Word: gianni
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Beyond the chosen student works were three dances by guest choreographers. “If I Only Had Time” by Gianni DiMarco, a performer with the Boston Ballet Company, contrasted classical Vivaldi with modern ballet. DiMarco’s movements fluttered to the shifting pace of harpsichord and strings, using all parts of the body. The dancers maneuvered on the floor, in perfect marching blocks, or chaotic ensembles. Through the schizophrenic rhythmic changes and steps, “If I Only Had Time” captured the vivacity of life...
...taxes and a decrepit transportation infrastructure, the Brazilian machinery industry would simply "collapse" if forced to compete with North American firms, a Brazilian industry official says. The country's chemical industry says it would have to invest an extra $5 billion a year to avoid a similar fate, while Gianni Coda, director of Fiat Latin America, frets that "the entire Brazilian automotive sector will lose...
DIED. EDOARDO AGNELLI, 46, only son of Gianni Agnelli, head of the Fiat automotive empire; in an apparent leap from a viaduct known as the "bridge of suicides"; in Turin, Italy. This is only the latest tragedy for the Agnellis; three years ago, Edoardo's younger cousin Giovanni, Fiat heir apparent, died of stomach cancer...
What's unbuckled, in places, is the melancholy, which may be the emotional default mode of a man who has buried good friends--Gianni Versace, Princess Diana--and lost others to AIDS. The Elton John who wrote Daniel, with its baffled yearning, is the one who loves the blue-tinted male nudes of John Dugdale, with their Victorian grief. The somber undercurrent is plain even in Andres Serrano's vivid crimson circle in a rectangle of bright yellow, which on closer inspection turns out to be a pool of blood...
...What's unbuckled, in places, is the melancholy, which may be the emotional default mode of a man who has buried good friends - Gianni Versace, Princess Diana - and lost others to AIDS. The Elton John who wrote "Daniel," with its baffled yearning, is the one who loves the blue-tinted male nudes of John Dugdale, with their Victorian grief. The somber undercurrent is plain even in Andres Serrano's vivid crimson circle in a rectangle of bright yellow, which on closer inspection turns out to be a pool of blood...