world.
 
Art brings people together. Art shares and enlightens with its ideas. And in the case of the Grand Kyiv Ballet, art also serves to remind us that an unjust war continues to rage in the homeland, Ukraine, of these talented dancers.
 
The small ensemble returned to the area on Saturday night for the third time in less than a year – this time at the Palace Theatre with their rendering of the classic of classics, “Swan Lake.” Their stripped-down version of this often elaborately dressed ballet – as well as others — is a tell that they don’t have resources. But the company’s efforts also signal that one must carry on, regardless, to try to rebuild.
 
Certainly, this ensemble is one of Europe and America’s most hardworking. They are seemingly everywhere, all the time, performing their repertoire of story ballets. After seeing last year’s “The Nutcracker” and “Snow Queen,” and being disappointed, I was encouraged by the Kyiv ensemble’s “Swan Lake.”
 
This Tchaikovsky ballet in four acts is the world’s most popular. It centers on a Prince Siegfried who is coming of age and must find a bride. And as he wanders into the forest, he meets and falls in love with  Odette. But sadly, she is under the spell of the evil Von Rothbart who, by day, cruelly keeps her and her retinue as swans. She promises to come to the palace that evening, as a princess, to secure their forever love at the court -- a move that would break Von Rothbart's hold.
 
But Von Rothbart, recognizing their devotion, hatches his own plot. He sends his daughter, Odile, to the court. concealed as Odette. She dazzles, tricking Siegfried into promising his love to her. When he realizes his error, he races from the court to reunite with Odette at the lake. And in Eastern European fashion, their love vanquishes Von Rothbart so the two can live happily ever after. (In the original and most American versions, the two cast themselves into the lake and die.)
 
Victor Tomashek danced Siegfried opposite Ekaterina Malkovich in the dual role of Odette/Odile. Both physically strong, the dancers poured out an honest dose of emotion to carry the audience to buy into their flawed love. Malkovich was gorgeous – ideally sweet and fragile as Odette and daring and dismissive of Siegfried as Odile.
 
Other standouts included Khan-Ochir Tumursukh as the jester. Though he appeared tired at his first tour en air, he quickly recovered to invigorating, carrying all the court scenes – particularly the first, which can seem overdone and dull.
 
Sultan Abdyzhaparov as the cape-flicking Von Rothbart, who cast a malicious look, cut a dashing figure.

One thing that is awkward, however, is the Ukrainian dancers often stop the ballet d'action to garner applause. It's an old-fashioned practice that doesn't work well on American stages where audiences are not used to the custom. On Friday, when the music stopped and dancers walked to the edge of the stage, they were often met with stone silence.
 
Still, the production was a success, despite too many bows and having no sets pieces other than one chair. But the backdrops, particularly the lake view, glowed, providing just the right atmosphere for this haunting ballet.
 
Finally, I must tip my hat to Tchaikovsky. His music for “Swan Lake” has made it the “Romeo and Juliet” of ballet. His escalating theme is not only memorable, but elevates the ballet as the legend it has become.

Caleb Teicher, left, and Nic Gareiss performed the inaugural fall program at Jacob's Pillow on Friday night. 

For more than 90 years, Jacob’s Pillow has been a summer destination for dance devotees.
 
But this weekend, for the first time in its storied history, the Pillow is hosting a weekend of fall performances with the duo Caleb Teicher and Nic Gareiss. These fine technicians of the feet – Teicher, a tap master; and Gareiss, a lord of Irish step and Appalachian clogging — melded their styles in a seamless love letter to the percussive power of the heel, sole and toe.
 
These two appeared like siblings, united in their respect for the art in which they represent a healthy portion. (The metaphor with the shared muffin, a bit they performed on a bench, informed us all.) And the program, in the newly built Doris Duke Theatre is equal parts homespun and sophisticated. These two artists, particularly together, must be seen as their synchronicity elevates them both.
 
The program began with a calm Gareiss appearing barefoot, circling the square stage in the center of the theater, which is set up in the round. As Gareiss wheeled around, he offered glimpses of his foot power – a slide here and little pound there, accented with Irish skips and hops. He makes way for Teicher who runs to the stage, barefooted too, but in a more exuberant and jocular manner. Teicher starts the audience laughing – clearly delineating who is the comic relief.
 
The two add socks and then shoes to their back and forth on the stage, equipped with microphones, until they are together creating joyous and syncopated rhythms on the boards.
 
At first, I was disappointed that they were not accompanied by musicians. But these two, and their symbiotic relationship, are so intriguing that no musicians were needed. Besides, they also sang. Gareiss started out the vocals by singing and dancing to “John Brown’s Dream,” a traditional square dance tune that he punctuated with square dance calls.
 
Teicher sang too – first on the previously mentioned bench with Gareiss – and then after they spread sand on the stage to step and slide as they sang Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies.” Teicher is a limber dancer that startles with his athleticism, especially with the jumps that land low and nearly horizontal to the floor. Teicher’s dashes are accented by their hand play, claps, slaps and finger snaps.
 
Gareiss, who offered up a sweet tribute to his Irish dance teacher with “Scraping for Peggy” on the sandy floor, tempered Teicher’s energy with a calming, optimistic strength. Together, their union melted into one, beautiful universe of soulful and sentimental sounds.
 
The highly recommended program will be repeat at 2 and 7:30 p.m. Oct. 25 and 2 p.m. Oct 26. Tickets can be purchased at www.jacobspillow.org.

Soles of Duende, features, from left, Brinda Guha, Okai Musik, Ryan Stanbury, Amanda Castro, Arielle Rosales and AJ Jagannath, (Photo by Daryl Padilla)

​If this were a perfect world, it would look like Soles of Duende.
 
This incredible sextet – three dancers and three musicians – oozed joy in a bubbling mix of percussive styles – American tap, flamenco and kathak to music from all the world – demonstrating that differences are not to be feared, but marveled.
 
And indeed this small ensemble’s showing on Friday night at Proctors’ GE Theatre commanded utter ebullience. These artists – tapper Amanda Castro, flamenco dancer Arielle Rosales and kathak dancer Brinda Guha – did not try to fuse their abilities. Rather they respected each other’s artistic space, standing side by side, playing with their styles in a buoyant and easy flow. It wasn’t about overtaking, adapting or assimilating, it was about knowing what the other brought to the floor. And it was beautifully authentic.
 
These open-minded artists were skillfully accompanied by trumpeter and percussionist Ryan Stanbury, who was also music director, drummer Okai Musik and guitarist Andrew “AJ Jagannath.” They played everything Indian, Afro-Caribbean, Latin and jazz music as the dancers hammered out rhythms with their feet.
 
As Guha was bare-footed, her light stamps jingled with her ankle bells, while Castro and Rosales shoes thudded and skidded along the boards.
 
Among the first thing you notice, aside from their differences and steady synchronized sounds, are their hands – Guha’s open and soft as if receiving a gift from a child; Rosales’, curled like a flower about to bloom; and Castro’s, wide and swinging as if she were a pitcher hurling a ball from the mound.
 
The star of this show was hand down Castro. She had more energy and charm than any tapper I have seen. One could see her mind racing as she entered the rhythm circle with everything she had, occasionally striking the floor with a hand, touching her heart or spinning around and around taken by her own intoxication. She, with a killer smile, bewitched all.
 
Rosales was the sophisticated one in the trio – strutting her flair with her velvet skirt, flicking her head in a hard turn and jutting forth her chin in a signal of strength. Her serious demeanor melted when she was joined by Castro or Guha who would give her a cool slap to her hand or a toss her a look that said, “let’s go.”
 
Guha was most lovely. Her style, though often fleet, felt soft and sweet. Though she soothed with gentleness, she was fearless – keeping up with the hard-shoe steppers.
 
Soles of Duende’s passion was so great, it easily transferred to the audience. And when the stage went black at the end, the audience spontaneously stood that instant in a well-deserved standing ovation.
 
Bravo for Soles of Duende.