After nearly 30 years as a dance critic, I thought stepping away from opening nights and teary curtain calls would be good for me. I’d finally have more free time. Maybe I could pen a novel, spend more time with family and friends or simply enjoy quiets evenings at home.
But after witnessing Rudolf Nureyev fly across the Metropolitan Opera stage 45-years-ago, I have believed that dance was my life’s calling – that I existed to trumpet its virtues, elevate its dedicated artists and along the way, slap down a few that sully it’s ephemeral glory.
So here I am – back at humbly attempting to do the impossible – put stodgy words to what can only be expressed through the silent voice emanating from bone, muscle, sinew and flesh.
In this blog, I will share with any kind reader who finds their way to me, my impressions of ballet, modern and contemporary dance that orbits the upstate New York region and beyond.